most I can do is wonder whether there might be some other job I’d enjoy.”
“You’ll be a cop as long as you live,” said Rydberg. “You’re like me. Just acknowledge that.”
Wallander banished all thought of Rydberg from his mind, took out a blank note pad, and reached for a pen.
Then he just sat there. Questions and answers, he thought. That’s probably where I’m making the first mistake. Lots of people, not least those who come from continents a long way away from ours, have to be allowed to tell the story their own way in order to be able to formulate an answer. That’s something I ought to have learned by now, considering the number of Africans, Arabs, and Latin Americans I’ve met in various contexts. They are often scared by the hurry we’re always in, and they think it’s really a sign of our contempt. Not having time for a person, not being able to sit in silence together with somebody, that’s the same as rejecting them, as being scornful about them.
Tell their own story, he wrote at the top of the note pad.
He thought that might put him on the right path.
Tell their own story, that’s all.
He slid the note pad on one side and put his feet up on his desk. Then he called home and was told that everything was quiet. He promised to be back in a couple of hours.
He absentmindedly read through the memo on the stolen horses. It told him nothing more than that three valuable animals had disappeared on the night of May 5. They had been put into their stalls for the night. The next morning, when one of the stable girls opened the doors at about half past five, the stalls were empty.
He glanced at his watch and decided to drive out to the stables. After speaking to three grooms and the owner’s personal secretary, Wallander was inclined to believe the whole thing could very well be a sophisticated form of insurance fraud. He made a few notes and said he’d be coming back.
On the way home to Ystad he stopped by a cafe for a cup of coffee.
He wondered if they had race horses in South Africa.
Chapter Twenty-one
Sikosi Tsiki came to Sweden on the evening of Wednesday, May 13.
That very same evening he was told by Konovalenko he would be staying in the southern part of the country. This was where his preparatory training would take place, and he would also leave the country from there. When Konovalenko heard from Jan Kleyn that the replacement was on his way, he had considered the possibility of setting up camp in the Stockholm area. There were lots of possibilities, especially around Arlanda, where the noise of airplanes landing and taking off would drown most other sounds. The necessary shooting practice could take place there. Furthermore there was the problem of Victor Mabasha and the Swedish policeman he hated. If they were still in Stockholm, he would have to stay there until they had been liquidated. Nor could he ignore the probability that the general level of vigilance throughout the country would be higher, now that he had killed the cop. To be on the safe side he decided to proceed on two fronts at the same time. He kept Tania with him in Stockholm, but sent Rykoff to the southern part of the country again with orders to find a suitable house in a remote area. Rykoff had then pointed out on a map an area to the north of Skane called Smaland, claiming it was much easier to find remotely situated houses there. But Konovalenko wanted to be near Ystad. If they did not catch Victor Mabasha and the policeman in Stockholm, they would turn up sooner or later in Wallander’s home town. He was as sure of that as he was that some kind of unexpected relationship had formed between the black man and Wallander. He had some difficulty in understanding what was going on. But nevertheless he was increasingly sure they would be not far away from each other. If he could find one of them, he would also find the other.
Through a travel agency in Ystad, Rykoff rented a house north east of Ystad, on the way to Tomelilla. The location could have been better, but adjacent to the site was an abandoned quarry that could be used for target practice. As Konovalenko had decreed that Tania could go with them if they did in fact decide to go ahead with this alternative, Rykoff did not need to fill the freezer with food. Instead and on Konovalenko’s orders, he spent his time finding out where Wallander lived, and then keeping his apartment under observation. But Wallander did not show up. The day before Sikosi Tsiki was due to arrive, Tuesday, May 12, Konovalenko decided to stay in Stockholm. Although none of those he sent out looking for Victor Mabasha had seen him, Konovalenko had the distinct feeling he was lying low somewhere in town. He also found it difficult to believe that a cop as careful and well organized as Wallander would return too quickly to his home, which he must expect to be watched.
Nevertheless that is where Rykoff finally found him, shortly after five o’clock on Tuesday afternoon. The door opened and Wallander stepped out onto the street. He was on his own, and Rykoff, who was sitting in his car, could see right away he was on guard. He left the building on foot, and Rykoff realized he would be spotted at once if he tried to follow him in his car. He was still there ten minutes later when the front door opened once again. Rykoff stiffened. This time two people left the building. The young girl had to be Wallander’s daughter, whom he had never seen before. Behind her was Victor Mabasha. They crossed the street, got into a car, and drove off. Rykoff did not bother following them this time either. Instead he stayed where he was and dialed the number of the apartment in Jarfalla where Konovalenko was staying with Tania. She answered. Rykoff greeted her briefly and asked to speak to Konovalenko. After hearing what Rykoff had to say, Konovalenko made up his mind right away. He and Tania would go to Skane early the next day. They would stay there until they had collected Sikosi Tsiki and killed Wallander and Victor Mabasha; the daughter as well, if necessary. Then they could make up their minds what to do next. But the flat in Jarfalla would be a possibility.
Konovalenko drove down to Skane with Tania overnight. Rykoff met them at a parking lot on the western edge of Ystad. They drove straight to the house he had rented. Later that afternoon Konovalenko also paid a visit to Mariagatan. He spent some time observing the block where Wallander lived. On the way back he also paused for a while on the hill outside the police station.
The situation seemed very simple to him. He could not afford to fail again. That would mean the end of his dreams about a future life in South Africa. He was already living dangerously, and knew it. He had not told Jan Kleyn the truth, not admitted that Victor Mabasha was still alive. There was a risk, albeit a small one, that Jan Kleyn had someone passing on information without Konovalenko knowing. He had occasionally sent out scouts to see if they could find anyone shadowing him. But nobody had come across any kind of surveillance that might have been organized by Jan Kleyn.
Konovalenko and Rykoff spent the day deciding how to proceed. Konovalenko made up his mind from the very first to act resolutely and ruthlessly. It would be a brutal, direct attack.
“What kind of weapons do we have?” he asked.
“Practically anything you like short of a rocket launcher,” Rykoff had told him. “We have explosives, long- distance detonators, grenades, automatic rifles, shotguns, pistols, radio equipment.”
Konovalenko drank a glass of vodka. He would really like most of all to capture Wallander alive. There were some questions he wanted answering before he killed him. But he banished the thought. He could not afford to take any risks.
Then he made up his mind what to do.
“Tomorrow morning when Wallander is out, Tania can enter the building and see what the staircase and apartment doors look like,” he said. “You can pretend to be distributing advertising brochures. We can pick up some leaflets from a supermarket. Then the building has to be kept under constant observation. If we’re certain they’re at home tomorrow evening, we’ll make our move then. We’ll blow up the door and rush in with guns blazing. If nothing unexpected happens we’ll kill the pair of them and make our escape.”
“There are three of them,” observed Rykoff.
“Two or three,” said Konovalenko. “We can’t let anybody survive.”
“This new African I’m going to pick up this evening, will he be in on it?” wondered Rykoff.
“No,” said Konovalenko. “He waits here with Tania.”
His expression was serious as he eyed Rykoff and Tania.
“The fact is, Victor Mabasha has been dead for several days,” he said. “At least, that’s what Sikosi Tsiki has to believe. Is that clear?”
They both nodded.
