“Yeah,” he said. “We’ll do more than we can.”
Martinson left the house half an hour later. She had promised to tell her grandfather what had happened. He in turn had promised to keep her informed as things developed. Then he drove back to Ystad.
After lunch Bjork sat down with Svedberg and Martinson in the conference room at the police station in Ystad. Bjork did something most unusual. He locked the door.
“We need to be undisturbed,” he said. “It’s essential that we put a stop to this catastrophic mess before we lose control.”
Martinson and Svedberg stared down at the table. Neither of them knew what he was going to say next.
“Has either of you noticed any signs that Kurt was losing his mind?” asked Bjork. “You must have seen something. I’ve always thought he could be strange at times. But you’re the ones who work with him every day.”
“I don’t think he’s out of his mind,” said Martinson after a long pause. “Maybe he’s overworked?”
“If that were anything to go by every cop in the country would go crazy now and then,” said Bjork dismissively. “And they don’t normally do that. Of course he’s out of his mind. Or mentally unbalanced, if that sounds better. Does it run in the family? Didn’t somebody find his dad wandering around in a field a year or two back?”
“He was drunk,” said Martinson. “Or temporarily senile. Kurt isn’t suffering from senility.”
“Do you think he might have Alzheimer’s?” wondered Bjork.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Svedberg suddenly. “For God’s sake, let’s stick to the facts. Whether or not Kurt has had some kind of mental breakdown is something only a doctor can decide. Our job is to find him. We know he was involved in a violent shoot-out in which two people died. We saw him out there in the training ground. He pointed his gun at us. But he wasn’t dangerous. It was more like desperation. Or confusion. I’m not sure which. Then he disappeared.”
Martinson nodded slowly.
“Kurt wasn’t at the scene by chance,” he said thoughtfully. “His apartment had been attacked. We must assume the black man was there with him. What happened next we can only guess. But Kurt must be onto something, something he never had a chance to tell us about. Or maybe something he chose not to tell us about for the moment. We know he does that sometimes, and we get annoyed. But right now only one thing counts. Finding him.”
Nobody said a word.
“I never thought I’d have to do anything like this,” said Bjork eventually.
Martinson and Svedberg understood what he meant.
“But you’ve got to do it,” said Svedberg. “You have to get the whole force looking for him. Put out an APB on him.”
“Awful,” muttered Bjork. “But I have no choice.”
There was nothing else to say.
With a heavy heart, Bjork went back to his office to put out an APB on his colleague and friend, Chief Inspector Kurt Wallander.
It was May 15, 1992. Spring had arrived in Skane. It was a very hot day. Toward evening a thunderstorm moved in over Ystad.
The White Lioness
Chapter Twenty-three
The lioness seemed completely white in the moonlight.
Georg Scheepers held his breath as he stood in the back of the safari vehicle, watching her. She was lying motionless down by the river, about thirty meters away. He glanced at his wife Judith, who was standing beside him. She looked back at him. He could see she was scared. He shook his head carefully.
“It’s not dangerous,” he said. “She won’t hurt us.”
He believed what he said. But even so, deep down, he was not convinced. Animals in the Kruger National Park, where they were, were used to people watching them from the back of open safari vehicles, even at midnight as in this case. But he could not forget that the lioness was a beast of prey, unpredictable, governed by instinct and nothing else. She was young. Her strength and speed would never be greater than they were now. It would take her three seconds at most to shake herself out of her sprawling langor and bound powerfully over to their car. The black driver did not seem to be particularly alert. None of them carried a gun. If she wanted to, she could kill them all within the space of a few seconds. Three bites from those powerful jaws, on their necks or spines, was all that was needed.
Suddenly it seemed as if the lioness had read his thoughts. She lifted her head and gazed at the car. He felt Judith grab hold of his arm. It was as if the lioness was looking straight at them. The moonlight was reflected in her eyes, making them luminous. Georg Scheepers’ heart started beating faster. He wished the driver would start the engine, but the black man was sitting motionless behind the wheel. It suddenly occurred to Georg Scheepers in horror that the guy might have fallen asleep.
At that moment the lioness got up from the sand. She never took her eyes off the people in the car for a moment. Georg Scheepers knew there was such a thing as freezing. You were able to think about being afraid and running away, but had no strength to move.
She stood absolutely still, watching them. Her powerful shoulders rippled prominently under her skin. He thought how beautiful she was. Her strength is her beauty, her unpredictability her character.
He also thought how she was first and foremost a lion. Being white was only a secondary thing. That thought stuck fast in his mind. It was a sort of reminder to himself of something he had forgotten about. But what? He couldn’t remember.
“Why doesn’t he drive away?” whispered Judith by his side.
“It’s not dangerous,” he said. “She won’t come over here.”
The lioness stood motionless, watching the people in the car parked right out by the water’s edge. The moonlight was very strong. The night was clear, and it was warm. Somewhere in the dark river they could hear the lazy sounds of hippos moving.
It seemed to Georg Scheepers the whole situation was a reminder. The feeling of imminent danger, which could turn into uncontrollable violence at any moment, was the normal daily state of affairs in his country. Everybody went around waiting for something to happen. The beast of prey was watching them. The beast of prey inside them. The blacks who were impatient because developments were taking place so slowly. The whites with their fears of losing their privileges, their fear of the future. It was like being there on the river bank with a lion watching them.
She was white because she was an albino. He thought of all the myths attached to people and animals that had been born albino. Their strength was mighty, and they could never die.
Suddenly the lioness began to move, coming straight towards them. Her concentration was unbroken, her movements stealthy. The driver hastily started the engine and switched on the headlights. The light blinded her. She stopped in mid-movement, one paw in the air. Georg Scheepers could feel his wife’s fingernails piercing his khaki shirt.
Drive, he thought. Drive away now, before she attacks.
The driver shifted into reverse. The engine coughed. Georg Scheepers thought his heart would stand still when the engine almost stopped. But the driver increased pressure on the gas pedal and the car started rolling backwards. The lioness turned her head away to avoid being blinded.
It was all over. Judith’s fingernails were no longer digging into his arm. They clung tightly onto the rail as the safari vehicle bumped and jerked its way back to the bungalow where they were staying. The nocturnal outing would soon be over. But the memory of the lioness, and the thoughts her presence on the riverbank aroused, would stay with him.
It was Georg Scheepers who suggested to his wife they should go up to the Kruger for a few days. He had
