He spent the rest of the morning concluding work on the assault case in Skurup and presenting the findings to Per Åkeson. At lunchtime he went downtown, had the hot-dog special, and bought some toilet paper. He even took the opportunity to drop by the state-run offlicence and buy a bottle of whisky and two bottles of wine. Just as he was leaving he bumped into Sten Widén on his way in. He reeked of alcohol and looked worn out.
Sten Widén was one of Wallander's oldest friends. They had met many years ago, united by their interest in opera. Widén worked for his father in Stjärnsund, where they had raised racehorses. They had seen each other less often the past few years. Wallander had started to keep his distance when he realised that Widén's drinking was getting out of control.
'It's been a while,' Widén said.
Wallander winced at his breath, which seemed to testify to many drinking bouts.
'You know how it is,' Wallander says. 'These things go in waves.'
Then they exchanged some neutral words. Both wanted to end the conversation as soon as possible. In order to meet under different, prearranged circumstances. Wallander promised to call.
'I'm training a new horse,' Widén said. 'She had such a bad name I managed to get it changed.'
'What is she now?'
' La Trottiata. '
Widén smiled. Wallander nodded. Then they went their separate ways.
Wallander walked back to Mariagatan with his bags. He was back at the station at a quarter past two. Everything still seemed deserted. Wallander continued to work through his pile of paper. After the assault in Skurup came a burglary in central Ystad, on Pilgrimsgatan. Someone had broken a window in the middle of the day and emptied the house of various valuables. Wallander shook his head as he read through Svedberg's report. It was unbelievable that none of the neighbours had seen anything.
Is this fear starting to spread even in Sweden? he wondered. The fear of assisting the police with the most elementary observations. If this is the case then the situation is far worse that I have wanted to believe.
Wallander struggled on with the material and made notes on who should be questioned and which searches should be made in the files. But he had no illusions that they would be able to solve the burglary case without a large dose of luck or reliable witnesses' accounts.
Martinsson walked into his office shortly before five. Wallander saw that he was starting to grow a moustache, but he said nothing.
'Sjöbo actually did have something to say,' Martinsson began. 'A man had been out looking for a lost bull calf all night. God only knows how he thought he was going to find anything in the dark. But he called the police in Sjöbo that morning and said he had seen strange lights and heard an engine noise shortly after five.'
'Strange lights? What did he mean by that?'
'I've asked the Sjöbo colleagues to interview the man in more detail.
Fridell was his name.'
Wallander nodded.
'Lights and engine noise. That could confirm our hypothesis about a scheduled drop.'
Martinsson spread out a map on Wallander's desk. He pointed. Wallander saw that it was in the area that Blomell had circled.
'Good work,' Wallander said. 'We'll have to see if it leads us anywhere.'
Martinsson folded up the map.
'It's terrible if it's true,' he said. 'If this really is the case then we're unprotected. If any old plane can come in across the border and drop off drugs without being sighted.'
'We have to get used to it,' Wallander said. 'But of course I agree with you.'
Martinsson left. Wallander left the station a little later. When he got home he cooked a real dinner for once. At half past seven he sat down with a cup of coffee to watch the news. The phone rang as the top stories were being announced. It was Emma. She was just leaving the hospital. Wallander didn't really know what he wanted. Another evening alone. Or a visit from Emma. Without being sure that he really wanted to see her, he asked if she wanted to stop by. She said yes. Wallander knew this meant that she would stay until a little after midnight. Then she would get dressed and go home. In order to steel himself for the visit he had two glasses of whisky. He had already showered before while he was waiting for the potatoes to boil. Quickly, he changed the sheets on the bed and threw the old bed-linen into the wardrobe, which was already overflowing with dirty laundry.
Emma arrived shortly before eight. Wallander cursed himself when he heard her on the stairs. Why couldn't he put an end to it, since it had no future?
She arrived, she smiled and Wallander asked her in. She had brown hair and beautiful eyes, and was short. He put on the kind of music he knew she liked. They drank wine and shortly before eleven they went to bed. Wallander thought of Mona.
Afterwards they both fell asleep. Neither one of them had said anything. Just before he fell asleep, Wallander noticed a headache coming on. He woke up again when she was getting dressed, but he pretended to be asleep. When the front door had shut, he got out of bed and drank some water. Then he returned to bed, thought about Mona for a bit longer, and fell back asleep.
The telephone started to ring deep inside his dreams. He woke immediately. Listened. The rings continued. He glanced at the clock on the bedside table. A quarter past two. That meant that something had happened. He lifted the receiver as he sat up in bed.
It was one of the officers who worked the night shift, Näslund.
'There's a fire on Möllegatan,' Näslund said. 'Right on the corner of Lilla Strandgatan.'
Wallander tried to visualise that block.
'What's burning?'
'The Eberhardsson sisters' sewing shop.'
'That sounds like a case for the fire brigade and a patrol unit.'
Näslund hesitated before answering.
'They're already there. It sounds like the house may have exploded. And the sisters live above the shop.'
'Did you get them out?'
'It doesn't look like it.'
Wallander didn't need to think any further. He knew there was only one thing to do.
'I'm coming,' he said. 'Who else have you called?'
'Rydberg.'
'You could have let him sleep. Get Svedberg and Hansson.'
Wallander hung up. Checked the time again. Seventeen minutes past two. While he put his clothes on he thought about what Näslund had said. A sewing shop had been blown up. That sounded implausible. And it was serious if the two owners had not managed to escape.
Wallander walked out onto the street and realised he had left his car keys. He cursed, then ran back up the stairs, noticing how out of breath he became. I should start playing badminton with Svedberg again, he thought. I can't manage four flights without losing my breath.
Wallander pulled up on Hamngatan at half past two. The whole area had been blocked off. The smell of fire was perceptible before he even opened the door. Flames and smoke were rising into the sky. The fire brigade had all their engines on the scene. Wallander ran into Peter Edler for the second time that day.
'It looks bad,' Peter Edler shouted, raising his voice to be heard above the din.
The whole house was in flames. The firefighters were spraying the surrounding buildings to restrict the damage.
'The sisters?' Wallander shouted.
Edler shook his head.
'No one has come out,' he replied. 'If they were home, they're still in there. We have a witness who says the building just blew up. It started to burn everywhere at once.'
Edler left to continue directing the operation. Hansson appeared at Wallander's side.
'Who the hell sets fire to a sewing shop?' he asked.
Wallander shook his head.
He had no answer.
He thought about the two sisters who had worked in their sewing shop for as long as he had lived in Ystad. Once, he and Mona had bought a zip there for one of his suits.