The Fifth Woman kw-6

by Henning Mankell

  She started planning how it would take place, but something bothered her. The men who were watching Katarina’s house. They had come to stop her. They were trying to get to her through Katarina. Maybe they had started to suspect that a woman was behind all that had happened. She was counting on that. First they would think it was a man. Then they would begin to have doubts. Finally they would see that they had been looking in the wrong direction.

  They would never find her. Never. She looked at the baking oven and thought about Tore Grunden. He lived in Hassleholm and worked in Malmo. Then it came to her how it would happen. It was almost embarrassingly easy. She could do it on the job. During working hours. With pay.

  CHAPTER 34

  They started digging early on the morning of Friday, 21 October. The light was still quite dim. Wallander and Hansson had marked off the first quadrant with crime-scene tape. The officers, dressed in overalls and gumboots, knew what they were looking for. Their apprehension seemed in tune with the cool morning air. Wallander felt as though he were in a cemetery. Somewhere in the earth they might come upon the remains of a body.

  He had put Hansson in charge of the digging. Wallander was going to work with Birch to track down the waitress who had once made Katarina Taxell laugh on a street in Lund. For half an hour, he stayed out in the mud where the men had started digging. Then he walked up the path to the farm where his car was waiting. He called Birch and caught him at home. Birch had managed to discover that they might be able to find the name of the waitress they were looking for in Malmo. Birch was having coffee when Wallander called. They agreed to meet outside the station in Malmo.

  This is the fourth woman involved in the investigation. There was Krista Haberman, then Eva Runfeldt and then Katarina Taxell. The waitress was the fourth woman. Was there another woman, a fifth one? Was she the one they were looking for? Or had they reached their goal if they succeeded in finding the waitress? Was she the one who made the night-time visits to Ystad’s maternity ward? Without being able to explain why, he doubted that the waitress was the woman they were really searching for. Maybe she could give them a lead, but he couldn’t hope for much more than that.

  He drove through the grey autumn countryside in his old car, wondering absentmindedly how the winter would be. When had they had snow for Christmas in the past few years? It was so long ago he couldn’t remember.

  He reached Malmo station, and found a carpark next to the main entrance. He thought of getting a cup of coffee before Birch arrived, but time was tight.

  He found Birch on the other side of the canal, on his way across the bridge. He must have parked up by the square. They shook hands. Birch was wearing a knitted cap that was much too small. He was unshaven and looked as though he hadn’t had enough sleep.

  “Have you started digging?” he asked.

  “At 7 a.m.,” Wallander replied.

  Birch nodded gloomily. He pointed at the station.

  “We’re supposed to meet a man named Karl-Henrik Bergstrand,” he said. “Normally he doesn’t get in this early. He promised to be here today to meet us.”

  They went into the administrative offices of Swedish Railways. Bergstrand was already there. He was in his early 30s. Wallander assumed that he represented the new, youthful image of the company. They introduced themselves.

  “Your request is unusual,” Bergstrand said and laughed. “But we’ll see if we can help you.”

  He invited them into his spacious office. Wallander found his self-confidence extraordinary. When Wallander had been 30, he was still insecure about almost everything.

  Bergstrand sat down behind his big desk. Wallander looked at the furniture in the room. Maybe that explained why their tickets were so expensive.

  “We’re looking for a dining car attendant,” Birch began. “A woman.”

  “An overwhelming majority of the people working in train service are women,” Bergstrand replied. “It would have been significantly easier to find a man.”

  “We don’t know her name,” Birch said. “All we know is what she looks like.”

  Bergstrand gave him a surprised look.

  “Do you really have to try to find someone you know so little about?”

  “We do,” Wallander interjected.

  “We know which train she worked on,” said Birch.

  He gave Bergstrand the information they had from Annika Carlman. Bergstrand shook his head.

  “This was three years ago,” he said.

  “We know that,” said Wallander. “But I assume that you have personnel records?”

  “That’s really not something I can answer,” Bergstrand said. “Swedish Railways is divided into many enterprises. The restaurants are a subsidiary. They have their own personnel administration. They’re the ones who can answer your questions.”

  Wallander was starting to get both impatient and annoyed. “Let’s get one thing clear,” he interrupted. “We’re not looking for this waitress just for the fun of it. We want to find her because she may have important information relating to a complicated murder investigation. So we don’t care who answers our questions. But we’re anxious to get it done as fast as possible. I assume you can get hold of someone who can help us,” he said. “We’ll sit here and wait.”

  “Is it about the murders in the Ystad area?” Bergstrand asked with interest.

  “Exactly. And this waitress might know something that’s important.”

  “Is she a suspect?”

  “No,” Wallander replied. “She’s not a suspect. No shadow will be cast on either the train or the sandwiches.”

  Bergstrand got up and left the room.

  “He seemed a little arrogant,” Birch said. “It was good what you said to him.”

  “It’d be even better if he could give us an answer,” Wallander said.

  While they waited, Wallander called Hansson in Lodinge. They were digging towards the middle of the first quadrant. They hadn’t found anything.

  “Unfortunately it’s already leaked out,” Hansson said. “We’ve had a number of people hanging around up at the farm.”

  “Keep them at a distance,” Wallander told him. “I guess that’s all we can do.”

  “Nyberg wants to talk to you. It’s about that tape recording of Katarina Taxell and her mother.”

  “Were they able to identify the noise in the background?”

  “I think not, but it’s better if you talk to him yourself.”

  “They couldn’t say anything at all?”

  “They thought someone near the phone was pounding on the floor or the wall. But what good does that do us?”

  Wallander had started to hope too soon.

  “It couldn’t very well be Taxell’s newborn baby,” Hansson said.

  “Apparently we have access to an expert who might be able to work out whether the phone call came from far away or close by. But it’s a complicated process. Nyberg said it would take at least a couple of days.”

  “We’ll have to settle for that,” Wallander said.

  Bergstrand came back into the office and Wallander quickly ended his conversation.

  “It’ll take a while,” Bergstrand said. “We have to get hold of a personnel list that’s three years old and the company has undergone a lot of changes since then. But I’ve explained that it’s important. They’re getting right onto it.”

  “We’ll wait,” Wallander said.

  Bergstrand didn’t seem overly enthusiastic about having two police officers sitting in his office, but he didn’t say anything.

  “Coffee’s one of your specialities, isn’t it?” Birch asked. “Can we get some?”

  Bergstrand left the room.

  “I don’t think he’s used to getting the coffee himself,” Birch said gleefully.

  Wallander didn’t reply.

  Bergstrand returned with a tray. Then he excused himself, saying that he had an urgent meeting. They stayed where they were. Wallander drank the coffee and felt his impatience growing.
He thought about Hansson and wondered whether he should leave Birch to wait for the waitress to be identified. He decided to stay half an hour. No more.

  “I’ve been trying to get abreast of everything that’s happened,” Birch said after a while. “I admit I’ve never been involved in anything like this before. Could the killer really be a woman?”

  “We can’t ignore what we know,” Wallander replied.

  At the same time the feeling that kept plaguing him returned. The fear that he was steering the whole investigation into terrain that consisted of nothing but pitfalls. At any moment the trap door could open under their feet.

  “We haven’t had many female serial killers in this country,” he said.

  “If any,” Wallander said. “Besides, we don’t know if she’s committed the murders. Our clues will either lead us to her alone or to someone who is working behind her.”

  “And you think she regularly serves coffee on trains between Stockholm and Malmo?”

  Birch’s doubt was unmistakable.

  “No,” Wallander replied. “I don’t think she serves coffee. The waitress is probably just the fourth step along the way.”

  Birch stopped asking questions. Wallander looked at the clock and wondered if he should call Hansson again. The half hour was almost up. Bergstrand was still busy with his meeting. Birch was reading a brochure.

  Another 30 minutes passed. Wallander’s patience was running out.

  Bergstrand came back.

  “It looks like we’re going to solve it,” he said brightly. “But it’ll take a little while longer.”

  “How long?”

  Wallander didn’t hide his irritation. It probably wasn’t justified, but he couldn’t help it.

  “Maybe half an hour. They’re driving the files over here. That takes time.”

  They continued to wait. Birch put down his brochure and dozed off. Wallander went over to the window and looked out at Malmo. To the right he caught a glimpse of the hydrofoil terminal. He thought about the times he had stood there waiting for Baiba. How many? Twice. It felt more than that. He called Hansson. Nothing. The digging was going to take time. Hansson also said it had started to rain. Wallander gloomily realised the extent of this depressing work.

  The whole thing is going to hell, he thought suddenly. I’ve steered the whole investigation right into perdition. Birch started snoring. Wallander kept on checking his watch. Bergstrand came back. Birch woke up with a start. Bergstrand had a piece of paper in his hand.

  “Margareta Nystedt,” he said. “That’s probably the person you’re looking for. She was the only one handling the serving that day for the departure in question.”

  Wallander jumped up from his chair. “Where is she now?”

  “I don’t actually know. She stopped working for us about a year ago.”

  “Damn,” Wallander said.

  “But we have her address,” Bergstrand went on. “She might not have moved just because she stopped working for us.”

  Wallander grabbed the piece of paper. It was an address in Malmo.

  “Carl Gustaf’s Road,” Wallander said. “Where’s that?”

  “Near Pildamm Park,” replied Bergstrand.

  Wallander saw that there was a phone number, but he decided not to call it. He would go there himself.

  “Thanks for your help,” he said to Bergstrand. “Can I count on this information being correct? Was she the only one on duty that day?”

  “Swedish Railways is known for its reliability,” said Bergstrand. “That means that we take care to keep track of our employees. Both in the administration and in the subsidiaries.”

  Wallander didn’t understand the connection, but he didn’t have time to ask. “Then let’s go,” he said to Birch.

  They left the station. Birch went in Wallander’s car. It took them less than ten minutes to find the address. It was a five-storey block of flats. Margareta Nystedt lived on the fifth floor. They took the lift. Wallander rang the bell before Birch was even out of the lift, waited, and then rang again. No answer. He swore to himself, then he made a quick decision. He rang the bell next door. The door opened almost at once. An elderly man gave Wallander a stern look. His shirt was unbuttoned over his paunch and he was holding a betting form.

  He took out his identification. “We’re looking for Margareta Nystedt,” he said.

  “What has she done?” the man asked. “She’s a very friendly young woman. Her husband too.”

  “We just need some information,” Wallander said. “She’s not home. No-one came to the door. Do you happen to know where we could find her?”

  “She works on the hydrofoil,” replied the man. “She’s a waitress.”

  Wallander looked at Birch.

  “Thanks for your help,” said Wallander. “Good luck with the horses.”

  Ten minutes later they braked in front of the hydrofoil terminal.

  “I don’t think we can park here,” Birch said.

  “To hell with it,” said Wallander.

  He felt as if he was running, and that everything would fall apart if he stopped. It took them only a few minutes to find out that Margareta Nystedt was working that morning on Springaren. It had just left Copenhagen and was expected to dock in half an hour. Wallander used the time to move his car. Birch sat on a bench in the departure hall and read a tattered newspaper. The terminal manager came over and said they could wait in the staff room. He wondered whether they wanted him to contact the boat.

  “How much time does she have?” Wallander asked.

  “She’s really supposed to go back to Copenhagen on the next trip.”

  “That won’t be possible.”

  The man was helpful. He promised to see to it that Margareta Nystedt could stay ashore. Wallander assured him that she wasn’t suspected of any crime. He went out onto the dock as the boat pulled in. The passengers struggled against the wind. Wallander was surprised that so many people were travelling across the Sound on a weekday. He waited impatiently. The last passenger was a man on crutches, and then a woman wearing a uniform came out onto the deck. The manager pointed her out to Wallander. She was blonde, with her hair cropped very short, and she was younger than Wallander had expected. She stopped in front of him and crossed her arms. She was cold.

  “Are you the one who wants to talk to me?” she asked.

  “Margareta Nystedt?”

  “That’s me.”

  “Let’s go inside. We don’t have to stand out here freezing.”

  “I don’t have much time.”

  “More than you think. You’re not going back on the next trip.”

  She stopped.

  “Why not? Who decided that?”

  “I have to talk to you. But you have nothing to worry about.”

  He suddenly had a feeling that she was scared. For a brief moment he started to think he was mistaken. That she was the one they were looking for. That he already had the fifth woman at his side, without having met the fourth. Then he realised just as quickly that he was wrong. Margareta Nystedt was young and slender. She wasn’t strong enough. And something about her whole presence told him she wasn’t the murderer.

  They went into the terminal building where Birch was waiting, went into the staff room and sat down. The room was empty. Birch introduced himself. She shook hands with him. Her hand was fragile. Like a bird’s foot, Wallander thought to himself.

  He studied her face. She was about 27 or 28. Her dress was short, and she had nice legs. She was wearing harsh make-up. He got the impression that she had painted over something on her face that she didn’t like. She was nervous.

  “I’m sorry we had to contact you like this,” Wallander said. “But sometimes there are things that can’t wait.”

  “Like my boat, for instance,” she replied. Her voice had a strangely hard sound to it. Wallander hadn’t expected that.

  “It’s not a problem. I’ve talked to your supervisor about it.”

  “What have I done?”


  Wallander looked at her thoughtfully. She had no idea why he and Birch were there. There was no doubt about that. The trap door of his doubt creaked and groaned under his feet.

  She repeated her question. What had she done?

  Wallander glanced at Birch, who was surreptitiously looking at her legs.

  “Katarina Taxell,” Wallander said. “Do you know her?”

  “I know who she is. Whether I know her is a different story.”

  “How did you meet her? What have you had to do with her?”

  Suddenly she gave a start. “Has something happened to her?”

  “No. Answer my questions.”

  “Answer mine! I only have one. Why are you asking me about her?”

  Wallander saw that he had been too impatient. He had moved too fast. Her aggression was understandable.

  “Nothing has happened to Katarina. And she’s not suspected of committing any crime. Nor are you. But we need to get some information about her. That’s all I can tell you. After you’ve answered my questions, I’ll leave and you can go back to work.”

  She gave him a searching look. She was starting to believe him.

  “About three years ago you spent time with her. Back then you were working as a waitress on the railway dining cars.”

  She seemed surprised that he knew about her past. Wallander had the impression that she was on her guard, which in turn made him sharpen his attention.

  “Is that true?”

  “Of course it’s true. Why would I deny it?”

  “And you knew Katarina Taxell?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you meet her?”

  “We worked together.”

  Wallander gave her a surprised look before he continued.

  “Isn’t she a teacher?”

  “She was taking a break. That’s when she worked on the train.”

  Wallander looked at Birch, who shook his head. He hadn’t heard about this either.

  “When was this?”