Faceless Killers by Henning Mankell Page B

policemen here yesterday. The only thing that might have been stolen was a wall clock."
"Might have been?"
    "One of their daughters might have taken it. I can't remember everything." "No money," said Wallander. "And no enemies." Something occurred to him.
    "Do you keep any money in the house?" he asked. "Could it be that whoever did this got the wrong house?"
    "All that we have is in the bank," replied Nyström. "And we don't have any enemies either."
They went back to the house and drank coffee. Wallander saw that Hanna Nystrdm was red-eyed, as if she had been careful to cry while they were out in the stable.
    "Have you noticed anything unusual recently?" he asked the couple. "Anyone visiting the Lövgrens you didn't recognise?"
They looked at each other and then shook their heads.
"When was the last time you talked to them?"
    "We were over there for coffee the day before yesterday," said Hanna. "As always. We drank coffee together every day. For over 40 years."
    "Did they seem frightened of anything?" asked Wallander. "Worried?"
    "Johannes had a cold," Hanna replied. "But otherwise everything was normal."
    It seemed hopeless. Wallander didn't know what else to ask them. Each reply he got was like a door slamming shut.
    "Did they have any acquaintances who were foreigners?" he asked.
The man raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Foreigners?"
"Anyone who wasn't Swedish," Wallander ventured.
    "One Midsummer a few years ago some Danes camped on their field."
    Wallander looked at the clock. At 8 a.m. he was supposed to meet Rydberg, and he didn't want to be late.
    "Try and think," he said. "Anything you can come up with may help."
Nyström walked out to the car with him.
    "I have a permit for the shotgun," he said. "And I didn't aim at you. I just wanted to scare you."
    "You did a good job," replied Wallander. "But I think you ought to get some sleep tonight. Whoever did this isn't coming back."
    "Would you be able to sleep?" asked Nyström. "Would you be able to sleep if your neighbours had been slaughtered like dumb animals?"
    Since Wallander couldn't think of a good answer, he said nothing.
    "Thanks for the coffee," he said, got in his car, and drove away.
    This is all going to hell, he thought. Not one clue, nothing. Only Rydberg's strange knot, and the word "foreign". Two old people with no money under the bed, no antique furniture, are murdered in such a way that there seems to be something more than robbery behind it. A murder of hate or revenge.
    There must be something out of the ordinary about them, he thought. If only the horse could talk! He had an uneasy feeling about that horse. It was just a vague hunch. But he was too experienced a policeman to ignore his unease.
    Just before 8 a.m. he braked to a halt outside the police station in Ystad. The wind was down to light gusts. Still, it felt a few degrees warmer today. Just so long as we don't get snow, he thought.
    He nodded to Ebba at the switchboard. "Did Rydberg show up yet?"
    "He's in his office," replied Ebba. "They're calling already. TV, radio and the newspapers. And the county police commissioner.
    "Stall them a while," said Wallander. "I have to talk with Rydberg first."
    He hung up his jacket in his office before he went in to see Rydberg, whose office was a few doors down the corridor. He knocked and heard a grunt in reply.
    Rydberg was standing looking out the window when Wallander entered. It was obvious that he hadn't had enough sleep.
    "Good morning" said Wallander. "Shall I bring in some coffee?"
"Sure. But no sugar. I've cut it out."
    Wallander went out to get two coffees in plastic mugs and then went back to Rydberg's office. Outside the door he stopped. What's my plan, anyway? he thought. Should we keep her last words from the press for "investigative reasons"? Or should we release them?
    I don't have a plan, he thought, annoyed, and pushed open the door with his foot. Rydberg was sitting behind his desk combing his sparse hair. Wallander sank into a