“Yes.”
He looked deep into her eyes. He was still not entirely sure about this, but he had to believe he was doing the right thing.
He followed her out.
“Anna is going home now, Torgeir.”
They got into a car that was parked in the front yard. Westin tied the kerchief over her eyes himself to make sure she didn’t see anything.
“Drive around a little,” he said in a low voice to Langaas. “Make her think it’s farther than it really is.”
The car came to a stop at five-thirty. Langaas took out Anna’s earplugs, then instructed her to keep her eyes closed and count to fifty after he had taken off her blindfold.
“The Lord is watching you, and he will not appreciate it if you peek.”
He helped her step out onto the sidewalk. Anna counted to fifty, then opened her eyes. At first she didn’t know where she was. Then she realized she was on Mariagatan, outside Linda’s apartment.
48
During the afternoon and evening of September 7, Linda once again watched her father try to gather all the threads together and come up with a plan for how they should proceed. Over the course of those hours she became aware that the praise he sometimes received from his colleagues and at times in the press — when they were not chastising him for his dismissive attitude toward them in press conferences — was justified. She realized not only that her father was knowledgeable and experienced but also that he possessed a remarkable ability to focus and inspire his colleagues.
During her time at the police academy, the father of a friend of hers had been an ice-hockey coach for a top team in the second-highest league. She and her friend had once been allowed into the locker room right before a game, during the intermission, and after it was over. This coach had the ability she had just witnessed in her father, an ability to motivate people. After two periods, the team was losing by four goals, but this coach didn’t let up. He egged them on, urging them not to let themselves be beaten, and in the last period the players had stormed back onto the ice and almost managed to turn the game around.
Will my dad manage to turn this game around? she wondered. Will he find Zeba before anything happens to her? Over the course of the day, during a meeting or press conference when she hovered near the back of the room, she kept rushing out to go to the bathroom. Her stomach had always been her weakest point; fear gave her diarrhea. Her dad, on the other hand, had an iron stomach and sometimes bragged about having the stomach lining of a hyena — apparently their stomach acid was the strongest in all the animal kingdom. His weakness was his head, and sometimes when he was under a great deal of stress he would suffer tension headaches that could last days and only be relieved by taking prescription-strength pills.
Linda was afraid, and she knew she wasn’t the only one. There was an unreal quality to the calm and concentration at the police station. She understood something that no one had mentioned at the academy: sometimes the most important task facing a police officer was keeping her own fear in check. If it got out of control, all this concentration and focus would crumble into chaos.
Shortly after four o’clock, Linda saw her father pacing up and down the corridors like a wild animal. The press conference was about to take place. Wallander kept sending in Martinsson to see how many journalists were assembled, and how many television cameras. From time to time he asked Martinsson about individuals by name, and from the tone of his voice it was clear he was hoping they were not present. She watched him walking anxiously to and fro. He was the animal nervously pacing backstage, waiting to be sent into the arena. When Holgersson came to announce that it was time, he lunged into the room. The only thing missing was a roar.
During the thirty-minute-long press conference, Wallander concentrated on Zeba. Photographs were passed around, a slide photograph was projected onto the wall. Where was she? Had anyone seen her? He skillfully sidestepped being pulled into lengthy explanations, keeping his remarks concise and ignoring questions he did not want to answer.
“There is still a dimension here that we do not understand,” he said in closing. “The church fires, the two dead women, and the burned animals. We cannot be entirely sure that there is a connection, but what we know is that this young woman may be in danger.”
What danger? Who posed this danger? Could he add anything? The room buzzed with dissatisfaction. Linda imagined him lifting an invisible shield and simply letting the questions bounce back unanswered. Chief Holgersson said nothing during the proceedings, except to moderate the question-and-answer session. Svartman mouthed answers to Wallander when there were details that escaped him.
Suddenly it was all over. Wallander stood up as if he couldn’t take it any longer, nodded, and left the room. He shook off the reporters that rushed after him. Afterward he left the station without saying another word.
“That’s what he always does,” Martinsson said. “He takes himself out for some air, as if he were his own dog. Walks around the water tower. Then he comes back.”
Twenty minutes later he came storming down the corridor. Pizzas were delivered to the conference room. Wallander told everyone to hurry up, shouted at a young woman from the office who had not provided them with the paper he had asked for, and then slammed the door. Lindman, who was sitting beside her, whispered:
“One day I think he’s going to lock the door and throw away the key. We’ll turn into pillars of salt. If we’re lucky, we’ll be excavated a thousand years from now.”
Ann-Britt Höglund had just returned from a quick investigative turn in Copenhagen.
“I met this Ulrik Larsen,” she said and pushed a photograph over to Linda. She recognized him immediately. He was the one who had warned her not to look for Torgeir Langaas and knocked her down.
“He’s evidently changed his mind,” Höglund continued. “Now there’s no more talk about drugs. He denies having threatened Linda, but he gives no alternate explanation. He is an allegedly controversial minister. His sermons have become increasingly fire-and-brimstone as of late.”
Linda saw her father’s arm shoot out and interrupt.
“This is important. How do you mean ‘fire-and-brimstone,’ and specify ‘as of late.’”
Höglund flipped through her notebook.
“I was led to believe that ‘as of late’ means this last year. The fire-and-brimstone is shorthand for the fact that he has started preaching about Judgment Day, the crisis of Christianity, ungodliness, and the punishment that will be meted out to all sinners. He has been admonished both by his own congregation and by the bishop, but he refuses to change the tenor of his sermons.”
“I take it you asked the most important question?”
Linda wasn’t sure what he meant, and when Höglund answered, Linda felt stupid.
“His views on abortion? I was actually able to ask him myself.”
“The answer?”
“There was none. He refused to speak with me. But in some of his sermons he has allegedly stated that abortion is a crime that deserves the severest punishment.”
Höglund sat down. Nyberg opened the door at that moment.
“The theologist is here.”
Linda looked around the room and saw that only her father knew what Nyberg was talking about.
“Show him in,” Wallander said.
Nyberg left and Wallander explained whom they were waiting for.
“Nyberg and I have been trying to make sense of that Bible that was left or deliberately placed in the hut where Medberg was murdered. Someone has gone in and changed the text, notably in the Book of Revelation, Romans, and parts of the Old Testament. But what kind of changes? Is there a logic there? We talked to the state crime people, but they had no experts to send. That’s why we contacted the Department of Theology at Lund University and established contact with Professor Hanke, who has come here today.”