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    Faceless Killers: A Mystery
    Faceless Killers: A Mystery
    Faceless Killers: A Mystery
    Ebook347 pages5 hours

    Faceless Killers: A Mystery

    By Henning Mankell and Steven T. Murray

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    A #1 international bestseller: This “exquisite novel of mesmerizing depth” launched the acclaimed Wallander Mysteries and BBC series starring Kenneth Branagh (Los Angeles Times).
     
    Early one morning, a small-town farmer discovers that his neighbors have been victims of a brutal attack during the night: An old man has been bludgeoned to death, and his tortured wife lies dying before the farmer’s eyes. The only clue is the single word she utters before she dies: “foreign.”
     
    In charge of the investigation is Inspector Kurt Wallander, a local detective whose personal life is in a shambles. His family is falling apart, he’s gaining weight, and he drinks too much and sleeps too little. Tenacious and levelheaded in his sleuthing, he and his colleagues must contend with a wave of violent xenophobia as they search for the killers.
     
    Winner of the Sweden’s Best Mystery Award and the first installment in the series that inspired the PBS program Wallander starring Kenneth Branagh, Faceless Killers is a razor-sharp, stylishly dark police procedural with searing social commentary that reaches beyond its genre to produce “a superior novel—and a harbinger of great things to come” (Booklist).
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOpen Road Integrated Media
    Release dateMay 10, 2011
    ISBN9781595586100
    Faceless Killers: A Mystery

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    Reviews for Faceless Killers

    3.5/5

    1,605 ratings109 reviews

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    • 3/5
      I've always like mysteries and suspense. So when I saw this recommended by the editor of the "First Things Magazine", I decided to give it a try. While checking it out at my local library, the librarian asked if the main character was a tortured soul. And in a sense he is, but a functioning one. The books are not fast-paced, but deliberately slow and inward. They're worth the read for entertainment sake.
    • 4/5
      I read this book years ago, and read through the whole series of Kurt Wallender novels in weeks. Now it's on PBS Mystery series, and while the photography is gorgeous, I thought Kenneth Branaugh made the detective a bit too gloomy, so I reread the first of the Wallender books to judge for myself. I do think the TV series misses the absurdity and concentrates heavily on the depressing. The sparks of humor and hope are missing, and the backstory has been sanitized. But Branaugh's Wallender is growing on me.
    • 4/5
      A proper detective story with a properly flawed, divorced, drinking-to-drown-his-sorrows detective. I like Wallander. The stakes are high - innocent people will die if the detective doesn't do his job well and fast. The ending is a little haphazard when a complete coincidence helps solve one of the crimes. Solid first in a series. It was very strange to read a Swedish book in translation and I found myself giggling at a couple of really funky errors the translator, Steven T. Murray, made, but overall he did a fairly good job.
    • 4/5
      Maybe not the most exciting mystery out there, but Wallander is a book detective I can get behind. He isn't brilliant or flashy, he's just pretty good at his job. The book also provides an interesting glimpse into the changes and challenges facing modern Sweden, a theme that I hope will be continued in the rest of the series.
    • 3/5
      Police procedural set in Sweden, in some ways even more depressing than the Sjowall-Wahloo series, but very well written and I will probably read more of Mankell's books, just maybe not in February!
    • 3/5
      This is the first book in Mankell's Wallander series. I thought, since I'm such a big fan of Scandinavian mysteries, I ought to give it a try (especially if I'm eventually going to watch the BBC/PBS show based on the books). I guess I liked the book. The mystery was engrossing, but I'm not sure I liked Wallander. I definitely see why the books are popular, Wallander is a very flawed detective who is good as his job. But in this book, there were certain things that he did that I just didn't like and I don't think I'm going to read any of the other books. I might still watch the series, but one Mankell is enough for me.
    • 3/5
      Heard these were coming up on Masterpiece Mystery, so thought I would check them out. Interesting to read about the "refugee" controversy in Sweden, following behind a well-drawn character in the person of police inspector Kurt Wallander. Also get a taste of the complications of his family life...Dark (as one might guess from the title) but I liked it.
    • 5/5
      I LOVED it. I don't read an enormous amount of fiction, but I saw the Masterpiece Mystery and enjoyed it. I figured, "What the Heck?" I'm so glad I did. If you like a good, tightly written (non-cozy...Who wants a brownie recipe halfway through a murder?) this is for you. I'm off to get the rest of his books.
    • 3/5
      This book is definitely different from the police novels I've read in the past. The majority of the ones I've read had been rather fast paced filled with lots of intrigue and twists that I'm racing through the novel at an alarming rate. This one was very different. It wasn't fast paced but it was steady and although a little slow at times, it actually got me interested as the criminal investigation went on. It was a gradual procedure, and not one that would take overnight to solve. It had its exciting moments, but moments where you had to sit down and reflect as to what was going on, and it was a much different kind of police procedural novel I have ever seen so far. It was a good balance of careful analysis and examination mixed with intrigue and action. The plot did a good job of drawing you into the crime and having you also reflect and examine on how to solve it. I felt just as frustrated like Kurt was feeling when it felt as if he kept on reaching dead ends and cold trails that would lead nowhere in solving the crime.The thing I liked the most was the character in Kurt Wallander. He's very real and three dimensional. He had his own issues to solve and it involved a total different story arc on its own aside from the murder case so you're not entirely focused on the mystery. You also got to see the "human" side of Kurt as well which I enjoyed and very much liked. It gave the story a much more realistic feeling to it and not something sensation or "Hollywood" about the entire plot. Kurt had his own faults too and so did his colleagues. I also liked how the story also focused on the secondary characters as well (especially his partner Rydberg, who also has major problems of his own). It was great to see realistic almost "fleshy" characters in the book.I guess what I didn't really like was I'm not used to this style of writing, so I was really expecting this big flash bang sensational ending where I would be left speechless. This book isn't meant to be that way. The case was closed, and solved and that was that. No big gunfight. No SWAT team. No hostages. No Channel 6 news helicopters flying overhead (har har). It was simple, clean cut, and done. Then again the entire book was like that; clean and to the point. It was like one giant puzzle being put together and having the satisfaction of having it completed on time. Nothing celebratory or excitement just job done, go home and relax. I suppose that's how it's really done and if so, then it's another good job at keeping the story realistic.Would I read the books following this? sure, why not? it's a short read and I don't regret picking this book up. Although it's not exciting as I hoped it would be, it held my attention enough to keep me going, as I was curious as to who did it and why. Secrets were exposed, and closure was met, and all loose ends were tied. It was well done and complete. Overall, don't be looking for grand excitement in this one. Just a good realistic police detective novel. It's realistic, and interesting as it takes you along a journey through Sweden and their way of life. It's definitely worth giving it a try if you're up for something mellow and a more on the serious side of the police force.
    • 3/5
      I'm a sucker for atmosphere and setting, and Mankell does these very well (Swedish winter: gray, cold, snow, ice: what could be better?). There's nothing particularly appealing about the protagonist, Kurt Wallander, and his relations with those around him--his father, fellow cops, the beautiful prosecutor--are a little too sketchy for full character development. Still,the story moves along smartly and interplay between the setting and the plot development works to a T. This was my first book by Mankell and I liked it well enough to get more.
    • 2/5
      A dreary dark murder of an old married couple of farmers starts the investigation. Main character of Wallander is depressed and saddened with his life. He never gives up on solving the murder. Wanted to read this because of PBS series but it's too dark for my likening.
    • 4/5
      The book is a 1991, police procedural mystery by Swedish author Henning Mankell and translated from the Swedish by Steven T. Murray. It is the first in the series featuring the senior police officer Kurt Wallander. The story is set in Sweden, it is January 1990 and Wallander is covering for the chief who is on vacation. He is called out to an isolated farmhouse and discovers a heinous murder of an old farmer and his wife. There is no clues except for a word spoken by the woman prior to her death. This word causes an outbreak of racial hatred when it is leaked to the press. As the first book of a series, we are introduced to Wallander, a man in his forties, his wife has left him, his daughter is not talking to him and his aging father is ornery and possibly senile. It's a decent mystery of the police procedural type and like most mystery thriller's easy to read. It is a 1001 Book You Must Read Before You Die but other than being Swedish I am not sure what it offers in the development of the novel. The theme of racial hatred stems from the influx of foreigners seeking asylum and the political and social problems that occur.
    • 4/5
      For some reason, it seems like Swedish writers believe it to be essential to the story to go into detail the names of the streets and towns, mostly unpronounceable,as if the reader cares which street they turned onto from which street when it has no bearing at all on the story. A small criticism but one I also found in my favorite Girl with Dragon Tattoo series. This is a great tale about solving a murder where very few things are as they appear. The story deals with an honest but personally flawed detective and his men as they fumble their way to resolution. The writer skillfully portrays the bleak Swedish winter and the atmosphere existing in rural Sweden. I enjoyed it and believe most anyone will find much to like
    • 4/5
      I enjoyed this first appearance of Mankell's Wallander. The mystery is good, the characters are human and well-drawn, and the atmospherics make for great reading. Winter in rural Sweden makes for an awfully good mystery setting, not surprisingly, and Mankell carries it off well.
    • 4/5
      Not as dense as Dragon Tatoo or as vivid as Burkes Robicheaux novels but still a good read and a sympathetic detective. I will try another one.
    • 4/5
      I really enjoyed this first book in the Kurt Wallender series—a very real detective dealing with an intriguing murder. Wallender came across as completely human—nabbed for drunk driving, struggling with a separation from his wife, unsure how to deal with his daughter. I also liked the social commentary as Wallender contemplated the changes happening in Swedish society.
    • 3/5
      I blame the book Well of Lost Plots for not being into this short tale. In Well of Lost Plots the stereotypical divorced, drinking, insomniac detective is much mocked. The lead character in this book fits the bill. Perhaps when I have distanced myself from the other book I will be able to return and enjoy this one.
    • 4/5
      Smooth noir detective fiction exploring anti-immigrant feelings in Sweden, this is the first of Henning Mankell's Kurt Wallander novels from the series that would later inspire the BBC series Wallander. The opera-loving detective is an appealing underdog, bad at just about every part of his life except his job: he's gloomy, drinks too much, weighs too much, has troubled family relationships, dreads the Swedish winter, and frets over his country falling apart. Ultimately, though, his courage and unwavering insistence on justice make him worthy of our care and attention. Though the novel's moments of high drama are limited, Faceless Killers is a likeable, realistic, understated police procedural.
    • 3/5
      Is it Mankell's style I don't like, or the translation? Impossible to know, of course, but I must say the writing didn't "flow." I wasn't too happy about the resolution of the crime, either - most of the book goes down one road, but at the end Mankell makes a u-turn and solution seems almost random.
    • 4/5
      I have just finished reading Faceless Killers by Henning Mankell, the first in the Kurt Wallander series. I am a latecomer to the series as this book was written 20 years ago. Mankell has a huge fan base from all over the world and in fact the Wallander novels have been translated into 45 languages and have sold over 30 million copies.There have also been several screen adaptations of Wallander, both Swedish and British (with Kenneth Branagh in the British version.)I don't normally read crime fiction as it doesn't generally appeal to me but I was tempted by this after having recently watched the excellent The Killing on BBC 4 and The Millennium Trilogy on DVD.Scandinavia is somewhere I would love to visit and so anything set here is immediately more appealing to me. There seems to be a huge surge in interest in the Scandinavian crime fiction genre and I am not ashamed to admit I have jumped on to the bandwagon.From the start of Faceless Killers, it is obvious that Wallander is going to be a complex character. He is going through a lot of turmoil in his private life- the recent breakdown of his marriage, his father's ill health and a troubled relationship with his daughter.He also has an alcohol problem, lives off a diet of junk food and is a workaholic. His marriage breakdown has affected him deeply and in desperation he tries unsuccessfully to begin a relationship with the attractive and more importantly, married, acting public prosecutor Anette Brolin.The main plot of the story is the brutal murder of an elderly farmer and his wife at an isolated farmhouse in the Swedish countryside. When the couple are discovered, the man is already dead but his wife is still alive and manages to utter the word 'foreign' before she dies.This one word leads to the conclusion that the awful deed has been committed by an immigrant and there is a public backlash against a nearby refugee centre.Wallander and his team of colleagues not only have to solve the murder, but also have to protect the refugees from attacks of a racist nature.Manning's writing is fast paced and engrossing. He explains the investigation process in a logical precise manner and it is easy to follow what is happening. There are poignant scenes, such as the one where Wallander's senile father thinks he is leaving home to travel to Italy to paint, dressed in a big hat and pyjamas.Manning handles this scene beautifully, showing a softer caring side to Wallander.I was very interested to listen to Henning Mankell talk about this book on the World Book Club broadcast in July of this year. In the interview, he says that he didn't create Kurt Wallander and then write stories around the character but rather that the story came first and that he felt he needed a policeman in his story.The interview is well worth a listen, whether you are a Henning Mankell fan or like me, totally new to his work. He comes across as a genuinely very nice man with a superb sense of humour and total humility.I shall certainly be reading more of his novels, both the Wallander series and his other general fiction.I would rate this book as 8 out of 10. The storyline is a good one and keeps you guessing until the end although it does finish a little abruptly. Worth a read.
    • 4/5
      Very enjoyable. I'm on a Swedish detective kick and finding there are such a lot of them. I found this one very satisfying in an old-fashioned kind of way. It's a police procedural with a very endearing middle-aged detective, Kurt Wallender. It clips right along and while there is violence, it is not a gritty kind of mystery. The blurbs compare him to Georges Simenon and that seems apt--I feel this is an author with a very subtle understanding of human nature, compassion, and a great eye for detail.
    • 5/5
      I'd already come across Kurt Wallander thanks to the excellent Kenneth Branagh series, but this is the first time I've picked up one of the original novels. Happily, I liked it so much that I'm all ready to go on a rampage and buy the rest of the books AND the two television series. I love it when that happens!The novel opens with the discovery of a horrific murder in the isolated farming community of Lunnarp. Called in by a terrified neighbour, Inspector Wallander arrives to find a mutilated and bloodied old man dead in his farmhouse bedroom. His wife is alive, but only barely, with a noose cruelly knotted around her neck. Armed with a host of confusing clues, uneasy hunches and the word 'foreign', repeated by the old woman on her deathbed, Wallander and his team must pull out all the stops to find the killers before the media storm around the case sparks a national wave of racial hate crime. I found the whole novel absolutely fascinating, and it was a great brain work-out. I couldn't stop mulling over everything that had happened so far, and every time I put the book down I was itching to get back to it again! I think it helps that the reader is basically inside Kurt Wallander's mind from start to finish, even though it's written in the third person. He's a thoughtful, clever, kind and immensely human character, with a fierce sense of justice and a touch of quiet vulnerability - the kind of cop every reader will be rooting for! I also liked that this was very much a procedural novel, rather than a forensic gorefest, and the way the Swedish setting really came to life on the page. Mr Mankell - you have another new convert! Highly recommended.
    • 4/5
      The first in the series, this is a good introduction to Kurt Wallender, a middle-aged Swedish detective whose life is beginning to fall apart: his wife has left him, he is turning to alcohol for comfort, he appears to have a dysfunctional relationship with his daughter, and his father is beginning to suffer from senility. Although there is much going wrong in his life, he's not broken but quite capable of handling the job, even a tough one such as this. In this story Swedish policy on immigrants and refugees plays a part when a brutal double murder is thought to have been committed by "foreigners", indicating a group in transition that makes them practically untraceable. Although the book was published in 1991, similar immigration issues still exist in many European countries to the present day. A well-written mystery that portrayed a complicated, engaging character as well as the country. I enjoyed this better than any other Scandi crime novel I've tried so far. Apart from one or two minor anomalies that indicated this was not the original language, the translation was good. Recommended.
    • 3/5
      Audiobook. Mankell is always dependable. I love to read about his miserable hero and his concerns about Swedish society. Hearing the book read all of the very Swedish names are quite wonderful. This is an early novel which I hadn't read. I'm a sucker for detective fiction. Liked the way this novel sprawled. Two or three stories really. Watched the BBC version on masterpiece last weekend as well. They did quite butcher the story. But who can not enjoy an unshaven Kenneth Branagh.
    • 4/5
      I enjoyed this first book in Henning Mankell's Kurt Wallander series. I found it to be a page-turner with lots of twists and turns. The characters were well developed and the plot was very clever. It was also a great look at life in Sweden. Wallander reminds me of Rebus, Ian Rankin's chief inspector in Scotland. I will definitely continue this series and look forward to reading the next book in the series.
    • 3/5
      Heard these were coming up on Masterpiece Mystery, so thought I would check them out. Interesting to read about the "refugee" controversy in Sweden, following behind a well-drawn character in the person of police inspector Kurt Wallander. Also get a taste of the complications of his family life...Dark (as one might guess from the title) but I liked it.
    • 4/5
      I thought this sounded familiar but I knew I had never the book...but I did see the DVD. The book and the DVD are very much in agreement with one another. We first meet Kurt Wallander on the case of a murdered farmer and his wife in the dead of the night in a small Swedish village. Kurt Wallander is very distracted as he is dealing with a lot of personal issues involving his family, but he still doggedly pursues the killer or killers responsible for these violent deaths. I found this a bit hard to hold any interest until I became used to Wallander's dark, melancholy moods. It was a good story even though it was slow in parts.
    • 4/5
      Faceless Killers by Henning Mankell; (3 1/2*); Kurt Wallander is a Swedish investigative detective. He is estranged from his wife, his daughter and friends. He has a problematic relationship with his father, who I found to be such an interesting character in the novel. I thought that all of the characters were well developed, that the dialog was very well done and I found the story-line to be quite engaging. I loved the sparse prose style Mankell has used with this series.In this particular book of the series the brutal torture and murder of an elderly farm couple puzzles and horrifies the department. The only clues are the unusual ligature on a rope used in the crime and the wife's dying whisper that their attackers were "foreign". This puts the police on the track of the immigrant population. Wallander soon finds himself spending as much time dealing with attacks by racists as with the initial crime and Mankell uses the scenario as a way to explain both Wallander's own frustration with an immigration system that's obviously badly broken and as a warning about the escalating tensions and the hatreds of folk less level-headed than the detective.Wallander, as a detective, is a sympathetic character and the observations about Sweden in particular and Europe in general I found to be quite a brain-worm for myself. The cultural backdrop, against which the story is set, is as bleak and as barren as the wintry landscape. I definitely recommend this series.
    • 4/5
      Kurt Wallender is the Swedish detective created by Henning Mankell. All Mankell's books are absorbing.
    • 5/5
      After watching 4 seasons of Wallander on Netflix, I was left wanting more. I decided to pick up a couple of Kurt Wallander mystery books by Swedish author Henning Mankell that have been translated from the Swedish by Steven T. Murray.When an elderly farm couple is brutally murdered with no obvious reason, Wallander and his team have few clues to solve this crime. The character of Wallander is a complicated character that can be unpredictable. He is far from being the perfect police inspector, but he is dogged in tracking down the criminals. Faceless killers is a constantly progressing police procedural with a satisfying ending. I am looking forward to the second book I purchased by Henning Mankel, The Pyramid.

    Book preview

    Faceless Killers - Henning Mankell

    Chapter One

    He has forgotten something, he knows that for sure when he wakes up. Something he dreamed during the night. Something he ought to remember.

    He tries to remember. But sleep is like a black hole. A well that reveals nothing of its contents.

    At least I didn’t dream about the bulls, he thinks. Then I would have been all sweaty, as if I had suffered through a fever during the night. This time the bulls left me in peace.

    He lies still in the darkness and listens. His wife’s breathing at his side is so faint that he can hardly hear it.

    One of these mornings she’ll be lying dead beside me and I won’t even notice, he thinks. Or maybe it’ll be me. One of us will die before the other. Daybreak will reveal that one of us has been left all alone.

    He looks at the clock on the table next to the bed. The hands glow and point at quarter to five.

    Why did I wake up? he thinks. I usually sleep till five thirty. I’ve done that for over forty years. Why am I waking up now?

    He listens to the darkness and suddenly he is wide awake.

    Something is different. Something is no longer the way it usually is.

    Carefully he gropes with one hand until he touches his wife’s face. With his fingertips he can feel that she’s warm. So she’s not the one who died. Neither of them has been left alone yet.

    He listens to the darkness.

    The horse, he thinks. She’s not neighing. That’s why I woke up. The mare usually whinnies at night. I hear it without waking up, and in my subconscious I know that I can keep on sleeping.

    Carefully he gets out of the creaky bed. For forty years they’ve owned it. It was the only piece of furniture they bought when they got married. It’s also the only bed they’ll ever have in their lives.

    He can feel his left knee aching as he walks across the wooden floor to the window.

    I’m old, he thinks. Old and used up. Every morning when I wake up I’m surprised all over again that I’m seventy years old.

    He looks out into the winter night. It’s the eighth of January, 1990, and no snow has fallen in Skåne this winter. The lamp outside the kitchen door casts its glow across the yard, the bare chestnut tree, and the fields beyond. He squints his eyes toward the neighboring farm where the Lövgrens live. The long, low white house is dark. The stable in the corner against the farmhouse has a pale yellow lamp above the black stable door. That’s where the mare stands in her stall, and that’s where she suddenly whinnies uneasily at night.

    He listens to the darkness.

    The bed creaks behind him.

    What are you doing? mutters his wife.

    Go back to sleep, he replies. I’m just stretching my legs.

    Is your knee hurting again?

    No.

    Then come back to bed. Don’t stand there freezing, you’ll catch cold.

    He hears her turn over onto her side.

    Once we loved each other, he thinks. But he shields himself from his own thought. That’s too noble a word. Love. It’s not for the likes of us. Someone who has been a farmer for over forty years, who has stood bowed over the heavy Scanian clay, and does not use the word love when he talks about his wife. In our lives, love has always been something totally different.

    He looks at the neighbor’s house, squinting, trying to penetrate the darkness of the winter night.

    Whinny, he thinks. Whinny in your stall so I know that everything’s normal. So I can lie down under the quilt for a little while longer. A retired crippled farmer’s day is long and dreary enough as it is.

    Suddenly he realizes that he’s looking at the kitchen window of the neighbor’s house. Something is different. All these years he has cast an occasional glance at his neighbor’s window. Now something suddenly looks different. Or is it just the darkness that’s confusing him? He blinks and counts to twenty to rest his eyes. Then he looks at the window again, and now he’s sure that it’s open. A window that has always been closed at night is suddenly open. And the mare hasn’t whinnied at all.

    The mare hasn’t whinnied because Lövgren hasn’t taken his usual nightly walk to the stable when his prostate acts up and drives him out of his warm bed.

    I’m just imagining things, he says to himself. My eyes are cloudy. Everything is the same as usual. After all, what could happen here? In the little town of Lenarp, just north of Kade Lake, on the way to beautiful Krageholm Lake, right in the heart of Skåne? Nothing ever happens here. Time stands still in this little town where life flows along like a creek with no vigor or intent. The only people who live here are a few old farmers who have sold or leased out their land to someone else. We live here and wait for the inevitable.

    He looks at the kitchen window again, and he thinks that neither Maria nor Johannes Lövgren would forget to close it. With age a sense of dread comes sneaking in; there are more and more locks, and no one forgets to close a window before nightfall. To grow old is to live in fear. The dread of something menacing that you felt when you were a child returns when you get old.

    I could get dressed and go out, he thinks. Hobble through the yard with the winter wind on my face, up to the fence that divides our property. I could see with my own eyes that I’m just imagining things.

    But he decides to stay put. Soon Johannes will be getting out of bed to make coffee. First he’ll turn on the light in the bathroom, then the light in the kitchen. Everything will be the way it always is.

    He stands by the window and realizes that he’s freezing. The cold of old age that comes creeping in, even in the warmest room. He thinks about Maria and Johannes. We’ve had a marriage with them too, he thinks, as neighbors and as farmers. We’ve helped each other, shared the hardships and the bad years. But we’ve shared the good times too. Together we’ve celebrated Midsummer and eaten Christmas dinner. Our children ran back and forth between the two farms as if they belonged to both. And now we’re sharing the long-drawn-out years of old age.

    Without knowing why, he opens the window, carefully so as not to wake Hanna. He holds on tight to the latch so that the gusty winter wind won’t tear it out of his hand. But the night is completely calm, and he recalls that the weather report on the radio had said nothing about any storm approaching over the Scanian plain.

    The starry sky is clear, and it is very cold. He is just about to close the window again when he thinks he hears a sound. He listens and turns, with his left ear toward the open window. His good ear, not his bad right ear that was injured by all the time he spent cooped up in stuffy, rumbling tractors.

    A bird, he thinks. A night bird calling.

    Suddenly he is afraid. Out of nowhere the fear appears and seizes him.

    It sounds like somebody shouting. In despair, trying to make someone else hear.

    A voice that knows it has to penetrate through thick stone walls to catch the attention of the neighbors.

    I’m imagining things, he thinks again. There’s nobody shouting. Who would it be?

    He closes the window so hard that it makes a flowerpot jump, and Hanna wakes up.

    What are you doing? she says, and he can hear that she’s annoyed.

    As he replies, he suddenly feels sure.

    The terror is real.

    The mare isn’t whinnying, he says, sitting down on the edge of the bed. And the Lövgrens’ kitchen window is wide open. And someone is shouting.

    She sits up in bed.

    What did you say?

    He doesn’t want to answer, but now he’s sure that it wasn’t a bird he heard.

    It’s Johannes or Maria, he says. One of them is calling for help.

    She gets out of bed and goes over to the window. Big and wide, she stands there in her white nightgown and looks out into the dark.

    The kitchen window isn’t open, she whispers. It’s smashed.

    He goes over to her, and now he’s so cold that he’s shaking.

    There’s someone shouting for help, she says, and her voice quavers.

    What should we do?

    Go over there, she says. Hurry up!

    But what if it’s dangerous?

    Aren’t we going to help our best friends if something has happened?

    He dresses quickly, takes the flashlight from the kitchen cupboard next to the corks and coffee cans.

    The clay outside is frozen under his feet. When he turns around he catches a glimpse of Hanna in the window.

    Up by the fence he stops. Everything is quiet. Now he can see that the kitchen window is broken. Cautiously he climbs over the low fence and approaches the white house. But no voice calls to him.

    I’m just imagining things, he thinks again. I’m an old man who can’t figure out what’s really happening anymore. Maybe I even dreamed about the bulls last night. The old dream about the bulls charging toward me when I was a boy and making me realize that someday I would die.

    Then he hears the cry again. It’s weak, like a moan. It’s Maria.

    He goes over to the bedroom window and peeks in cautiously through the gap between the curtain and the window frame.

    Suddenly he knows that Johannes is dead. He shines his flashlight inside and blinks hard before he forces himself to look.

    Maria is crumpled up on the floor, tied to a chair. Her face is bloody and her false teeth lie broken on her spattered nightgown.

    Then he sees one of Johannes’s feet. All he can see is his foot. The rest of his body is hidden by the curtain.

    He limps back and climbs over the fence again. His knee aches as he desperately stumbles across the frozen clay.

    First he calls the police.

    Then he takes his crowbar out of a closet that smells like mothballs.

    Wait here, he tells Hanna. You don’t need to see this.

    What happened? she asks with tears of fear in her eyes.

    I don’t know, he says. But I woke up because the mare wasn’t neighing in the night. I know that for sure.

    It is the eighth of January, 1990.

    Not yet dawn.

    Chapter Two

    The incoming telephone call was recorded by the Ystad police at 5:13 AM. It was taken by an exhausted officer who had been on duty almost without a break since New Year’s Eve. He had listened to the stammering voice on the phone and thought that it was just some deranged senior citizen. But something had sparked his attention nevertheless. He started asking questions. When the conversation was over, he hesitated for just a moment before lifting the receiver again and dialing a number he knew by heart.

    Kurt Wallander was asleep. He had stayed up far too long the night before, listening to recordings of Maria Callas that a good friend had sent him from Bulgaria. Again and again he had returned to her Traviata, and it was close to two AM before he finally went to bed. By the time the ring of the telephone roused him from sleep, he was deep in an intense erotic dream. As if to assure himself that he had only been dreaming, he reached out and felt the covers next to him. But he was alone in the bed. Neither his wife, who had left him three months earlier, nor the black woman with whom he had just been making fierce love in his dream, was present.

    He looked at the clock as he reached for the phone. A car crash, he thought instantly. Treacherous ice and someone driving too fast and then spinning off E14. Or trouble with refugees arriving on the morning ferry from Poland.

    He scooted up in bed and pressed the receiver to his cheek, feeling the sting of his unshaven skin.

    Wallander.

    I hope I didn’t wake you.

    No, damn it. I’m awake.

    Why do I lie? he thought. Why don’t I just say it like it is? That all I want is to go back to sleep and recapture a fleeting dream in the form of a naked woman.

    I thought I should call you.

    Traffic accident?

    No, not exactly. An old farmer called and said his name was Nyström. Lives in Lenarp. He claimed that the woman next door was tied up on the floor and that someone was dead.

    Wallander thought quickly about where Lenarp was located. Not so far from Marsvinsholm, in a region that was unusually hilly for Skåne.

    It sounded serious. I thought it best to call you at home.

    Who have you got at the station right now?

    Peters and Norén are out looking for someone who broke a window at the Continental. Shall I call them?

    Tell them to drive out to the crossroads between Kade Lake and Katslösa and wait there till I show up. Give them the address. When did the call come in?

    A few minutes ago.

    Sure it wasn’t just some drunk calling?

    Didn’t sound like it.

    Huh. All right then.

    Wallander dressed quickly without showering, poured himself a cup of the lukewarm coffee that was still in the thermos, and looked out the window. He lived on Mariagatan in central Ystad, and the façade of the building across from him was cracked and gray. He wondered fleetingly whether there would be any snow in Skåne this winter. He hoped not. Scanian snowstorms always brought periods of uninterrupted drudgery. Car wrecks, snowbound women going into labor, isolated old people, and downed power lines. With the snowstorms came chaos, and he felt ill equipped to meet the chaos this winter. The anxiety of his wife leaving him still burned inside him.

    He drove down Regementsgatan until he came out on Osterleden. At Dragongatan he was stopped by a red light, and he turned on the car radio to listen to the news. An excited voice was talking about a plane that had crashed on some far-off continent.

    A time to live and a time to die, he thought as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He had adopted this incantation many years ago. Back then he was a young policeman cruising the streets in his home town of Malmö. A drunk had suddenly pulled out a big butcher knife as he and his partner were trying to take him away in the squad car from Pildamm Park. Wallander was stabbed deep, right next to his heart. A few millimeters were all that saved him from an unexpected death. He had been twenty-three then, suddenly profoundly aware of what it meant to be a cop. The incantation was his way of fending off the memories.

    He drove out of the city, passing the newly built furniture warehouse at the edge of town, and caught a glimpse of the sea in the distance. It was gray but oddly quiet for the middle of the Scanian winter. Far off toward the horizon there was the silhouette of a ship heading east.

    The snowstorms are on their way, he thought.

    Sooner or later they’ll be upon us.

    He shut off the car radio and tried to concentrate on what was in store for him.

    What did he know, really?

    An old woman, tied up on the floor? A man who claimed he saw her through a window? Wallander sped up after he passed the turnoff to Bjäre Lake and thought that it was undoubtedly an old man who was struck by a sudden flare-up of senility. In his many years on the force he had seen more than once how old, isolated people would call the police as a desperate cry for help.

    The squad car was waiting for him at the side road toward Kade Lake. Peters had climbed out and was watching a hare bounding back and forth out in a field.

    When he saw Wallander approaching in his blue Peugeot, he raised his hand in greeting and got in behind the wheel.

    The frozen gravel crunched under the car tires. Kurt Wallander followed the police car. They passed the turnoff toward Trunnerup and continued up some steep hills until they came to Lenarp. They swung onto a narrow dirt road that was hardly more than a tractor rut. After a kilometer they were there. Two farms next to each other, two whitewashed farmhouses, and carefully tended gardens.

    An elderly man came hurrying toward them. Wallander saw that he was limping, as if one knee was bothering him.

    When Wallander got out of the car he noticed that the wind had started to blow. Maybe the snow was on the way after all.

    As soon as he saw the old man he knew that something truly unpleasant awaited him. In the man’s eyes shone a horror that could not be imaginary.

    I broke open the door, he repeated feverishly, over and over. I broke open the door because I had to see. But she’ll be dead soon too.

    They went in through the broken door. Wallander was met by a pungent old-man smell. The wallpaper was old-fashioned, and he was forced to squint to be able to see anything in the dim light.

    So what happened here? he asked.

    In there, replied the old man.

    Then he started to cry.

    The three policemen looked at each other.

    Wallander pushed open the door with one foot.

    It was worse than he had imagined. Much worse. Later he would say that it was the worst he had ever seen. And he had seen plenty.

    The old couple’s bedroom was soaked in blood. It had even splashed onto the porcelain lamp hanging from the ceiling. Prostrate across the bed lay an old man with no shirt on and his long underwear pulled down. His face was crushed beyond recognition. It looked as though someone had tried to cut off his nose. His hands were tied behind his back and his left thigh was shattered. The white bone shone against all that red.

    Oh shit, he heard Norén moan behind him, and Wallander felt nauseated himself.

    Ambulance, he said, swallowing. Hurry up.

    Then they bent over the woman, half-lying on the floor, tied to a chair. Whoever tied her up had rigged a noose around her scrawny neck. She was breathing feebly, and Wallander yelled at Peters to find a knife. They cut off the thin rope that was digging deep into her wrists and neck, and laid her gently on the floor. Wallander held her head on his knee.

    He looked at Peters and realized that they were both thinking the same thing. Who could have been cruel enough to do this? Tying a noose on a helpless old woman.

    Wait outside, said Wallander to the sobbing old man standing in the doorway. Wait outside and don’t touch anything.

    He could hear that his voice sounded like a roar.

    I’m yelling because I’m scared, he thought. What kind of world are we living in?

    Almost twenty minutes passed before the ambulance arrived. The woman’s breathing grew more and more irregular, and Wallander was starting to worry that it might come too late.

    He recognized the ambulance driver, who was named Antonson.

    His assistant was a young man he had never seen before.

    Hi, said Wallander. He’s dead. But the woman here is alive. Try to keep her that way.

    What happened? asked Antonson.

    I hope she’ll be able to tell us, if she makes it. Hurry up now!

    When the ambulance had vanished down the gravel road, Wallander and Peters went outside. Norén was wiping his face with a handkerchief. The dawn was slowly approaching. Wallander looked at his wristwatch. Seven twenty-eight.

    It’s a slaughterhouse in there, said Peters.

    Worse, replied Wallander. Call in and request a full team. Tell Norén to seal off the area. I’m going to talk to the old man.

    Just as he said that, he heard something that sounded like a scream. He jumped, and then the scream came again.

    It was a horse whinnying.

    They went over to the stable and opened the door. Inside in the dark a horse was rustling in its stall. The place smelled of warm manure and urine.

    Give the horse some water and hay, said Wallander. Maybe there are other animals here too.

    When he emerged from the stable he gave a shudder. Black birds were screeching in a lone tree far out in a field. He sucked the cold air into his throat and noticed that the wind was picking up.

    Your name is Nyström, he said to the man, who by now had stopped weeping. You have to tell me what happened here. If I understand correctly, you live in the house next door.

    The man nodded. What happened here? he asked in a quavering voice.

    That’s what I’m hoping you can tell me, said Wallander. Maybe we could go into your house.

    In the kitchen a woman in an old-fashioned dressing gown sat slumped on a chair crying. But as soon as Wallander introduced himself she got up and started to make coffee. The men sat down at the kitchen table. Wallander saw the Christmas decorations still hanging in the window. An old cat lay on the windowsill, staring at him without blinking. He reached out his hand to pet it.

    He bites, said Nyström. He’s not much used to people. Except for Hanna and me.

    Kurt Wallander thought of his wife who had left him and wondered where to begin. A bestial murder, he thought. And if we’re really unlucky, it’ll soon be a double murder.

    Suddenly he had an idea. He knocked on the kitchen window to get Norén’s attention.

    Excuse me for a moment, he said, getting up.

    The horse had both water and hay, said Norén. There weren’t any other animals.

    See that someone goes over to the hospital, said Wallander. In case she wakes up and says something. She must have seen everything.

    Norén nodded.

    Send somebody with good ears, said Wallander. Preferably someone who can read lips.

    When he came back into the kitchen he took off his overcoat and laid it on the kitchen sofa.

    Now tell me, he said. Tell me, and don’t leave anything out. Take your time.

    After two cups of weak coffee he could see that neither Nyström nor his wife had anything significant to tell. He got some of the chronology and the life story of the couple who had been attacked.

    He had two questions left.

    Do you know if they kept any large sums of money in the house? he asked.

    No, said Nyström. They put everything in the bank. Their pensions too. And they weren’t rich. When they sold off the fields and the animals and the machinery, they gave the money to their children.

    The second question seemed meaningless to him. But he asked it anyway. In this situation he had no choice.

    Do you know if they had any enemies? he asked.

    Enemies?

    Anybody who could have possibly done this?

    They didn’t seem to understand his question.

    He repeated it.

    The two old people looked at each other, uncomprehending.

    People like us don’t have any enemies, the man replied. Wallander noticed that he sounded offended. Sometimes we quarrel with each other. About maintaining a wagon path or the location of the pasture boundaries. But we don’t kill each other.

    Wallander nodded.

    I’ll be in touch again soon, he said, getting up with his coat in his hand. If you think of anything else, don’t hesitate to call the police. Ask for me, Inspector Wallander.

    What if they come back...? asked the old woman.

    Wallander shook his head.

    They won’t be back, he said. It was most likely robbers. They never come back. There’s nothing for you to worry about.

    He thought that he ought to say something more to reassure them. But what? What security could he offer to people who had just seen their closest neighbor brutally murdered? Who had to wait and see whether a second person was going to die?

    The horse, he said. Who will give it hay?

    We will, replied the old man. We’ll see that she gets what she needs.

    Wallander went outside into the cold dawn. The wind had increased, and he hunched his shoulders as he walked toward his car. Actually he ought to stay here and give the crime-scene technicians a hand. But he was freezing and feeling lousy and didn’t want to stay any longer than necessary. Besides, he saw through the window that it was Rydberg who had come with the team’s car. That meant that the techs wouldn’t finish their work until they had turned over and inspected every lump of clay at the

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