joy.
Mona, he thought. Dear God! Mona! How I've missed you!
'I saw your picture in the paper,' she said. 'Are you all right?'
He remembered the photographer outside the hospital and the flash of a camera. 'Fine,' he said. 'A little sore.' 'No worse than that?'
His joy was gone. Now the bad feelings came back, the sharp pain in his stomach.'Do you really care how I am?''Why shouldn't I care?''Why should you?'He heard her breathing in his ear.
'I think you're so brave,' she said. 'I'm proud of you. The papers say that you risked your life to save people.''I didn't save anybody! What kind of rubbish is that?''I just wanted to be sure you weren't hurt.''What would you have done if I was?''What would I have done?'
'If I was hurt. If I was dying. What would you have done then?''Why do you sound so angry?'
'I'm not angry. I'm just asking you. I want you to come home. Back here. To me.'
'You know I can't do that. But I wish we could talk to each other.'
'You never call! So how are we supposed to talk to each other?'
He heard her sigh. That made him furious. Or maybe scared.
'Of course we can meet,' she said. 'But not at my place. Or at yours.'
He made up his mind swiftly. What he said was not entirely true. But it wasn't really a lie either.
'There are a lot of things we need to talk about,' he told her. 'Practical matters. I can drive over to Malmo if you like.'
There was a pause before she answered. 'Not tonight,' she said. 'But I could tomorrow.' 'Where? Shall we have dinner? The only places I know are the Savoy and the Central.' 'The Savoy is expensive.' 'Then how about the Central? What time?' 'Eight o'clock?' ‘I’ll be there.'
The conversation was over. He looked at his pummelled face in the hall mirror. Was he looking forward to the meeting? Or did he feel uneasy? He wasn't sure. He felt confused. Instead of picturing his meeting with Mona, he saw himself with Anette Brolin at the Savoy. And although she was still the acting public prosecutor in Ystad, she was transformed into a black woman.
Wallander dressed, skipped his morning coffee, and went out to his car. It had turned warmer again. The remnants of a damp fog were drifting from the sea over the town. There was no wind at all.
He was greeted with friendly nods and pats on the back when he entered the police station. Ebba gave him a hug and a jar of pear jam. He felt embarrassed, but also a little proud.
Bjork should have been here, he thought. In Ystad instead of in Spain. This was the kind of thing Bjork dreamed of. Heroes on the force.
By 9.30 a.m. everything was back to normal. By then he had already managed to give the director of the refugee camp a tough lecture on the sloppy supervision of the refugees. The director, who was short and plump and who radiated apathy and laziness, nevertheless defended himself vigorously, insisting that he had followed the rules and regulations of the Immigration Service to the letter.
'It's the police's job to ensure that the camp is safe,' he said, trying to turn Wallander's lecture on its head.
'How are we supposed to guarantee anything at all when you have no idea how many people are living in those damned huts or who they are?'The director was red-faced with fury when he left.'I'm going to file a complaint,' he said.
'Complain to the king,' replied Wallander. 'Complain to the prime minister. Complain to the European Court. Complain to whoever the hell you like. But from now on you're going to have accurate lists of how many people there are at your camp, what their names are, and which huts they live in.'Just before the case meeting was due to start, Edler called.'How do you feel?' he asked. 'The hero of the day.''Piss off,' replied Wallander. 'Have you found anything?'
'It wasn't hard,' replied Edler. 'A handy little detonator that ignited some rags soaked in petrol.''Are you sure?'
'Damn right I'm sure! You'll have the report in a few hours.'
'We'll have to try and run the arson investigation parallel with the murders. But if anything else happens, I'm going to need reinforcements from Simrishamn or Malmo.'
'Are there any police left in Simrishamn? I thought the station there was closed down.' 'It was the volunteer fire-fighters who were disbanded.
In fact, I've heard rumours that we're going to have some new positions opening up down here.'
Wallander started the meeting by reporting what Edler had told him. A brief discussion followed concerning possible motives for the attack. All were agreed that it was most likely a rather well-organised youthful prank, but no-one denied the seriousness of what had happened.
'It's important for us to catch those responsible,' said Hansson. 'Just as important as catching the killers at Lunnarp.'
'Maybe it was the same people who threw the turnips at the old man,' said Svedberg.Wallander noticed the contempt in his voice.'Talk to him. Maybe he can give you a description.''I don't speak Arabic,' said Svedberg.
'We have interpreters, for God's sake! I want to know what he has to say by this afternoon.'
The meeting was brief. This was one of those days when the police officers were busy trying to establish facts. Conclusions and results were sparse.
'We'll skip the afternoon meeting,' Wallander decided, 'provided nothing out of the ordinary happens. Martinsson will go out to the camp. Svedberg, maybe you could take over whatever Martinsson was doing that can't wait.'
'I'm searching for the car that the lorry driver saw,' said Martinsson. 'I'll give you my paperwork.'
When the meeting was over, Naslund and Rydberg stayed behind in Wallander's office.
'We're starting to go into overtime,' said Wallander. 'When is Bjork due back?'Neither man knew.
'Does he have any idea about what's happened?' Rydberg wondered.
'Does he care?' Wallander countered.
He called Ebba and got an answer at once. She even knew which airline he would be coming in on.
'Saturday night,' he told the others. 'But since I'm the acting chief, I'm going to authorise all the overtime we need.'Rydberg raised his visit to the Lovgren farm.
'I've been snooping about,' he said. 'In fact I've turned the whole place upside down. I've even dug around in the hay bales out in the stable. But there was no brown briefcase.'
Wallander knew that that was that. Rydberg never gave up until he was 100 per cent sure.
'So now we know this much,' he said. 'One brown briefcase containing 27,000 kronor is missing.''People have been killed for much less,' said Rydberg.They sat in silence for a moment, pondering these words.
'I can't understand why it should be so hard to locate that car,' said Wallander, touching the tender lump on his forehead. 'I gave out its description at the press conference and asked the driver to contact us.''Patience,' said Rydberg.
'What came out of the interviews with the daughters? If there are any reports, I can read them in the car on the way to Kristianstad. By the way, do either of you think that the attack last night had anything to do with the threat I received?'Both Rydberg and Naslund shook their heads.
'I don't either,' said Wallander. 'That means that we need to be prepared for something to happen on Friday or Saturday. I thought that you, Rydberg, could think this matter through and come up with some suggestions for action by this afternoon.'
Rydberg made a face.'I'm not good at things like that.''You're a good policeman. You'll do just fine.'
Rydberg gave him a sceptical look. Then he stood up to go. He paused at the door.
'The daughter that I talked to, the one from Canada, had her husband with her. The Mountie. He wondered why we don't carry guns.''In a few years we probably will,' said Wallander.
He was just about to brief Naslund on his conversation with Lars Herdin when the phone rang. Ebba told him
