was walking around there. The footsteps stopped. Now he’ll open the hatch, she thought, shutting her eyes. He’s heard me after all.
Then came relief in the form of the clinking of a bottle. Konovalenko had got up for another glass of vodka. The footsteps died away again. Tania shone the flashlight on her face and tried to smile. Then she took the girl’s hand and held it while they waited. After ten minutes she opened the hatch cautiously. Konovalenko had started snoring again. She explained to the girl what was going to happen. They would approach the front door as quietly as they could. Tania had oiled the lock during the day. She thought it would be possible to open it without a click. If all went well they would then hurry away from the house together. But if something did happen, if Konovalenko woke up, Tania would simply fling the door open and they would race off in different directions. Was that clear? Run, run for all they were worth. There was a fine drizzle outside that should make it harder for them to be seen. But she should just keep on running, without looking back. When she came to a house or saw a car on the road, she should give herself up. But the main thing was to run for her life.
Did she understand? Tania thought so. The girl’s eyes were animated, she could move her legs, even if she was weak and unsteady. Tania listened again. Then she nodded to the girl. It was time to move. Tania climbed up first, listened one more time, then reached down to help the girl. Now speed was of the essence. Tania made herself hold back so as to avoid the stairs creaking. The girl emerged cautiously into the kitchen. She screwed up her eyes, even though the light was very weak. She’s practically blind, thought Tania. She held her firmly by one arm. Konovalenko was snoring. Then they started walking toward the hall and the front door, one step at a time, painfully slow. There was a curtain in the hall doorway. Tania took great care in pulling it to one side, with the girl hanging onto her arm. Then they were at the door. Tania could feel she was covered in sweat. Her hands were trembling as she took hold of the key. At this point she almost dared to believe it would be OK. She turned the key. There was a point, a certain resistance, where it would click if she turned it too quickly. She could feel the resistance and kept on turning as carefully as she could. She was past the critical point. There had not been a single sound. She nodded to the girl. Then she opened the door.
As she did so, something crashed behind her. She gave a start and turned around. The girl had bumped into a stand for coats and umbrellas. It had fallen over. Tania had no need to listen in order to know what was already happening. She flung open the door, shoved the girl out into the rain and mist, and yelled at her to run. At first the girl seemed petrified. But Tania pushed her, and she started running. Within a couple of seconds she had disappeared into the grayness.
Tania knew it was already too late as far as she was concerned. But she would try even so. Most of all she did not want to turn around. She ran in the opposite direction, in an attempt to divert Konovalenko, make him unsure about where the girl was for a few more precious seconds.
Tania got to the middle of the courtyard before Konovalenko caught up with her. “What are you doing?” he yelled. “Are you sick?”
Then she realized Konovalenko did not know the hatch was open. He would not understand what had happened until they were back inside the house. The girl’s start would be sufficient. Konovalenko would never be able to find her again.
Tania suddenly felt very tired.
But she knew that what she has done was right.
“I don’t feel very well,” she said, pretending to be dizzy.
“Let’s go inside,” said Konovalenko.
“Just a minute,” she said. “I need some fresh air.”
I’ll do the best I can for her, she thought. Every breath gives her a bigger start. The game is up for me.
She ran through the night. It was raining. She had no idea where she was, she just ran. She kept falling, but simply scrambled back onto her feet and kept on running. She came out into a field. All around her frightened hares were bounding off in different directions. She felt like one of them, a hunted animal. The mud was clinging to her shoes. In the end she took them off and kept on running in her stocking feet. The field seemed to go on forever. Everything was engulfed by the fog. Only she and the hares existed. Eventually she came to a road, and lacked the strength to run any farther. She walked along the gravel road. The sharp edges of the stones were hurting her feet. Then the gravel came to an end and she found herself on an asphalt road. She could see the white line down the middle. She had no idea which direction to take. But she kept on walking even so. She still did not dare to think about what had happened. She could still feel some vague sense of evil somewhere behind her. It was neither human nor animal, rather a sort of cold breeze; but it was there all the time, forcing her to keep going.
Then she saw a pair of headlights approaching. It was a man who had been visiting his girlfriend. During the night they had started quarreling about something. He decided to go home. Now he was sitting behind the wheel of his car, thinking that if only he had the money, he would go away. Anywhere would do, anywhere far away. The windshield wipers were squeaking, and visibility was poor. He suddenly saw something in front of the car. At first he thought it was an animal, and slammed on the brakes. Then he stopped altogether. It was a human being, he could see that. He could hardly believe his eyes. A young girl, with no shoes, covered in mud, her hair a shortcropped mess. It occurred to him there might have been a car crash. Then he saw her sit down in the middle of the road. He got slowly out of the car, and went up to her.
“What happened?” he asked.
She did not answer.
He could not see any blood. Nor was there any sign of a car in the ditch. Then he lifted her up and led her to his car. She could barely stand.
“What happened?” he asked one more time.
But he received no reply.
Sten Widen and Svedberg left the apartment in Ystad at a quarter to two. It was raining as they got into Svedberg’s car. Three kilometers outside town Svedberg thought he had a flat in one of the back tires. He pulled into the side, worrying that the spare might be no good as well. But it was OK when they fitted it. The flat had thrown out their schedule. Svedberg had assumed Wallander would approach the house before it got too light. That meant they would have to set off early to avoid bumping into him. Now, it was nearly three by the time they parked the car behind a clump of bushes more than a mile away from the quarry and the house. They were in a hurry, and moved quickly through the fog. They passed a field on the north side of the quarry. Svedberg had suggested they should take up position as near the house as they dared. But as they did not know what direction Wallander would come from, and they would have to be able to see to both sides if they were to avoid being discovered. They had tried to guess which direction Wallander would choose. They agreed he would probably take the western approach. It was slightly hilly on that side. There were high, dense clumps of bushes growing right up to the edge of the property. On that basis they decided to approach from the east. Svedberg had noticed a haystack on a narrow strip of ground between two fields. If necessary they could burrow into the stack itself. They were in position by half past three. Both of them had their guns ready and loaded.
The house shimmered before them in the fog. Everything was still. Without really knowing why, Svedberg had the impression that everything was not quite right. He took out his binoculars, wiped the lenses, and then examined the house wall bit by bit. There was a light in one window, probably the kitchen. He could not see anything unusual. He found it hard to imagine Konovalenko was asleep. He would be there, waiting in silence. He might even be outside the house.
They waited on tenterhooks, each of them lost in a world of his own.
It was Sten Widen who first saw Wallander. The time was five o’clock. As they had thought, he appeared on the western side of the house. Widen had good eyesight, and thought at first it was a hare or a deer moving among the bushes. But then he began to wonder, nudged Svedberg’s arm gently, and pointed. Svedberg took out his binoculars again. He could just make out Wallander’s face among the bushes.
Neither of them knew what would happen. Was Wallander acting according to the instructions he had received from Konovalenko? Or had he decided to try and take him by surprise? And where was Konovalenko? And Wallander’s daughter?
They waited. All was quiet around the house. Sten Widen and Svedberg took turns observing Wallander’s expressionless face. Again Svedberg got the feeling something was wrong. He looked at his watch. Wallander would soon have been lying in the bushes for an hour. There was still no sign of movement in the house.
Suddenly Sten Widen handed the binoculars to Svedberg. Wallander had started moving. He wriggled his way rapidly to the house, then stood there pressed against the wall. He had his pistol in one hand. So, he’s decided to
