Sidetracked by Henning Mankell Page A

they’ve got a difficult job ahead of them.”
    “Why would anyone do something like this?” Nyberg asked. “Could someone really have such strong reasons for dying that she’d end her life by torturing herself as much as she possibly could?”
    “I’ve asked myself the same question,” said Wallander.
    Nyberg shook his head.
    “What’s happening?” he asked.
    Wallander had no answer.
    He went back to the car and called the station. Ebba answered. To avoid her concern, he pretended to be in a hurry.
    “I’m going to see the farmer,” he said. “I’ll be in this afternoon.”
    He drove back to Ystad. In the cafeteria at the hospital he had some coffee and a sandwich. Then he looked for the ward where Salomonsson was. He stopped a nurse, introduced himself, and stated his business. She gave him a quizzical look.
    “Edvin Salomonsson?”
    “I don’t remember whether his name was Edvin,” Wallander said. “Did he come in last night after the fire outside Marsvinsholm?”
    The nurse nodded.
    “I’d like to speak with him,” said Wallander. “If he’s not too sick, that is.”
    “He’s not sick,” replied the nurse. “He’s dead.”
    Wallander gave her an astonished look.
    “Dead?”
    “He died this morning in his sleep. Apparently it was a heart attack. It would probably be best if you spoke to one of the doctors.”
    “I just came by to see how he was doing,” said Wallander. “Now I have my answer.”
    He left the hospital and walked out into the bright sunshine. He had no idea what to do next.

CHAPTER 5
    Wallander drove home knowing that he must sleep if he were ever going to be able to think clearly again. No-one could be blamed for the old farmer’s death. The person who might have been held responsible, the one who had set fire to his rape field, was already dead herself. It was the events themselves, the fact that any of this had happened, that made him feel sick at heart. He unplugged the phone and lay down on the sofa in the living-room with a flannel over his eyes. But sleep wouldn’t come. After half an hour he gave up. He plugged in the telephone, lifted the receiver, and dialled Linda’s number in Stockholm. On a sheet of paper by the phone he had a long list of numbers, each crossed out. Linda moved often, and her number was forever changing. He let it ring a long time. Then he dialled his sister’s number. She answered almost at once. They didn’t speak very often, and hardly ever about anything but their father. Sometimes Wallander thought that their contact would cease altogether when their father died.
    They exchanged the usual pleasantries, without really being interested in the answers.
    “You called,” Wallander said.
    “I’m worried about Dad,” she said.
    “Has something happened? Is he sick?”
    “I don’t know. When did you visit him last?”
    Wallander tried to remember.
    “About a week ago,” he said, feeling guilty.
    “Can you really not manage to see him more often?”
    “I’m working almost round the clock. The department is hopelessly understaffed. I visit him as often as I can.”
    “I talked to Gertrud yesterday,” she went on, without commenting on what Wallander had said. “I thought she gave an evasive answer when I asked how Dad was doing.”
    “Why would she?” said Wallander, surprised.
    “I have no idea. That’s why I’m calling.”
    “He was the same as always,” Wallander said. “Cross that I was in a hurry and couldn’t stay very long. But the whole time I was there he sat painting his picture and made out as though he didn’t have time to talk to me. Gertrud was happy, as usual. I have to admit I don’t understand how she puts up with him.”
    “Gertrud likes him,” she said. “It’s a question of love. Then you can put up with a lot.”
    Wallander wanted to end the conversation as quickly as possible. As she got older, his sister reminded him more and more of their mother. Wallander had never had a very happy