Free The Man from Beijing by Henning Mankell Page A

nothing was stolen, if I understand things correctly. The probability is that some sick individual was responsible. What lies behind it, goodness only knows. I assume the police up there are lining up knownviolent criminals with psychological problems. They’ve doubtless been in touch already with Interpol and Europol in the hope of finding a clue that way, but such things take time. That’s all I know.”
    “You know police officers all over Sweden. Do you have a contact up in Hälsingland? Somebody I could perhaps phone?”
    “I’ve met their chief of police,” said Malmberg. “A man by the name of Ludwig. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t all that impressed by him. As you know, I don’t have much time for police officers who’ve never been out in the real world. But I can call him and see what he has to say.”
    “I promise not to disturb them unnecessarily. I just want to know if it was my mother’s foster parents who died. Or if it was their children. Or if I’ve got the wrong end of the stick altogether.”
    “That’s a fair-enough reason for calling them. I’ll see what I can do. But I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me now. I have an unpleasant interview with a very nasty violent man coming up.”
    That evening she told Staffan what had happened. His immediate reaction was that the doctor had done the right thing, and he suggested that she should take a trip to the south and the sun. His lack of interest irritated her. But she didn’t say anything.
    Shortly before lunch the following day, when she was sitting in front of her computer and surveying holiday offers, her telephone rang.
    “I’ve got a name for you,” said Hugo Malmberg. “There’s a woman police officer called Sundberg.”
    “I’ve seen that name in the papers, but I didn’t know it was a woman.”
    “Her first name’s Vivian, but she’s known as Vivi. Ludwig will pass your name on to her, so that she knows who you are when you call her. I’ve got a phone number.”
    “Thanks for your help. Incidentally, I might go south for a few days. Have you ever been to Tenerife?”
    “Never. Good luck.”
    Roslin immediately dialed the number she’d been given. An answering machine invited her to leave a message.
    Once again she took out the vacuum cleaner, but couldn’t bring herself to use it. Instead she returned to the computer and within an hour or so had decided on a trip to Tenerife departing from Copenhagen two days later. She dug out an old school atlas and began dreaming of warm water and Spanish wines.
    Maybe it’s just what I need, she thought. A week without Staffan, withouttrials, without the daily grind. I’m not exactly experienced in confronting my emotions or indeed my life. But at my age I ought to be able to look at myself objectively and face up to my weaknesses and to change things if necessary. Once upon a time, when I was young, I used to dream of becoming the first woman to sail around the world single-handed. It never happened. But nevertheless, maybe I could do with a few days sailing out to Denmark, or strolling along a beach in Tenerife. Either will work out if old age is already catching up with me, or if I can scramble out of the hole I’m sinking into. I managed menopause pretty well, but I’m not really sure what’s happening to me now. What I must establish first of all is whether my high blood pressure and panic attacks have anything to do with Staffan. I must understand that we will never feel content unless we lift ourselves out of our current dispirited state.
    She started planning her trip without further ado. There was a glitch that prevented her from finalizing her booking online, so she e-mailed her name and telephone number, and specified the package she was interested in. She had an immediate reply, saying she would be contacted within an hour.
    Almost an hour later the telephone rang. But it wasn’t the travel agency.
    “Vivi Sundberg here. I’d like to speak to Birgitta