injuries typical of somebody who had been hanged. The injuries to the bones at the back of her neck were what had killed her. Wallander made the sardonic comment that it was usual for suicides to hang themselves, but not for them to go on to cut themselves down and bury themselves in their own or somebody else’s garden.
They also received confirmation that Hurlén’s guess about the woman being around fifty was in fact correct. That was her age when she died. The skeleton showed no signs of injuries caused by wear and tear: so the woman lying in the grave was not someone who had indulged in hard physical labor.
But it was the last item in the report that made Wallander and his colleagues feel they had received a significant piece of information they could work around—the handle that all police officers look for in a criminal investigation.
The woman had been lying in her grave for between fifty and seventy years. Exactly how the medics and various experts had reached that conclusion was beyond Wallander’s comprehension. But he trusted it. The forensic experts were very rarely wrong.
Wallander took Martinson and Linda with him into his office, where they sat around his desk. Linda was not actually involved in the case, but she was following developments out of curiosity. And Wallander had learned to appreciate her spontaneous comments. Sometimes she came out with something that immediately proved to be important.
“The time,” said Wallander when they had settled down. “What’s the significance of that?”
“So she died at some point between 1930 and 1950,” said Martinson. “That makes things both easier and more difficult. Easier because we now have a limitedtime to search through. More difficult because it’s so long ago.”
Wallander smiled. “That was neatly put,” he said. “Different. ‘We have a limited time to search through.’ Searching through time. Maybe you ought to become a poet in another existence.”
He leaned forward, suddenly inspired by a burst of energy. Now they had something to hold onto. The handle was in place.
“We’ll have to start rummaging around,” he said. “We’ll have to work our way through piles of dusty papers. Whatever happened took place when we’d barely been born—least of all Linda. But I’m beginning to be very interested in who that woman was, and what exactly happened.”
“I’ve just been doing some mental arithmetic,” said Linda. “If we assume she was murdered in 1940, just to pick a point in time between the two limits mentioned, and if we take it that the murderer was an adult—let’s say about thirty or so—that means we’re looking for somebody who’s about ninety years old. A ninety-year-old murderer. And he could even be over a hundred. Which presumably means he’s been dead for ages.”
“Correct,” said Wallander. “But we don’t call it a day simply because a murderer is presumably dead. What we start by doing is finding out who this woman was. Then we might hear from relatives, perhaps even children, who will be relieved if they find out what happened.”
“In other words, we become sort of archaeological police officers,” said Martinson. “It’ll be interesting to hear what degree of priority Lisa gives it.”
The answer to that, as Wallander had expected, was none at all. Lisa Holgersson recognized, of course, that the discovery of the skeleton needed to be investigated, but she couldn’t grant them any extra resources since there were so many other cases that were waiting urgently to be concluded.
“I have the National Police Board breathing down my neck, with all the boxes we have to tick and paperwork to send them,” she sighed. “We have to demonstrate that we’re being successful with our inquiries. We can no longer get away with reporting shelved investigations as solved.”
Both Martinson and Wallander gave a start. Wallander suspected that Lisa Holgersson might have said too much. Or maybe she
They also received confirmation that Hurlén’s guess about the woman being around fifty was in fact correct. That was her age when she died. The skeleton showed no signs of injuries caused by wear and tear: so the woman lying in the grave was not someone who had indulged in hard physical labor.
But it was the last item in the report that made Wallander and his colleagues feel they had received a significant piece of information they could work around—the handle that all police officers look for in a criminal investigation.
The woman had been lying in her grave for between fifty and seventy years. Exactly how the medics and various experts had reached that conclusion was beyond Wallander’s comprehension. But he trusted it. The forensic experts were very rarely wrong.
Wallander took Martinson and Linda with him into his office, where they sat around his desk. Linda was not actually involved in the case, but she was following developments out of curiosity. And Wallander had learned to appreciate her spontaneous comments. Sometimes she came out with something that immediately proved to be important.
“The time,” said Wallander when they had settled down. “What’s the significance of that?”
“So she died at some point between 1930 and 1950,” said Martinson. “That makes things both easier and more difficult. Easier because we now have a limitedtime to search through. More difficult because it’s so long ago.”
Wallander smiled. “That was neatly put,” he said. “Different. ‘We have a limited time to search through.’ Searching through time. Maybe you ought to become a poet in another existence.”
He leaned forward, suddenly inspired by a burst of energy. Now they had something to hold onto. The handle was in place.
“We’ll have to start rummaging around,” he said. “We’ll have to work our way through piles of dusty papers. Whatever happened took place when we’d barely been born—least of all Linda. But I’m beginning to be very interested in who that woman was, and what exactly happened.”
“I’ve just been doing some mental arithmetic,” said Linda. “If we assume she was murdered in 1940, just to pick a point in time between the two limits mentioned, and if we take it that the murderer was an adult—let’s say about thirty or so—that means we’re looking for somebody who’s about ninety years old. A ninety-year-old murderer. And he could even be over a hundred. Which presumably means he’s been dead for ages.”
“Correct,” said Wallander. “But we don’t call it a day simply because a murderer is presumably dead. What we start by doing is finding out who this woman was. Then we might hear from relatives, perhaps even children, who will be relieved if they find out what happened.”
“In other words, we become sort of archaeological police officers,” said Martinson. “It’ll be interesting to hear what degree of priority Lisa gives it.”
The answer to that, as Wallander had expected, was none at all. Lisa Holgersson recognized, of course, that the discovery of the skeleton needed to be investigated, but she couldn’t grant them any extra resources since there were so many other cases that were waiting urgently to be concluded.
“I have the National Police Board breathing down my neck, with all the boxes we have to tick and paperwork to send them,” she sighed. “We have to demonstrate that we’re being successful with our inquiries. We can no longer get away with reporting shelved investigations as solved.”
Both Martinson and Wallander gave a start. Wallander suspected that Lisa Holgersson might have said too much. Or maybe she
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