Faceless Killers (29 page)

Then on Friday, 19 January, everything happened at once.

The day did not start off well for Wallander. At 7.30 a.m. he had his Peugeot checked out and barely managed to avoid having it declared unfit for the road. When he went through the inspection report, he saw that his car needed repairs that would cost thousands of kronor. Despondent, he drove to the police station.

He hadn't even taken off his overcoat when Martinsson came storming into his office.

"Damn it," he said. "I know how Johannes Lövgren got to Ystad and back home again."

Wallander forgot all about the car and felt himself instantly seized with excitement.

"It wasn't a flying carpet, after all," continued Martinsson. "The chimney sweep drove him."

Wallander sat down in his desk chair.

"What chimney sweep?"

"Master chimney sweep Arthur Lundin from Slimminge. Out of the blue Hanna Nyström has remembered that the chimney sweep had been that Thursday, 4 January. He cleaned the chimneys at both houses and then left. When she told me that he cleaned the Lövgrens' flues second and that he left around 10.30 a.m., bells started to go off in my head. I just talked to him. He was cleaning the hospital chimney in Rydsgard. It turned out that he never listens to the radio or watches TV or reads the papers. He cleans chimneys and spends the rest of his time drinking aquavit and looking after pet rabbits. He had no idea that the

Lövgrens had been murdered. But he told me that he gave Johannes Lövgren a lift into Ystad. Since he has a van and Lövgren was sitting in the windowless back seat, it's not so strange that nobody saw him."

"But didn't the Nyströms see the car coming back?"

"No," replied Martinsson triumphantly. "That's just it. Lövgren asked Lundin to stop on Veberodsvagen. From there you can walk along a dirt road right up to the back of Lövgren's house. It's about a kilometre. If the Nyströms were sitting in the window, it would have looked as if Lövgren were coming in from the stable."

Wallander frowned. "It still seems odd."

"Lundin was very frank. He said that Lövgren promised him a bottie of vodka if he would drive him home. He let Lövgren out in Ystad and then went on to a couple of houses north of town. He picked up him up at the agreed time, dropped him off on Veberodsvagen, and got his bottle of vodka."

"Good," said Wallander. "Do the times match up?"

"They fit perfectly."

"Did you ask him about the briefcase?" "Lundin seemed to remember that he had a briefcase with him."

"Did he have anything else?" "Lundin didn't think so."

"Did he see whether Lövgren met anybody in Ystad?" "No."

"Had Lövgren said anything about what he was going to do in town?" "No, nothing."

"And you don't think that this chimney sweep knew about Lövgren having 27,000 kronor in his briefcase?" "Hardly. He seemed the least likely person to be a robber.

I think he's just a solitary chimney sweep who lives contentedly with his rabbits and his aquavit. That's all."

Wallander thought for a moment. "Do you think Lövgren could have arranged a meeting with someone on that dirt road? Since the briefcase is gone."

"Maybe. I was thinking of taking a dog patrol out there."

"Do it right away," said Wallander. "Maybe we're at last getting somewhere."

Martinsson left the office. He almost collided with Hansson, who was on his way in.

"Do you have a minute?" he asked.

Wallander nodded. "How's it going?"

"He's not talking. But he's been linked to the crime. That bitch Brolin is going to remand him today."

Wallander didn't feel like commenting on Hansson's contemptuous opinion of Anette Brolin.

"What do you want?" he asked.

Hansson sat down on the wooden chair near the window, looking ill at ease.

"You probably know that I play the horses a bit," he began. "By the way, the horse you recommended came last by a street. Who gave you that tip?"

Wallander vaguely recalled a remark he had made one time in Hansson's office. "It was just a joke," he said. "Go on."

"There's a chap named Erik Magnusson who often shows up at Jagersro. He bets big time, loses a bundle, and I happen to know that he works for the county council."

Wallander was immediately interested.

"How old is he? What does he look like?"

Hansson described him. Wallander knew at once that it was the man he had met.

"There are rumours that he's in debt," said Hansson. "And gambling debts can be dangerous."

"Good," said Wallander. "That's exactly the kind of information we need."

Hansson stood up. "You never know," he said. "Gambling and drugs can sometimes have the same effect. Unless you're like me and just gamble for the fun of it."

Wallander thought about something Rydberg had said. About people who, because of a drug dependency, were capable of unlimited brutality.

"Good," he said to Hansson. "Excellent."

Hansson left the office. Wallander thought for a moment and then called Boman in Kristianstad. He was in luck and got hold of him at once.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked after Wallander had given him Hansson's news.

"Run the vacuum cleaner over him," said Wallander. "And keep an eye on her."

Boman promised to put Ellen Magnusson under surveillance.

Wallander got hold of Hansson just as he was on his way out of the station.

"Gambling debts," he said. "Who would he owe the money to?"

Hansson knew the answer. "There's a man from Tagarp who lends money," he said. "If Magnusson owes money to anybody, it would be him. He's a loan shark for a lot of the high rollers at Jagersro. And as far as I know, he's got some really unpleasant types working for him that he sends out with reminders to people who are lax with their payments."

"Where can I get hold of him?"

"He's got a hardware shop in Tagarp. A short, hefty guy in his 6os."

"What's his name?"

"Larson. But people call him the Junkman."

Wallander went back to his office. He tried to find Rydberg. Ebba, who was on the switchboard, knew where he was. He wasn't due in until 10 a.m., because he was at the hospital.

"Is he ill?" wondered Wallander.

"It's probably his rheumatism," said Ebba. "Haven't you noticed how he's been limping this winter?"

Wallander decided not to wait for Rydberg. He put on his coat, went out to his car, and drove to Tagarp.

The hardware shop was in the middle of the town. It was advertising a sale on wheelbarrows. The man who came out of the back room when the bell rang was indeed short and hefty. Wallander was the only person in the shop, and he decided to get right to the point. He took out his identity card. The Junkman studied it carefully but seemed totally unaffected.

"Ystad," he said. "What can the police from Ystad want with me?"

"Do you know a man named Erik Magnusson?"

The man behind the counter was much too experienced to lie.

"Could be. Why?"

"When did you first meet him?"

Wrong question, thought Wallander. It gives him the chance to retreat.

"I don't remember."

"But you do know him?"

"We have a few common interests."

"Such as betting on the horses?"

"That's possible."

Wallander felt provoked by the man's overbearing self-confidence.

"Listen," he said. "I know that you lend money to people who can't control their gambling. Right now I'm not thinking of asking about the interest rates you charge on your loans. I don't give a damn about your involvement in an illegal money-lending operation. I want to know about something else entirely."

The Junkman looked at him with curiosity.

"I want to know whether Erik Magnusson owes you money," he said. "And I want to know how much."

"Nothing," replied the man.

"Nothing?" . "Not a single ore."

Dead end, thought Wallander. Hansson's lead was a dead end.

"But if you want to know, he did owe me money," said the man. "How much?"

"A lot. But he paid up 25,000 kronor." "When?"

The man made a swift calculation. "A little over a week ago. The Thursday before last."

Thursday, 11 January, thought Wallander. They were finally on the right track.

"How did he pay you?"

"He came over here."

"In what denominations?"

"Thousands. Five hundreds."

"Where did he have the money?"

"What do you mean?"

"In a bag? A briefcase?"

"In a plastic grocery bag. From I.C.A., I think." "Was he late paying?" "A little."

"What would have happened if he hadn't paid?"

"I would have had to send him a reminder."

"Do you know how he came up with the money?"

The Junkman shrugged. At that moment a customer came into the shop.

"That's none of my business," he said. "Will there be anything else?"

"No, thanks. Not at the moment. But you may hear from me again."

Wallander went out to his car. The wind had picked up. OK, he thought. Now we've got him. Who would have thought that something good would come out of Hansson's lousy gambling? Wallander drove back to Ystad feeling as if he had won the lottery. He was on the scent of an answer.

Erik Magnusson, he thought. Here we come.

CHAPTER 14

After intensive work that dragged on until late into the night of Friday, 19 January, Wallander and his colleagues were ready for battle. Björk had sat in on the long case meeting, and at Wallander's request he had let Hansson put aside work on the murder in Hageholm so he could join the Lunnarp group, as they now called themselves. Näslund was off ill again, but he rang in and said he'd be there the next day.

In spite of the weekend, the work had to continue with undiminished effort. Martinsson had returned with a dog patrol from a detailed inspection of the dirt road that led from Veberodsvagen to the back of Lövgren's stable. He had made a meticulous examination of the road, which ran for nearly two kilometres through a couple of copses, divided two pieces of pasture land as the boundary line, and then ran parallel to an almost dry creek bed. He hadn't found anything out of the ordinary, even though he came back to the station with a plastic bag full of bits and pieces. Among other things, there was a rusty wheel from a doll's pram, a greasy sheet of plastic, and an empty cigarette pack of a foreign brand. The objects would be examined, but Wallander didn't think they would produce anything of use to the investigation.

The most important decision during the meeting was that Magnusson would be placed under round-the-clock surveillance. He lived in a rented house in the old Rosengard district. Hansson reported that there were trotting races at Jagersro on Sunday, and he was assigned the surveillance during the races.

"But I'm not authorising any bets," said Björk, in a halfhearted attempt at a joke.

"I propose that we all go in," replied Hansson. "There's good odds that this murder investigation could pay off."

But it was a serious mood that prevailed in Björk's office. There was a feeling that a decisive moment was approaching.

The question that aroused the longest discussion concerned whether Magnusson should be told that they were onto him. Both Rydberg and Björk were sceptical. But Wallander thought that they had nothing to lose if Magnusson discovered that he was the object of police interest. The surveillance would be discreet, of course. But beyond that, no measures would be taken to hide the fact that he was the subject of an investigation.

"Let him get nervous," said Wallander. "If he has anything to be nervous about, then I hope we discover what it is."

It took three hours to go through all the investigative material to look for threads that could be tied to Magnusson. They found nothing, but they also found nothing to contradict the possibility that it could have been Magnusson who was in Lunnarp that night, despite his fiancee's alibi.

Now and then Wallander felt vaguely uneasy; afraid that they were going down yet another blind alley. But it was mosdy Rydberg who showed signs of doubt. Time after time he asked himself whether a lone individual could have carried out the murders.

"There was something that hinted at teamwork in that slaughterhouse," he said. "I can't get the idea out of my mind."

"There's nothing to say Magnusson didn't have an accomplice," replied Wallander. "We have to take one thing at a time."

"If he committed the murder to pay a gambling debt, he wouldn't want an accomplice," Rydberg objected.

"I know," said Wallander. "But we have to keep at it."

Thanks to some quick work by Martinsson, they obtained a photograph of Magnusson, which was dug up from the county council's archives. It was taken from a brochure in which the county council presented its activities to a populace that was clearly assumed to be ignorant. Björk was of the opinion that all national and municipal government bodies needed public relations teams, which when necessary could highlight the colossal significance of that institution. He thought the brochure was excellent. In any case, there was Magnusson, standing next to his yellow fork-lift truck, dressed in dazzling white overalls. He was smiling.

The police officers looked at his face and compared it with some black-and-white photos of Johannes Lövgren. One of the pictures showed Lövgren standing next to a tractor in a newly-ploughed field.