Faceless Killers by Henning Mankell

was the money," Lars Herdin said.
"What money?"
"All the money they had!"
"Could you clarify that a little?"
"The German money."
    Wallander looked at Hansson, who shrugged slightly. Wallander took this to mean that he had to be patient.
    "I think we're going to need a little more detail on this," he said. "Do you think you could be more specific?"
    "Lövgren and his father made money during the war," said Herdin. "They kept livestock in secret on some forest pastures up in Smaland. And they bought up worn-out old horses. Then they sold them on the black market to
    Germany. They made an obscene amount of money on the meat. And nobody ever caught them. Lövgren was both greedy and clever. He invested the money, and it's been growing over the years." "You mean Lövgren's father?"
    "His father died straight after the war. I mean Lövgren himself."
"So you're telling me that the Lövgrens were wealthy?"
    "Not the family. Just Lövgren. She didn't know a thing about the money."
    "Would he have kept his fortune a secret from his own wife?"
    Herdin nodded. "Nobody has ever been as foully cheated as my sister."
Wallander raised his eyebrows in surprise.
    "Maria Lövgren was my sister. She was killed because he had stashed away a fortune."
    Wallander heard the barely concealed bitterness. So maybe it was a hate crime, he thought.
"And this money was kept at home?"
"Only sometimes," replied Herdin.
"Sometimes?"
"When he made the large withdrawals."
"Could you give me a little more detail?"
    Suddenly something seemed to boil over inside the man in the worn-out suit.
    "Johannes Lövgren was a brute," he said. "It's better now that he's gone. But that Maria had to die, that I can never forgive."
    Lars Herdin's outburst came so suddenly that neither Hansson nor Wallander had time to react. He grabbed a solid glass ashtray from the table beside him and flung it full force at the wall, where it smashed close to Wallander's head. Splinters of glass flew in every direction, and Wallander felt a shard strike his upper lip.
The silence after the outburst was deafening.
    Hansson had sprung out of his chair and seemed ready to throw himself at the rangy Herdin, but Wallander raised his hand to stop him, and Hansson sat back down.
    "I beg your pardon," said Herdin. "If you have a broom and dustpan I'll clean up the glass. I'll pay for it."
    "The cleaners will take care of it," said Wallander. "I think we should go on with our talk."
Herdin now seemed perfectiy calm.
    "Johannes Lövgren was a beast," he repeated. "He pretended to be like everybody else. But the only thing he thought about was the money he and his father made from the war. He complained that everything was so expensive, and the farmers so poor. But he had his money, and it kept on growing and growing."
"And he kept this money in the bank?"
    Herdin shrugged. "In the bank, in shares and bonds, who knows what else."
"Why did he keep the money at home sometimes?"
    "Lövgren had a mistress," said Herdin. "There was a woman in Kristianstad whom he had a son with in the 1950s. Maria knew nothing about that either - not the woman, not the child. He gave his mistress more money every year than he spent on Maria in her whole life."
"How much money are we talking about?"
    "Two or three times a year he gave her 25 or 30 thousand. He withdrew the money in cash. Then he would think up some excuse and go to Kristianstad."
    Wallander thought for a moment about what he had heard. He tried to decide which questions were the most important. It would take hours to work out all the details.
"What did they say at the bank?" he asked Hansson.
    "If you don't have the search warrants all in order, the bank doesn't say anything," said Hansson. "They wouldn't let me look at his bank statements. But I did get the answer to one question: Had he been to the bank recently?"
"Well?"
    Hansson nodded. "Last Thursday. Three days before he was killed."
"Are they sure?"
"One of the clerks recognised him."
"And he withdrew