There was a car parked outside with a man, or maybe two, sitting in it. She was instantly sure they were policemen. Katarina Taxell was being watched.
The panic came out of nowhere. She couldn’t see it, but she knew that her face was flaming red. She was having palpitations. The thoughts swirled in her head like confused nocturnal animals in a room when a light is turned on. What had Katarina said? Why were they sitting outside her front door?
Or was it only her imagination? She stood motionless and tried to think calmly. She could be certain that Katarina hadn’t told them anything. Otherwise they wouldn’t be watching her. They would have taken her down to the station. So it wasn’t too late after all. But she probably didn’t have much time. Not that she needed much. She knew what she had to do.
She lit a cigarette that she had rolled during the night. According to her timetable, it was at least an hour too early. Now she broke with routine. This day was going to be special. There was no getting around it.
She stood there for several minutes more and watched the car by the front door. Then she put out the cigarette and walked quickly away.
When Wallander woke up just after 6 a.m. on Wednesday morning, he was still tired. His sleep deprivation was huge. The powerlessness was like a lead weight deep in his consciousness. He lay in bed with his eyes open. A human being is an animal who lives to endure, he thought. But right now, it seems I can’t handle it any more.
He sat up on the edge of his bed. The floor was cold beneath his feet. He looked at his toenails. They needed cutting. His whole body needed an overhaul. A month earlier he had been in Rome, storing up new energy. It was all used up. He forced himself to stand up. He went into the bathroom. The cold water was like a slap in the face. Someday he’d have to quit doing this — using cold water to get himself going. He dried off, put on his dressing gown, and went to the kitchen. Always the same routine. The coffee, then the window, the thermometer. It was raining and it was 4 °C. Autumn, and the cold already had a firm grip. Someone at the police station had predicted a long winter. That was what he feared.
When the coffee was ready, he sat at the kitchen table, after having picked up the morning paper from outside his door. On the front page was a photograph taken at Lodinge. He took a few sips of coffee. Already he had moved beyond the first and highest threshold of fatigue. His mornings were sometimes like an obstacle course. It was time for him to call Baiba.
She answered on the second ring. It was the way he’d imagined it during the night. Things were different now.
“I’m exhausted,” he excused himself.
“I know,” she replied. “But my question still stands.”
“Whether I want you to come?”
“Yes.”
“There’s nothing that I want more.”
She believed him. Maybe she could come in early November. She would start looking into the possibility that day.
They didn’t need to talk long. Neither of them liked the telephone. Afterwards, when Wallander returned to his cup of coffee, he thought that this time he’d have to have a serious talk with her about whether she would move to Sweden. About the new house. Maybe he’d even tell her about the dog.
He sat there a long time without even opening the newspaper. He didn’t get dressed until almost 7.30 a.m. He had to search for a long time before he found a clean shirt. It was his last. He had to sign up to use the laundry room today. As he was on his way out, the phone rang. It was the garage in Almhult. He flinched when he heard the total bill for the repairs, but he said nothing. The mechanic promised that the car would be in Ystad later in the day. He had a brother who could drive it down and then take the train home. All he’d be charged for was the price of the train ticket.
When Wallander reached the street, he saw it was raining harder than it had looked. He went back inside and called the police station. Ebba said she would send a squad car to pick him up. Five minutes later it pulled up outside. By 8 a.m. he was in his office.
He had barely managed to take off his jacket when everything seemed to start to happen at once. Hoglund was standing in his door. She was pale.
“Did you hear?”
Wallander gave a start. Again? Another man murdered?
“I just got in. What is it?”
“Martinsson’s daughter has been attacked.”
“Terese?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“She was attacked outside her school. Martinsson’s just left. If I understood Svedberg correctly, it had to do with Martinsson being a police officer.”
Wallander was thunderstruck. “Is she seriously hurt?”
“She was pushed and punched in the head, and kicked too, apparently. She wasn’t badly injured, but she’s certainly had a shock.”
“Who did it?”
“Other students. Older than her.”
Wallander sat down in his chair. “That’s outrageous! But why?”
“I don’t know everything that happened. The students have been talking about the citizen militia too, saying that the police aren’t doing anything. That we’ve given up.”
“So they jump on Martinsson’s daughter?”
“Right.”
Wallander felt a lump in his throat. Terese was 13 years old, and Martinsson talked about her constantly.
“Why would they attack an innocent girl?”
“Did you see the paper?” she asked.
“No, why?”
“You ought to. People are talking about Eskil Bengtsson and the others. The arrests are being described as scandalous. They’re claiming that Ake Davidsson fought back. There’s a big story about it with pictures, and placards at the newsstands that say: ‘Whose side are the police on, anyway?’”
“I don’t need to read that crap,” Wallander said in disgust. “What’s happening at the school?”
“Hansson drove over there. Martinsson took his daughter home.”
“So it was some boys at the school who did this?”
“As far as I know.”
“Go over there,” Wallander decided quickly. “Find out everything you can. Talk to the boys. I think it’s best if I stay out of it. I might fly off the handle.”
“Hansson’s already there. They don’t need anybody else.”
“I don’t agree,” Wallander said “I’d really like you to go. I’m sure Hansson can handle it himself, but I still want you to find out, in your own way, what actually happened and why. If more of us show up, it will prove we’re taking it seriously. I think I’ll drive over to Martinsson’s house. Everything else can wait till later. The worst thing you can do in this country, like everywhere else, is to kill a policeman. The next-worst thing is to attack a policeman’s child.”
“I heard that other students stood around laughing,” she said.
Wallander threw up his hands. He didn’t want to hear any more. He got up from his chair and grabbed his jacket.
“Eskil Bengtsson and the others are going to be released today,” she said as they walked down the hall. “But Akeson is going to prosecute.”
“What will they get?”
“People in the area are already talking about taking up a collection, in case there are fines. We can always hope for jail terms. At least for some of them.”
“How is Ake Davidsson?”
“He’s back home in Malmo. On sick leave.”
Wallander stopped and looked at her.
“What would have happened if they’d killed him? Would they have been given fines then too?”
He didn’t wait for an answer.
A police car drove Wallander to Martinsson’s house, in a development on the eastern side of town. Wallander had only been there a few times before. The house was plain, but Martinsson and his wife had put a lot of love into their garden. He rang the bell. Martinsson’s wife Maria opened the door. Wallander saw that she had been crying. Terese was their oldest child and only daughter. One of their two sons, Rikard, stood behind her. Wallander smiled and patted him on the head.