Free Faceless Killers by Henning Mankell

to become an impresario, and Widén's tenor would resound from the opera stages of the world.
    Wallander had been a policeman back then. And he still was.
    When Widén realised that his voice wasn't good enough, he had taken over his father's run-down racing stables. Their earlier friendship had not been able to withstand the shared disappointment. At one time they had seen each other every day, but now eleven years had passed since their last meeting. Even though they lived no more than 50 kilometres apart.
    "You've put on weight," said Wid£n, moving a stack of newspapers from a wooden chair.
    "And you haven't" said Wallander, conscious of his own irritation.
    "Racehorse trainers seldom get fat," said Wid6n, laughing nervously again. "Skinny legs, skinny wallets. Except for the big time trainers, of course. Khan or Strasser. They can afford it."
    "So how's it going?" asked Wallander, sitting down on the chair.
    "So so," said Widén. "I get by. I've always got one horse in training that does well. I get in a few new colts and manage to keep the place going. But actually - " He broke off.
    Then he stretched, opened a drawer in his desk, and pulled out a half-empty bottle of whisky.
"Want some?" he asked.
    Wallander shook his head. "It wouldn't look good if a policeman got caught for being drunk in charge," he replied. "Though it happens once in a while."
    "Well, skal , anyway," said Widén, drinking from the bottle.
    He extracted a cigarette from a crumpled pack and rummaged through the papers and form guides before he found a lighter.
    "How's Mona doing?" he asked. "And Linda? And your dad? And your sister, what's her name, Kerstin?"
"Kristina."
    "That's it. Kristina. I've never had a particularly good memory, you know that." "You never forgot the music." "I didn't?"
    He drank from the bottle again, and Wallander could see that something was troubling him. Maybe he shouldn't have dropped by. Maybe Sten didn't want to be reminded of what once had been.
    "Mona and I have split up," Wallander said, "and Linda's got her own place. Dad is the same as ever. He keeps painting that picture of his. But I think he's becoming a little senile. I don't really know what to do with him."
"Did you know that I got married?" said Widén.
    Wallander wondered whether he'd heard a word he'd said. "I didn't know that."
    "I took over these damned stables, after all. When Dad finally realised that he was too old to take care of the horses, he started doing some serious drinking. Before, he always had control over how much he put away. I realised that I couldn't handle him and his drinking mates. So I married one of the girls who worked here, mainly because she was so good with Dad. She treated him like an old horse. Didn't try to change his habits, but set limits for him. Took the hose and rinsed him off when he got too filthy. But when Dad died, it seemed to me as if she started to smell like him. So I got a divorce."
    He took a swig from the bottle, and Wallander could see that he was beginning to get drunk.
    "Every day I think about selling this place," he said. "I own the farm itself. I could probably get a million for the whole thing. After the mortgage is paid off, I might have 400,000 kronor left over. Then I'll buy a camper and hit the road."
"Where to?"
    "That's just it. I don't know. There's nowhere I want to go"
    Wallander felt uncomfortable listening to this. Even though Widén was outwardly no different, on the inside he had gone through some big changes. It was the voice of a ghost talking to him, cracked and despairing. Ten years ago Sten Widén had been happy and high-spirited, the first to invite you to a party. Now his love of life seemed gone.
    The girl who had asked if Wallander was a policeman rode past the window.
"Who's she?" he asked. "She could tell I was police."
    "Her name is Louise," said Widén. "She could probably smell it. She's been in and out of institutions since she was 12. I'm her guardian. She's good with the