thought about moving?'
'Where would I move to? And why should I move anyway?'
The answers were like the cracks of a whip. 'To a retirement home.'
His father pointed his brush at him ferociously, as if it were a weapon.'Do you want me to die?''Of course not! It would be for your own good.'
'How do you think I'd survive with a bunch of old fogies? And they certainly wouldn't let me paint in my room.''Nowadays you can have your own flat.'
'I've already got my own house. Maybe you didn't notice that. Or maybe you're too ill to notice?''I just have a little cold.'
At that moment he realised that the cold hadn't come to anything. He had been through this a few times before. When he had a lot to do, he refused to permit himself to get ill. But once the investigation was over, he would succumb almost at once.'I'm going to see Mona tonight,' he said.
Continuing to talk about an old people's home or a flat in sheltered accommodation was pointless. First he had to talk to his sister.'If she left you, she left you. Forget her.''I have absolutely no wish to forget her.'
His father kept on painting. Now he was working on the pink clouds. The conversation had died.'Is there anything you need?' asked Wallander.
His father replied without looking at him. 'Are you leaving already?'
The reproach was unconcealed. Wallander knew it would do no good to try and stifle the guilt that flared up in him.
'I've got a job to do,' he said. 'I'm the acting chief. We're trying to solve a double murder. And track down some pyromaniacs.'
His father snorted and scratched his crotch. 'Chief of police. Is that supposed to impress me?' Wallander got up.
'I'll be back, Dad,' he said. 'I'm going to help you clean up this mess.'
The old man flung his brush to the floor and stood in front of his son shaking his fist. The outburst took Wallander completely by surprise.
'You think you can come here and tell me this place is a mess?' he shouted. 'You think you can come here and meddle in my life? Let me tell you this: I have both a cleaning woman and a housekeeper here. And by the way, I'm taking a trip to Rimini for my winter holiday. I'm going to have a show there. I'm demanding 25,000 kronor per canvas. And you come here talking about old people's homes. But you're not going to kill me off, I can tell you that!'
He walked out of the studio, slamming the door behind him.
He's off his perch, thought Wallander. I've got to put a stop to this. Maybe he really imagines he has a cleaning woman and a housekeeper. That he's going to Italy to open a show. He wasn't sure if he should follow his father inside. He could hear him banging around in the kitchen. It sounded as if he was throwing pots and pans on the floor.
Wallander went out to his car. The best thing would be to call his sister. Now, right away. Together maybe they could persuade their father that he couldn't go on like this.
At 9 a.m. he walked into station and left his suit with Ebba, who promised to have it cleaned and pressed by that afternoon.
At 10 a.m. he called a case meeting for all the team members who were still in the station. The ones who had seen the spot on the news the night before shared his indignation. After a brief discussion they agreed that Wallander should write a sharp rebuttal and distribute it on the wire service.
'Why doesn't the chief of the national police respond?' Martinsson wondered.His question was met with disdainful laughter.
'That guy?' said Rydberg. 'He only responds if he has something to gain from it. He doesn't give a damn about how the police in the provinces are doing.'
Nothing new had happened that demanded the attention of the investigators. They were still laying the groundwork. Material was collected and gone over, various tip-offs were checked and entered in the daily log.
Everyone agreed that the mystery woman in Kristianstad and her son were the hottest lead. No-one had any doubt either that the murder they were trying to solve had robbery as a motive. Wallander asked whether things had been quiet at the various refugee camps.
'I checked the nightly report,' said Rydberg. 'It was calm. The most dramatic thing to happen last night was an elk running about on the E65.
'Tomorrow is Friday,' said Wallander. 'Yesterday I got another anonymous phone call. The same individual. He repeated the threat that something was going to happen tomorrow or Saturday at the latest.'
Rydberg suggested that they contact the national police. Let them decide whether additional manpower should be provided.
'Let's do that,' said Wallander. 'We might as well be on the safe side. In our own district we'll send out an extra night patrol to concentrate on the refugee camps.'
'Then you'll have to authorise overtime,' said Hansson.
'I know,' said Wallander. 'I want Peters and Noren on this special night detail. And I want someone to call and talk to the directors at all of the camps. Don't scare them. Just ask them to be a little more vigilant.'
After about an hour the meeting was finished. Wallander was left alone in his office, getting ready to write the response to Swedish Television.The telephone rang. It was Goran Boman in Kristianstad.'I saw you on the news last night,' he said, laughing.'Wasn't that a bugger?''You're right. You ought to protest.''I'm writing a letter as we speak.''What the hell are those reporters thinking of?'
'Not about the truth, that's for sure, but how big a headline they can get.''I've got good news for you.'Wallander felt himself go tense.'Did you find her?'
'Maybe. I'm faxing you some papers now. We've found nine possibilities. The register of citizens isn't such a silly thing to have. I thought you ought to take a look at what we came up with. Call me and tell me which ones you want us to check first.''Great, Goran,' said Wallander. 'I'll call you.'
The fax machine was in the reception. A young female temp he hadn't never seen before was just taking a fax sheet out of the tray.'Which one is Kurt Wallander?' she asked.
'That's me,' he said. 'Where's Ebba?''She had to go to the dry cleaners,' said the woman.
Wallander felt ashamed. He was making Ebba run his personal errands.Boman had sent four pages in all. Wallander went back to his room and spread them on the desk. He studied one woman after another, their birth dates, when their babies with 'fathers unknown' had been born. It didn't take him long to eliminate four. That left five who had given birth to sons during the 1950s.
Two were still living in Kristianstad, one in Gladsax outside Simrishamn. Of the other two, one lived in Stromsund and one had emigrated to Australia. He smiled at the idea that the investigation might require someone to be sent to the other side of the world.He called Goran Boman.
'This looks promising,' he said. 'If we're on the right track, we've got five to choose from.''Should I start bringing them in for a talk?'
'No, I'll take care of it myself. Or rather, I thought we might do it together. If you have time, I mean.''I'll make time. Are we starting today?'Wallander looked at his watch.
'Let's wait till tomorrow,' he said. 'I'll try to get up there by nine. If there's no trouble tonight, that is.'He quickly told Goran about the anonymous threats. 'Did you catch the arsonist from the other night?' 'Not yet.'
'I'll set things up for tomorrow, and I'll make sure none of them has moved.'
'Maybe I should meet you in Gladsax,' Wallander suggested. 'It's about halfway.'
'Nine o'clock at the Hotel Svea in Simrishamn,' said Boman. 'A cup of coffee to start the day with.''Sounds good. See you there. And thanks for your help.'
Now, you bastards, thought Wallander after he hung up. I'm going to let you have it. He wrote the letter to
