An Event in Autumn: A Kurt Wallander Mystery by Henning Mankell Page B
Authors: Henning Mankell
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move. Including refugees, who were not always registered officially, as they ought to have been.”
Wallander followed a different line of thought.
“This is how I see it,” he said. “We don’t know who the woman is—but we do know where she was buried. Somebody picked up a spade and buried her. There’s no reason to believe that was anybody but the man who killed her. Or the woman—that’s not impossible of course. That ought to be our starting point. Who held the spade? Why was the body buried in Karl Eriksson’s garden?”
“Not Karl Eriksson’s garden,” said Martinson. “Ludvig Hansson’s garden.”
Wallander nodded.
“That’s where we must start,” he said. “With Ludwig Hansson and his family who owned the place in those days. All those who were alive then are now dead. Apart from those who were children at the time. That’s where we should begin: with Ludvig Hansson’s children.”
“Shall I carry on searching?” wondered Lindman. “With the rest of Sweden? All missing women between 1935 and 1955?”
“Yes,” said Wallander. “That woman must have been reported missing somewhere or other. She must be there somewhere.”
CHAPTER 14
It took Wallander three days to trace Ludvig Hansson’s only child who was still in the land of the living. Meanwhile, Stefan Lindman had begun to make a list of Swedish women who had gone missing during the years in question, and had found a couple who at least were about the right age. But what made him and his colleagues doubtful was that both women came from the north of Sweden: one of them lived in Timrå just outside Sundsvall when she disappeared, and the other, Maria Teresa Arbåge, had been living in Luleå when she was reported missing.
Martinson had been scouring the land register and was able to confirm that the farm Ludvig Hansson had sold had been in his family since the middle of the nineteenthcentury. The first Hansson had actually been called Hansen, and came from close to the Småland border, some way north of Ystad. On several occasions Wallander and Martinson discussed why the family property had suddenly been sold. Could that be linked with a motive that could throw light on the woman in the garden?
Linda had also come up with a suggestion that Wallander had recognized, somewhat reluctantly, was an excellent one. She proposed trying to track down old aerial photographs of the property, older than the one hanging on the wall of the house in Löderup. Had the garden undergone change? If so, when? And what had happened to the wing that had originally been attached to the house, but now no longer existed?
Wallander had delved into population registers and in the end discovered the only one of Ludvig Hansson’s four children who was still alive. It was a woman by the name of Kristina, who was born in 1937. Wallander established that she was an afterthought, born to Ludvig and his wife Alma several years after the rest of her siblings. Kristina had eventually married and changed her surname to Fredberg. She now lived in Malmö, and Wallander felt a pang of excitement when he picked up the telephone and rang her.
It was a young woman who answered. He said his name and informed her that he was a police officer, and asked to speak to Kristina. The woman asked him to wait.
Kristina Fredberg had a friendly voice. Wallanderexplained the situation, and said he needed to talk to her in connection with the investigation into the discovery that had been made in the garden.
“I’ve read about it in the newspaper,” she said. “I find it hard to believe that such a thing could happen in the garden where I played as a child. Have you no idea at all whose body it is?”
“No.”
“I hardly think I have anything of significance to tell you.”
“I need to create a picture. An overall picture.”
“You’re welcome to come around whenever you like,” she said. “I have all the time in the world. I’m a widow. My husband died two years
Wallander followed a different line of thought.
“This is how I see it,” he said. “We don’t know who the woman is—but we do know where she was buried. Somebody picked up a spade and buried her. There’s no reason to believe that was anybody but the man who killed her. Or the woman—that’s not impossible of course. That ought to be our starting point. Who held the spade? Why was the body buried in Karl Eriksson’s garden?”
“Not Karl Eriksson’s garden,” said Martinson. “Ludvig Hansson’s garden.”
Wallander nodded.
“That’s where we must start,” he said. “With Ludwig Hansson and his family who owned the place in those days. All those who were alive then are now dead. Apart from those who were children at the time. That’s where we should begin: with Ludvig Hansson’s children.”
“Shall I carry on searching?” wondered Lindman. “With the rest of Sweden? All missing women between 1935 and 1955?”
“Yes,” said Wallander. “That woman must have been reported missing somewhere or other. She must be there somewhere.”
CHAPTER 14
It took Wallander three days to trace Ludvig Hansson’s only child who was still in the land of the living. Meanwhile, Stefan Lindman had begun to make a list of Swedish women who had gone missing during the years in question, and had found a couple who at least were about the right age. But what made him and his colleagues doubtful was that both women came from the north of Sweden: one of them lived in Timrå just outside Sundsvall when she disappeared, and the other, Maria Teresa Arbåge, had been living in Luleå when she was reported missing.
Martinson had been scouring the land register and was able to confirm that the farm Ludvig Hansson had sold had been in his family since the middle of the nineteenthcentury. The first Hansson had actually been called Hansen, and came from close to the Småland border, some way north of Ystad. On several occasions Wallander and Martinson discussed why the family property had suddenly been sold. Could that be linked with a motive that could throw light on the woman in the garden?
Linda had also come up with a suggestion that Wallander had recognized, somewhat reluctantly, was an excellent one. She proposed trying to track down old aerial photographs of the property, older than the one hanging on the wall of the house in Löderup. Had the garden undergone change? If so, when? And what had happened to the wing that had originally been attached to the house, but now no longer existed?
Wallander had delved into population registers and in the end discovered the only one of Ludvig Hansson’s four children who was still alive. It was a woman by the name of Kristina, who was born in 1937. Wallander established that she was an afterthought, born to Ludvig and his wife Alma several years after the rest of her siblings. Kristina had eventually married and changed her surname to Fredberg. She now lived in Malmö, and Wallander felt a pang of excitement when he picked up the telephone and rang her.
It was a young woman who answered. He said his name and informed her that he was a police officer, and asked to speak to Kristina. The woman asked him to wait.
Kristina Fredberg had a friendly voice. Wallanderexplained the situation, and said he needed to talk to her in connection with the investigation into the discovery that had been made in the garden.
“I’ve read about it in the newspaper,” she said. “I find it hard to believe that such a thing could happen in the garden where I played as a child. Have you no idea at all whose body it is?”
“No.”
“I hardly think I have anything of significance to tell you.”
“I need to create a picture. An overall picture.”
“You’re welcome to come around whenever you like,” she said. “I have all the time in the world. I’m a widow. My husband died two years
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