Read The Man Who Smiled for Free Online Page B

this point and looked questioningly at Wallander.
    "I know his father died in a road accident," Wallander said.
    Martinsson nodded and continued: "That's more or less all we know. In other words, we know next to nothing. We don't have a motive, no murder weapon, no witness."
    Wallander wondered if he ought to say something about Torstensson's visit to Skagen. All too often he had committed what was a cardinal sin for a police officer and held back information that he should have passed on to his colleagues. On each occasion, it's true, he reckoned that he had good grounds for keeping quiet, but he had to concede that his explanations had almost always been unconvincing.
    I'm making a mistake, he thought. I'm starting my second life as a police officer by disowning everything previous experience has taught me. Nevertheless, something told him it was important in this particular case. He treated his instinct with respect. It could be one of his most reliable messengers, as well as his worst enemy. He was certain he was doing the right thing this time.
    Something Martinsson had said made him prick up his ears. Or perhaps it was something he had not said.
    His train of thought was interrupted by Björk slamming his fist on the table. This normally meant that the Chief of Police was annoyed or impatient.
    "I've asked for pastries," he said, "but there's no sign of them. I suggest we break off at this point and that you fill Kurt in on the details. We'll meet again this afternoon. We might even have something to go with our coffee by then."
    When Björk had left the room, they all gathered round the end of the table he had vacated. Wallander felt he had to say something. He had no right simply to barge in on the team and pretend nothing had happened.
    "I'll try to start at the beginning," he said. "It's been a rough time. I honestly didn't think I'd ever be able to get back to work. Killing a man, even if it was in self-defence, hit me hard. But I'll do my best."
    Nobody said a word.
    "You mustn't think we don't understand," Martinsson said, at last. "Even if police work trains you to get used to just about everything, making you think there's no end to how awful life can be, it really strikes home when adversity lands on somebody you know well. If it makes you feel any better, I can tell you that we've missed you just as much as we missed Rydberg a few years ago."
    Dear old Chief Inspector Rydberg, who died in the spring of 1991, had been their patron saint. Thanks to his enormous abilities as a police officer, and his willingness to treat everybody in a way that was both straightforward and personal, he had always been right at the heart of every investigation.
    Wallander knew what Martinsson meant.
    Wallander had been the only one who had grown so close to Rydberg that they had been good friends. Behind Rydberg's surly exterior was a person whose knowledge and experience went far beyond the criminal cases they investigated together.
    I've inherited his status, Wallander thought. What Martinsson is really saying is that I should take on the mantle that Rydberg had, but never displayed publicly. Even invisible mantles exist.
    Svedberg stood up.
    "If nobody has any objection I'm going over to Torstensson's offices," he said. "Some people from the Bar Council have turned up and are going through his papers. They want a police officer to be present."
    Martinsson slid a pile of case documents over to Wallander.
    "This is all we've got so far," he said. "I expect you'd like a bit of peace and quiet to work your way through them."
    Wallander nodded. "The road accident. Gustaf Torstensson."
    Martinsson looked up at him in surprise. "That's finished and done with," he said. "The old fellow drove into a field."
    "If you don't mind, I'd still like to see the reports," Wallander said, tentatively.
    Martinsson shrugged. "I'll drop them off in Hanson's office."
    "Not any more," Wallander said. "My old room is mine again."
    Martinsson got to his