The Man Who Smiled by Henning Mankell Read Free Book Online

feet. "You disappeared one day, and now you're back just as suddenly. Forgive the slip of the tongue."
    Martinsson left the room. Only Wallander and Ann-Britt Höglund were left now.
    "I've heard a lot about you," she said.
    "I'm sure what you've heard is absolutely true, I regret to say." "I think I could learn a lot from you." "I very much doubt that."
    Wallander got hurriedly to his feet to cut short the conversation, gathering the papers he had been given by Martinsson. Höglund held open the door for him. When he was back in his office and had closed the door behind him, he noticed he was running with sweat. He took off his jacket and shirt, and started drying himself on one of the curtains. Just then Martinsson opened the door without knocking. He hesitated when he caught sight of the half-naked Wallander.
    "I was just bringing you the reports on Gustaf Torstensson's car accident," Martinsson said. "I forgot it wasn't Hanson's door any longer."
    "I may be old-fashioned," Wallander said, "but please knock in future."
    Martinsson put a file on Wallander's desk and beat a hasty retreat. Wallander finished drying himself, put on his shirt, then sat at his desk and started reading.
    It was gone 10.30 by the time he finished the reports.
    Everything felt unfamiliar. Where should he start? He thought back to Sten Torstensson, emerging out of the fog on the Jutland beach. He asked me for help, Wallander thought. He wanted me to find out what had happened to his father. An accident that was really something else, and not suicide. He talked about how his father's state of mind had seemed to change. A few days later he himself was shot in his office late at night. He had talked about his father being on edge, but he was not on edge himself.
    Deep in thought, Wallander pulled towards him the notebook in which he had previously written Torstensson's name. He added another: Gustaf Torstensson. Then he wrote them again in the reverse order.
    He picked up the phone and dialled Martinsson's number. No answer. He tried again, still no answer. Then it dawned on him that the numbers must have been changed while he was away. He walked down the corridor to Martinsson's office. The door was open.
    "I've been through the investigation reports," he said, sitting down on Martinsson's rickety visitor's chair.
    "Nothing much to go on, as you'll have noted," Martinsson said. "One or more intruders break into Torstensson's offices and shoot him. Apparently nothing was stolen. His wallet still in his inside pocket. Mrs Dunér's been working there for more than 30 years and she is sure that nothing is missing."
    Wallander nodded. He still hadn't unearthed what it was that Martinsson had said or not said earlier which had made him react.
    "You were first on the scene, I suppose?" he said.
    "Peters and Norén were there first, in fact," Martinsson said. "They sent for me."
    "One usually gets a first impression on occasions like this," Wallander said. "What did you think?"
    "Murder with intent to rob," Martinsson said without hesitation. "How many of them were there?"
    "We've found no evidence to suggest whether there was just one, or more than one. But only one weapon was used, we can be pretty sure of that, even if the technical reports are not all in yet."
    "So, was it a man who broke in?"
    "I think so," Martinsson said. "But that's just a gut feeling with nothing to support or reject it."
    "Torstensson was hit by three bullets," Wallander said. "One in the heart, one in the stomach just below the navel, and one in his forehead. Am I right in thinking that that suggests a marksman who knew what he was doing?"
    "That struck me too," Martinsson said. "But of course it could have been pure coincidence. They say death is caused just as often by random shots as by shots from a skilled marksman. I read that in some American report."
    Wallander got to his feet. "Why should anybody want to break into a solicitor's office?" he asked. "Presumably because lawyers