I’m tired, he thought. Despite having rested all weekend. The feeling of exhaustion goes deep, deep down, I’m only half aware of the causes, and there is probably nothing I can do about it. Not now that I’ve made up my mind to return to work. The beach on Jutland no longer exists as far as I’m concerned. I renounced it of my own free will.
He did not know how long he sat there, but when he began to feel cold he started the engine and drove on. He would have preferred to go home and disappear into the security of his apartment, but he forced himself to continue. He turned off toward Stjärnsund. After about a kilometer the road deteriorated badly. As always when he visited Widén, he wondered how big horseboxes could negotiate such a poorly maintained track.
The path sloped steeply toward the extensive farm with row upon row of stable blocks. He drove down into the yard and switched off the engine. A flock of crows were screeching in a nearby tree.
He got out of the car and headed toward the red-brick building Widén used as a combined home and office. The door was ajar, and he could hear Widén talking on the phone. He knocked and went in. As usual it was untidy and smelled strongly of horses. Two cats were lying asleep on the unmade bed. Wallander wondered how his friend could put up with living like this year after year.
The man who nodded to him as he came in without interrupting his telephone call was thin, with tousled hair and an angry red patch of eczema on his chin. He looked just as he had fifteen years ago. In those days they had seen a lot of each other. Widén had dreamed then of becoming an opera singer. He had a fine tenor voice, and they had planned a future with Wallander acting as his impresario. But the dream had collapsed or, rather, faded away; Wallander had become a police officer and Widén had inherited his father’s business, training race-horses. They had drifted apart, without either of them really knowing why, and it was not until the early 1990s, in connection with a lengthy and complicated murder case, that they had come into contact again.
There was a time when he was my best friend, Wallander thought. I haven’t had another one since then. Perhaps he will always be the only best friend I ever had.
Widén finished his call and slammed the receiver down.
“What a bastard!” he snarled.
“A horse owner?” Wallander said.
“A crook,” Widén said. “I bought a horse from him a month ago. He has some stables over at Höör. I was going to collect it, but he’s changed his mind. The bastard.”
“If you’ve paid for the horse, there’s not much he can do about it,” Wallander said.
“Only a deposit,” Widén said. “But I’m going to get that horse no matter what he says.”
Widén disappeared into the kitchen. When he came back Wallander could smell alcohol on his breath.
“You always come when I’m not expecting you,” Widén said. “Would you like some coffee?”
Wallander accepted the offer and they went out to the kitchen. Widén shifted piles of old racing programs to one side, exposing a small patch of plastic tablecloth.
“How about a drop of something stronger?” he asked, as he started making the coffee.
“I’m driving,” Wallander said. “How’s it going with the horses?”
“It hasn’t been a good year. And next year’s not going to be any better. There isn’t enough money in circulation. Fewer horses. I keep having to raise my training fees to make ends meet. What I’d really like to do is close down and sell everything, but property prices are too low. In other words, I’m stuck in the Scanian mud.”
He poured the coffee and sat down. Wallander noticed Widén’s hand shaking as he reached for the cup. He’s well on his way to drinking himself to death, he thought. I’ve never seen his hand shake like that in the middle of the day.
“What about you?” Widén asked. “What are you doing nowadays? Are you still on sick leave?”
“No, I’m back at work. A police officer again.”
Widén looked bemused. “I didn’t think so,” he said.
“Didn’t think what?”
“That you’d go back.”
“What else could I do?”
“You were talking about getting a job with a security company. Or becoming head of security for some firm.”
“I’ll never be anything but a police officer.”
“No,” Widén agreed, “and I don’t suppose I’ll ever get away from these stables. That horse I’ve bought in Höör is a good one, by the way. Out of Queen Blue. Nothing wrong with its pedigree.”
A girl rode past the window on horseback.
“How many staff have you got?”
“Three. But I can’t afford more than two. I really need four.”
“That’s why I’m here, actually,” Wallander said.
“Don’t tell me you want a job as a stable boy,” Widén said. “I don’t think you’ve got the necessary qualifications.”
“I’m sure I don’t,” Wallander said. “Let me explain.”
Wallander could see no reason why he shouldn’t explain about Alfred Harderberg; he knew Widén would never breathe a word to anybody else.
“It’s not my idea,” Wallander said. “We’ve recently acquired a new woman police officer in Ystad. She’s good. She was the one who saw the ad and told me about it.”
“You mean I should send one of my girls to Farnholm Castle, is that it?” Widén said. “As a sort of spy? You must be out of your mind.”
“Murder is murder,” Wallander said. “The castle is impenetrable. This ad gives us an opportunity to get in. You say you have one girl too many.”
“I said I had one too few.”
“She can’t be stupid,” Wallander said. “She has to be wide awake and notice things.”
“I have a girl who would fit the bill,” Widén said. “She’s sharp, and nothing scares her. But there is a problem.”
“What’s that?”
“She doesn’t like the police.”
“Why is that?”
“You know that I often employ girls who’ve gone off the rails a little bit. Over the years I’ve found them to be pretty good. I cooperate with a youth employment agency in Malmö. I have a girl from there at the moment, nineteen years old. Name’s Sofia. She was the one riding past the window just now.”
“We don’t need to mention the police,” Wallander said. “We can think up some reason why you need to keep an eye on what’s cooking at the castle. Then you can pass on to me what she tells you.”
“Only if I must,” Widén said. “I’d rather not get involved. All right, we don’t need to tell her you’re a police officer. You’re just somebody who wants to know what’s going on there. If I say you’re OK, she’ll take my word for it.”
“We can try,” Wallander said.
“She hasn’t got the job yet,” Widén said. “I expect there will be lots of horsey girls interested in a job at the castle.”
“Go and get her,” Wallander said. “Don’t tell her my name.”
“What the hell shall I call you, then?”
Wallander thought for a moment. “Roger Lundin,” he said.
“Who’s he?”
“From now on it’s me.”
Widén shook his head. “I hope you’re right about this,” he said. “I’ll go and get her.”
Sofia proved to be thin and leggy with a mop of unkempt hair. She came into the kitchen, nodded casually in Wallander’s direction, then sat down and drank what remained of the coffee in Widén’s cup. Wallander wondered if she was one of the girls who shared his bed. He knew from the past that Widén often had affairs with the girls who worked for him.
“You know I have to cut back here,” Widén said. “But we’ve heard about a job that might suit you at a castle over at Österlen. If you take the job, or rather get it, things might pick up here later, and I promise to take you back if they do.”