The guy went back to his car and Wallander crawled through the fence again. A sheep bleated once more. The sound came from the right, somewhere between a clump of trees and the slope down to the sea. Wallander tucked his pistol into his belt and started to edge his way toward where the sheep were bleating restlessly.
The fog was very thick by now.
Martinson was woken up by the telephone call from emergency headquarters. They told him about the shooting and fire on Mariagatan, and also the message Wallander had given the guy on the outskirts of Ystad. He was wide awake immediately, and started getting dressed as he dialed Bjork’s number. It seemed to Martinson it took forever for the message to penetrate Bjork’s sleepy brain, but half an hour later the largest squad the Ystad police could possibly muster at such short notice was assembled outside the police station. Reinforcements were also on their way from surrounding districts. In addition, Bjork had found time to call and wake up the police commissioner, who had asked to be informed as soon as the arrest of Konovalenko was imminent.
Martinson and Svedberg regarded the crowd of cops with some displeasure. They both felt that a smaller squad could be just as effective in a much shorter time. But Bjork was going by the book. He did not dare risk exposing himself to criticism afterward.
“This’ll be a disaster,” said Svedberg. “We’ve got to take care of this ourselves, you and me. Bjork will just mess things up. If Wallander is out there on his own and Konovalenko is as dangerous as we think he is, he needs us right now.”
Martinson nodded and went over to Bjork.
“While you are assembling the squad, Svedberg and I will go on ahead,” he said.
“Out of the question,” said Bjork. “We have to follow the rules.”
“You do that while Svedberg and I use our common sense,” said Martinson angrily, and walked away. Bjork yelled after him, but Svedberg and Martinson leapt into a squad car and drove off. They also signaled Noren and Peters that they should follow.
They drove out of Ystad at very high speed. They allowed the patrol car to overtake and then lead the way with flashing blue lights and siren. Martinson drove, with Svedberg by his side fumbling with his pistol.
“What have we got?” asked Martinson. “The training ground just before the turnoff to Kaseberga. Two armed men. One of them Konovalenko.”
“We’ve got nothing,” said Svedberg. “I can’t say I’m looking forward to this.”
“Explosion and shooting on Mariagatan,” Martinson went on. “How does it all hang together?”
“Let’s hope Bjork can figure that out with the help of his rule book,” said Svedberg.
Outside the police station in Ystad things were rapidly deteriorating into chaos. Telephone calls were pouring in from terrified people living on Mariagatan. The fire brigade was busy putting out the fire. Now it was up to the police to find out what lay behind the shooting. The fire chief, Peter Edler, announced that the street in front of the house was covered with blood.
Bjork was under pressure from all sides, but finally made up his mind to let Mariagatan wait. His first priority was to catch Konovalenko and the other man, and to give Wallander some assistance.
“Is there anybody here who knows how big the training ground is?” asked Bjork.
Nobody knew how long it was, but Bjork was sure it stretched from the road right down to the beach. He could see they knew too little to think of doing anything but try and surround the whole area.
More cars kept arriving from surrounding districts. Because they were after someone who had killed a cop, even off-duty men were turning up.
After consulting an officer from Malmo, Bjork decided they would make final plans for surrounding the place once they got there. A car had also been sent to the army barracks to pick up some reliable maps.
The long caravan of cars left Ystad shortly before one in the morning. A few private cars that happened to be passing by joined in out of curiosity. The fog was now drifting down over central Ystad.
At the training ground they met the man who had spoken first with Wallander, and then with Martinson and Svedberg.
“Has anything happened?” asked Bjork.
“Nothing at all,” said the man.
Just then a single shot rang out somewhere in the middle of the training ground. It was followed shortly afterwards by a long salvo. Then all was silent again.
“Where are Martinson and Svedberg?” asked Bjork in a voice betraying his fear.
“They ran into the training ground,” answered the man.
“And Wallander?”
“I haven’t seen him since he went off into the fog.”
The searchlights on the squad car roofs were lighting up the fog and the sheep.
“We must let them know we’re here,” said Bjork. “We’ll surround the place as best as we can.”
A few minutes later his voice rang out over the whole training ground. The loudspeaker echoed spookily. Then they spread themselves around the perimeter, and started the wait.
Once Wallander had crawled into the training ground, he had been completely swallowed up by the fog. Things happened very fast. He walked toward the bleating sheep. He was moving quickly, crouching down, as he had the distinct impression he was in danger of arriving too late. Several times he tripped over sheep lying on the ground, and they ran off bleating. He realized the sheep he was using to guide him were also betraying the fact that he was on his way.
Then he came upon them.
They were at the far side of the artillery range, where it started sloping down to the sea. It was like a still photograph from a film. Victor Mabasha had been forced down on his knees. Konovalenko was standing in front of him, pistol in hand, and Rykoff a few paces to the side, looking fatter than ever. Wallander could hear Konovalenko repeating the same question over and over again.
“Where’s the cop?”
“I don’t know.”
Wallander could hear Victor Mabasha’s voice was defiant. That made him see red. He hated the man who had killed Louise Akerblom, and no doubt Tengblad as well. At the same time his mind was racing in an attempt to figure out what he should do. If he tried to crawl any closer, they would notice him. He doubted whether he could hit them with his pistol, given the distance. They were out of shotgun range. If he tried to storm them, he would simply be signing his own death warrant. The automatic pistol in Rykoff’s hand would wipe him out.
The only thing he could do was wait and hope his colleagues would turn up soon. But he could hear Konovalenko getting more and more annoyed. He wondered if they could get there in time.
He had his pistol ready. He tried lying so that he could aim with steady hands. He was aiming straight at Konovalenko.
But the end came too soon. And it came so fast, Wallander had no time to react before it was too late. Looking back, he could see more clearly than ever before how quickly you can waste a life.
Konovalenko repeated his question one last time. Victor Mabasha gave his negative, defiant response. Then Konovalenko raised his pistol and shot Victor Mabasha right through the head. Just as he had killed Louise Akerblom three weeks previously.
Wallander yelled out and fired. But it was all over. Victor Mabasha had fallen backwards and was lying at an unnatural angle, motionless. Wallander’s bullet had missed Konovalenko. He could see now that the biggest threat was Rykoff’s automatic pistol. He aimed at the fat man and fired shot after shot. To his amazement, he saw Rykoff suddenly twitch, then fall in a heap. When Wallander turned his gun on Konovalenko, he saw that the Russian had lifted up Victor Mabasha and was using him as a shield as he shuffled backwards toward the beach. Although Wallander knew Victor Mabasha was dead, he could not bring himself to shoot. He stood up and yelled at Konovalenko to drop his gun and give himself up. His answer came in the form of a bullet. Wallander flung himself to one side. Victor Mabasha’s body had saved him from being hit. Not even Konovalenko could aim with a steady hand while holding a heavy corpse upright in front of him. In the distance he could hear a single siren approaching. The fog got thicker as Konovalenko got closer to the beach. Wallander followed him, holding both his weapons in position. Suddenly Konovalenko dropped the dead body and disappeared down the slope. Just then Wallander heard a sheep bleat behind him. He spun around and raised both the pistol and the shotgun.
Then he saw Martinson and Svedberg emerging from out of the fog. Their faces were pictures of astonished horror.
