The Man Who Smiled

by Henning Mankell

“I’ll never be anything but a police officer.”

  “No,” Widén agreed, “and I don’t suppose I’ll ever get away from these stables. That horse I’ve bought in Höör is a good one, by the way. Out of Queen Blue. Nothing wrong with its pedigree.”

  A girl rode past the window on horseback.

  “How many staff have you got?”

  “Three. But I can’t afford more than two. I really need four.”

  “That’s why I’m here, actually,” Wallander said.

  “Don’t tell me you want a job as a stable boy,” Widén said. “I don’t think you’ve got the necessary qualifications.”

  “I’m sure I don’t,” Wallander said. “Let me explain.”

  Wallander could see no reason why he shouldn’t explain about Alfred Harderberg; he knew Widén would never breathe a word to anybody else.

  “It’s not my idea,” Wallander said. “We’ve recently acquired a new woman police officer in Ystad. She’s good. She was the one who saw the ad and told me about it.”

  “You mean I should send one of my girls to Farnholm Castle, is that it?” Widén said. “As a sort of spy? You must be out of your mind.”

  “Murder is murder,” Wallander said. “The castle is impenetrable. This ad gives us an opportunity to get in. You say you have one girl too many.”

  “I said I had one too few.”

  “She can’t be stupid,” Wallander said. “She has to be wide awake and notice things.”

  “I have a girl who would fit the bill,” Widén said. “She’s sharp, and nothing scares her. But there is a problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “She doesn’t like the police.”

  “Why is that?”

  “You know that I often employ girls who’ve gone off the rails a little bit. Over the years I’ve found them to be pretty good. I cooperate with a youth employment agency in Malmö. I have a girl from there at the moment, nineteen years old. Name’s Sofia. She was the one riding past the window just now.”

  “We don’t need to mention the police,” Wallander said. “We can think up some reason why you need to keep an eye on what’s cooking at the castle. Then you can pass on to me what she tells you.”

  “Only if I must,” Widén said. “I’d rather not get involved. All right, we don’t need to tell her you’re a police officer. You’re just somebody who wants to know what’s going on there. If I say you’re OK, she’ll take my word for it.”

  “We can try,” Wallander said.

  “She hasn’t got the job yet,” Widén said. “I expect there will be lots of horsey girls interested in a job at the castle.”

  “Go and get her,” Wallander said. “Don’t tell her my name.”

  “What the hell shall I call you, then?”

  Wallander thought for a moment. “Roger Lundin,” he said.

  “Who’s he?”

  “From now on it’s me.”

  Widén shook his head. “I hope you’re right about this,” he said. “I’ll go and get her.”

  Sofia proved to be thin and leggy with a mop of unkempt hair. She came into the kitchen, nodded casually in Wallander’s direction, then sat down and drank what remained of the coffee in Widén’s cup. Wallander wondered if she was one of the girls who shared his bed. He knew from the past that Widén often had affairs with the girls who worked for him.

  “You know I have to cut back here,” Widén said. “But we’ve heard about a job that might suit you at a castle over at Österlen. If you take the job, or rather get it, things might pick up here later, and I promise to take you back if they do.”

  “What sort of horses are they?” she asked.

  Widén looked at Wallander, who could only shrug his shoulders.

  “I don’t suppose they’ll be Ardennes,” Widén said. “What the hell does it matter? It’s only going to be temporary. Besides, you’d be helping Roger here, who’s a friend of mine. He’d like you to keep your eyes peeled and see what goes on there at the castle. Nothing special, just keeping your eyes open.”

  “What’s the money like?” she asked.

  “I have no idea,” Wallander said.

  “It’s a castle, for God’s sake,” Widén said. “Stop being awkward.”

  He disappeared into the living room and came back with the paper. Wallander found the ad.

  “Interview,” he said. “Applicants should phone first.”

  “We can fix that,” Widén said. “I’ll drive you there tonight.”

  She suddenly looked up from the plastic tablecloth and stared Wallander in the eye.

  “What sort of horses are they?” she asked.

  “I really have no idea,” Wallander said.

  She cocked her head to one side. “I think you’re the police,” she said.

  “What on earth makes you think that?” Wallander said, astonished.

  “I can feel it.”

  Widén interrupted her. “His name’s Roger. That’s all you need to know. Don’t ask so many goddamn stupid questions. Try to look relatively respectable when we go there tonight. Wash your hair, for instance. And don’t forget that Winter’s Moon needs a bandage on her left hind leg.”

  She left the kitchen without another word.

  “You can see for yourself,” Widén said. “She’s nobody’s fool.”

  “Thanks for your help,” Wallander said. “Let’s hope she pulls it off.”

  “I’ll drive her over. That’s the best I can do.”

  “Call me at home,” Wallander said. “I need to know right away if she gets the job.”

  They went out to Wallander’s car.

  “I sometimes feel so goddamned tired of this whole business,” Widén said.

  “It would be nice if we could have our time over again,” Wallander said.

  “I sometimes say to myself, is that all it was? Life, that is. A few arias, tons of third-rate horses, constant money problems.”

  “Come on, it’s not all that bad, is it?”

  “Convince me.”

  “We have a reason to meet more often now. We can talk about it.”

  “She hasn’t got the job yet.”

  “I know,” Wallander said. “Call me tonight.”

  He got into his car, nodded to Widén, and drove off. It was still early in the day. He made up his mind to pay another visit.

  Half an hour later he parked in a no-parking area in the narrow street behind the Continental Hotel and walked to Mrs. Dunér’s little pink house. He was surprised to see no sign of a police car in the vicinity. What had happened to the protection Mrs. Dunér was supposed to be receiving? He grew annoyed and worried at the same time. He rang the doorbell. He would get after Björk immediately.

  The door opened a fraction, but when Mrs. Dunér saw who it was, she seemed genuinely pleased.

  “I apologize for not having phoned in advance,” he said.

  “It’s always a pleasure to welcome Inspector Wallander,” she said.

  He accepted her offer of a cup of coffee, even though he knew he had drunk too much coffee already. While she was busy in the kitchen Wallander took another look at her back garden. The lawn had been repaired. He wondered if she was expecting the police to provide her with another phone directory.

  In this investigation everything seems to have happened a long time ago, he thought, and yet it’s only been a few days since I threw the directory at the lawn and watched the garden explode.

  She brought in the coffee, and he sat on the flower-patterned sofa.

  “I didn’t see a police car outside when I arrived,” he said.

  “Sometimes they’re here, sometimes they’re not,” Mrs. Dunér said.

  “I’ll look into it,” Wallander promised.

  “Is it really necessary?” she said. “Do you really think somebody is trying to harm me?”

  “You know what happened to your employers. I don’t believe anything else is going to happen, but we have to take all the precautions we can.”

&n
bsp; “I wish I could make sense of it all,” she said.

  “That’s why I’m here,” Wallander said. “You’ve had time to do some thinking. Often one needs to let a little time pass before things become clear, to let your memory warm up.”

  “I have tried. Day and night.”

  “Let’s go back a few years,” Wallander said. “To when Gustaf Torstensson was first offered the opportunity to work for Alfred Harderberg. Did you ever meet him?”

  “No, never.”

  “You spoke to him on the phone?”

  “Not even that. It was always one of the secretaries who called.”

  “It must have been a big deal for the firm to get a client like that.”

  “Oh yes, of course. We began to earn much more money than we ever had before. We were able to renovate the whole building.”

  “Even if you never met or spoke to Harderberg, you must have formed some idea of what he was like. I know you have a good memory.”

  She thought before answering. Wallander watched a magpie hopping around the garden while he waited.

  “Everything was always urgent,” she said. “Whenever he called Mr. Torstensson, everything else had to be put to aside.”

  “Mr. Torstensson must have discussed his client now and then,” he said. “Told you about his visits to the castle.”

  “I think he was very impressed. And also fearful of making a mistake. That was very important. I remember him saying several times that mistakes were forbidden.”

  “What do you think he meant by that?”

  “That if that happened Harderberg would go to another law firm.”

  “Weren’t you curious about Harderberg, and about the castle?”

  “I wondered what it was like, of course. But he never said much. He was impressed, but reticent. I remember he once said that Sweden should be grateful for all the things D.r Harderberg was doing.”

  “He never said anything negative about him?”

  “Yes, he did, actually. I remember because it only happened once.”

  “What did he say?”

  “I can tell you word for word. He said: ‘Dr. Harderberg has a macabre sense of humor.’”

  “What do you suppose he meant by that?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t ask, and he didn’t explain.”

  “When was this?”

  “About a year ago.”

  “In what context did he say it?”

  “He had just come back from Farnholm Castle. One of the regular meetings. I don’t remember it being anything out of the ordinary.”

  Wallander could see he wasn’t going to get any further on that tack.

  “Let’s talk about something completely different,” he said. “When a lawyer’s working, there’s always a lot of paper around. But we hear from the representatives of the Bar Council that there’s very little in the files concerning the work Mr. Torstensson did for Harderberg.”

  “I was expecting that question,” she said. “There were very special routines as far as work for Dr. Harderberg was concerned. The only documents kept were the ones a lawyer regards as essential. We had strict instructions not to copy or save anything that wasn’t absolutely necessary. Mr. Torstensson took all the documents he worked on back to Farnholm Castle. That’s why there’s so little in the archives.”

  “That must have seemed very odd to you.”

  “The reason given was that Dr. Harderberg’s affairs were extremely sensitive. I had no reason not to accept that, so long as no rules were broken.”

  “I understand that Mr. Torstensson gave financial advice,” Wallander said. “Can you remember any details?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t,” she said. “They were complicated agreements between banks and companies in all four corners of the world. It was generally one of Dr. Harderberg’s secretaries who typed the documents. I was only rarely asked to type anything Mr. Torstensson was going to take to Dr. Harderberg. He typed up quite a lot of things himself.”

  “But he didn’t do that for other clients?”

  “Never.”

  “How would you explain that?”

  “I assumed they were so sensitive that not even I was allowed to see them,” she said frankly.

  Wallander declined the offer of a coffee refill.

  “Can you remember noticing any mention of a company called Avanca in any of the documents you saw?”

  He could see she was trying hard to remember.

  “No,” she said. “It’s possible I saw it, but I don’t remember it.”

  “Just one more question,” he said. “Did you know about the threatening letters the firm received?”

  “Gustaf Torstensson showed them to me,” she said. “But he said they were nothing to worry about. That’s why they weren’t put in the archives. I thought he had thrown them away.”

  “Did you know that the man who wrote them, Lars Borman, was a friend of Gustaf Torstensson?”

  “No, and I am surprised to hear it.”

  “They met through an icons club or society.”

  “I knew about the club, but I did not know that the man who wrote those letters was a member.”

  Wallander put down his coffee cup. “I won’t disturb you any longer,” he said, rising to his feet.

  She remained seated, staring at him. “Don’t you have any news at all to tell me?” she said.

  “We don’t know yet who committed the murders,” Wallander said. “Nor do we know why they did it. When we know that, we’ll know why somebody planted a mine in your garden.”

  She stood up and took hold of his arm. “You have to catch them,” she said.

  “Yes,” Wallander said. “But it could take time.”

  “I have to know what happened before I die.”

  “As soon as there is anything to tell you, I’ll be in touch right away,” he said, knowing that this could not have sounded very satisfactory to her ears.

  Wallander drove to the police station and was told that Björk was in Malmö. So he went to Svedberg and asked him to find out why there was no proper protection at Mrs. Dunér’s house.

  “Do you really think she’s at risk?” Svedberg said.

  “I don’t think anything,” Wallander said. “But more than enough has happened already.”

  Svedberg handed him a note. “There was a call from somebody called Lisbeth Norin,” he said. “You can reach her at this number. She’ll be there until five.”

  It was a number in Malmö, not Gothenburg. Wallander went to his office and dialed the number. An old man’s voice answered. After a pause Lisbeth Norin came to the phone, and Wallander introduced himself.

  “I happen to be in Malmö for a few days,” she said. “I’m visiting my father, he’s broken his femur. I checked my answering machine and heard you’d been trying to reach me.”

  “Yes, I’d be grateful for a word with you,” Wallander said. “Preferably not over the phone.”

  “What’s it about?”

  “I have some questions in connection with a case we’re investigating at the moment,” Wallander said. “I heard about you from a Dr. Strömberg in Lund.”

  “I have some free time tomorrow,” she said. “But it will have to be here in Malmö.”

  “I’ll drive over,” Wallander said. “Would ten A.M. suit you?”

  “That will be fine.”

  She gave him the address in central Malmö.

  Wallander wondered how an old man with a broken femur could answer the phone. Then he realized he was extremely hungry. It was already late in the afternoon. He decided to work at home. He had a lot of material on Harderberg’s business empire that he had not yet read. He found a plastic shopping bag in a drawer and filled it with files. He told Ebba that he would be working at home for the rest of the day.

  He stopped at a grocery store and bought some food, and went into a tobacconist’s to buy five lottery scratch cards. When he got home he cooked himself some blood sausages and had a beer with it. He looked
in vain for the jar of lingonberry jam he thought he had. Then he did the dishes and checked his lottery cards. No luck. He decided he had had enough coffee for one day and lay on his unmade bed for a short rest before starting to go through the files.

  He was woken up by the telephone ringing. He looked at the clock by his bed. It was 9:10 P.M.

  He picked up the phone and recognized Widén’s voice.

  “I’m calling from a phone booth,” he said. “I thought you’d like to know that Sofia got the job. She starts tomorrow.”

  Wallander was wide awake immediately.

  “Good,” he said. “Who gave her the job?”

  “A woman called Karlén.”

  Wallander recalled his first visit to Farnholm Castle. “Anita Karlén,” he said.

  “A couple of cobs,” Widén said. “Very valuable. That’s what she’ll be looking after. Nothing wrong with the wages either. The stables are small, but there’s a one-room apartment attached. I think Sofia has a much higher opinion of you now that she has this opportunity.”

  “That’s good,” Wallander said.

  “She’s going to phone me in a few days’ time. Just one problem: I can’t remember your name.”

  Wallander also had to think hard before remembering. “Roger Lundin,” he said.

  “I’ll write it down.”

  “I’d better do the same. Incidentally, better if she doesn’t phone from the castle, tell her to use a pay phone the same as you’re doing.”

  “There’s a telephone in her apartment. Why shouldn’t she use that?”

  “It could be bugged.”

  Wallander could hear Widén taking a deep breath at the other end of the line.

  “I think you’re out of your mind.”

  “I ought to be careful with my own phone, in fact,” Wallander said. “But we keep a regular check on our police lines.”

  “Who is this Harderberg? A monster?”

  “He’s a friendly, suntanned man who’s always smiling,” Wallander said. “He’s also elegantly dressed. There are lots of ways a monster can look.”

  Beeps were sounding at the other end of the line. “I’ll call you,” Widén said, then he was cut off.

  Wallander wondered if he should phone Höglund and tell her what had happened, but decided not to. It was getting late. He spent the rest of the evening poring over the contents of the plastic shopping bag. At midnight he took out his old school atlas and looked up some of the exotic places the tentacles of Harderberg’s empire reached. It was clear that it was a huge operation. Wallander also had a nagging worry that he was pointing the investigation and his colleagues in the wrong direction. Perhaps there was another solution to the deaths of the two lawyers after all.