He stayed for another cup of coffee. As he was getting ready to leave, he suddenly hesitated.
“I don’t want to make you any more worried than you already are,” he said, “but I don’t want you to leave these four walls for the next few days. Nothing’s going to happen to you. It’s probably just to make me sleep easier at night.”
She patted his cheek.
“I’ll stay here,” she said. “Don’t you worry.”
“Just a few more days,” he said. “It can hardly be more than that. This nightmare will be over by then. Then I’ll have to get used to the fact that I killed somebody.”
He turned and left before she had chance to say anything. He could see in the rearview mirror that she had followed him to the road and was watching him drive away.
Svedberg was on time.
It was ten to three when he turned into the courtyard.
Wallander put on his jacket and went out to meet him.
Svedberg looked at him and shook his head.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I think I can handle it,” said Wallander. “But thanks for coming.”
They went out onto the bridge over the old moat around the ruined castle. Svedberg stopped, leaned over the rail and contemplated the green sludge below.
“It’s hard to grasp that this sort of thing can happen,” he said.
“I’ve come to the conclusion that we nearly always act against our better judgment,” said Wallander. “We think we can stop something happening just by refusing to acknowledge it.”
“But why Sweden?” Svedberg wondered. “Why choose this country as their starting point?”
“Victor Mabasha had a possible explanation,” said Wallander.
“Who?”
Wallander realized Svedberg did not know what the dead African was called. He repeated the name. Then he went on.
“It was partly because this is where Konovalenko was established, of course,” he said. “But it was just as important to lay a smoke screen. The crucial thing for the guys behind this business is that nothing can be tracked down. Sweden is a country where it’s easy to get lost. It’s simple to cross the border without being noticed, and it’s easy to disappear. He had a simile for it. He said South Africa is a cuckoo who often lays her eggs in other people’s nests.”
They continued towards the castle that had collapsed long ago. Svedberg looked around.
“I’ve never been here before,” he said. “I wonder what it was like, being a cop when this castle was in its prime.”
They wandered in silence around the crumbled remains of what had once been high walls.
“You have to understand, Martinson and I were really shaken,” said Svedberg. “You were covered in blood, your hair was standing on end, and you were waving guns around in both hands.”
“Yes, I realize that,” said Wallander.
“But it was wrong of us to tell Bjork you seemed to be out of your mind.”
“I sometimes wonder if I am, in fact.”
“What are you thinking of doing?” asked Svedberg.
“I’m thinking of enticing Konovalenko to come after me,” said Wallander. “Now I think that’s the only way to make him come out of hiding.”
Svedberg looked at him, a serious expression on his face.
“What you’re doing is dangerous,” he said.
“It’s less risky when you can anticipate the danger,” said Wallander, wondering as he did so what his words really meant.
“You’ve got to have backup,” Svedberg insisted.
“He wouldn’t come out then,” said Wallander. “It’s not enough for him just to think I’m on my own. He’ll check. He won’t pounce until he’s absolutely certain.”
“Pounce?”
Wallander shrugged.
“He’ll try to kill me,” he said. “But I’ll make sure he doesn’t succeed.”
“How?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Svedberg stared at him in amazement. But he said nothing.
They started back, and stopped once again on the bridge.
“There’s something I want to ask you,” said Wallander. “I’m worried about my daughter. Konovalenko’s unpredictable. That’s why I want you to give her a bodyguard.”
“Bjork will want an explanation,” said Svedberg.
“I know,” said Wallander. “That’s why I’m asking you. You can talk with Martinson. Bjork doesn’t really need to know.”
“I’ll try,” said Svedberg. “I can see why you’re worried.”
They started walking again, left the bridge and puffed their way up the hill.
“By the way, somebody who knows your daughter came to see Martinson,” said Svedberg, trying to change the subject to something less solemn.
Wallander stared at him in amazement.
“At home?”
“In his office. She was reporting a theft from her car. She’d been your daughter’s teacher or something. I don’t remember exactly.”
Wallander stopped dead.
“One more time,” he said. “Just what are you saying?”
Svedberg said it again.
“What was her name?” asked Wallander.
“I’ve no idea.”
“What did she look like?”
“You’d better ask Martinson that.”
“Try and remember exactly what he said!”
Svedberg pondered.
“We were having coffee,” he said. “Martinson was complaining about being interrupted all the time. He says he’ll get an ulcer from all the work piling up. ‘At least they could stop breaking into cars just now. A woman came in, by the way. Somebody had broken into her car. She asked about Wallander’s daughter. If she was still living in Stockholm.’ Something along those lines.”
“What did Martinson tell her? Did he tell that woman my daughter is here?”
“I don’t know.”
“We must call Martinson,” said Wallander. He started rushing towards the house. He broke into a run, with Svedberg after him.
“Get Martinson on the phone,” said Wallander when they were inside. “Ask him if he said where my daughter is right now. Find out what that woman was called. If he asks why, just tell him you’ll explain later.”
Svedberg nodded.
“You don’t believe there was a car theft?”
“I don’t know. But I can’t take any risks.”
Svedberg got hold of Martinson almost right away. He wrote down a few notes on a scrap of paper. Wallander could hear Martinson was very perplexed by Svedberg’s questions.
When the call was over, Svedberg had started to share Wallander’s worry.
“He said he’d told her.”
“Told her what?”
“That she was staying with your father out at Osterlen.”
“Why did he do that?”
