Swedish Television. He did not mince words, and he decided to send copies to the Immigration Service, the Immigration Ministry, the county chief of police, and the chief of the national police.
In the corridor, Rydberg read through what he had written.
'Good,' he said. 'But don't think they'll do anything about it. Reporters in this country, especially on television, can do no wrong.'
He dropped the letter off to be typed and went into the canteen to get himself some coffee. He hadn't had time to think about eating yet. It was almost 1 p.m., and he decided to go through all his phone messages before he went out to eat.
The night before, he had felt sick to his stomach when he took the anonymous phone call. Now he had cast off all sense of foreboding. If anything happened, the police were ready.
He punched in the number for Sten Widen. But before the phone started to ring, he put the receiver down. Widen could wait. There would be time enough later to amuse themselves by measuring how long it took a horse to finish off a ration of hay.
Instead he tried the number of the public prosecutor's office. The woman at the switchboard told him that Anette Brolin was in. He hung up and walked to the other wing of the building. Just as he raised his hand to knock, the door opened.She had her coat on. 'I'm just on my way to lunch.''May I join you?'
She seemed to think about it for a moment. Then she gave him a quick smile. 'Why not?'
Wallander suggested the Continental. They got a window table, and both ordered salted salmon.
'I saw you on the news yesterday,' said Anette Brolin. 'How can they broadcast such inaccurate and biased reports?'Wallander, who had braced himself for criticism, relaxed.
'Reporters regard the police as fair game,' he said. 'Whether we do too much or too little, we get criticised for it. And they don't understand that sometimes we have to hold back certain information for investigative reasons.'
He told her about the leak. How furious he had been when information from the case meeting had gone straight to a TV broadcast. He noticed that she was listening, and felt that he had discovered someone human behind the prosecutor's role and the expensive clothes.After lunch they ordered coffee.'Did your family move here too?' he asked.
'My husband is still in Stockholm,' she said. 'And the children aren't going to change schools for a year.'
Wallander's disappointment was palpable. Somehow he had hoped that the wedding ring meant nothing.
The waiter came with the bill, and he reached out to pay.'We'll split it,' she said. They ordered more coffee.
'Tell me about this town,' she said. 'I've looked through a number of criminal cases from the last few years. It's a lot different from Stockholm.'
'That's changing fast,' he said. 'Soon the entire Swedish countryside will be nothing but suburbs of the big cities. There were no narcotics here twenty years ago. Ten years ago drugs had come to towns like Ystad and Simrishamn, but we still had some control over what was happening. Today drugs are everywhere. When I drive by one of the beautiful old Scanian farms, I sometimes think: there might be a huge amphetamine factory hidden in there.'
'There are fewer violent crimes,' she said. 'And they're not quite as brutal.'
'It's coming,' he said. 'Unfortunately, I guess I'm supposed to say. But the differences between the big cities and the countryside have been almost erased. Organised crime is widespread in Malmo. The open borders and all the ferries coming in are like candy for the underworld.'
'Still, there's a sense of calm here,' she said pensively. 'Something that's been totally lost in Stockholm.'
They left the Continental. Wallander had parked his car in Stickgatan nearby.'Are you really allowed to park here?' she asked.
'No,' he replied. 'But when I get a ticket I pay it. Although it might be an interesting experience to say to hell with it and get taken to court.'They drove back to the police station.
'I was thinking of asking you to dinner some evening,' he said. 'I could show you round the area.''I'd like that,' she said.'How often do you go home?' he asked.'Every other week.''And your husband? The children?'
'He comes down when he can. And the children when they feel like it.'
I love you, thought Wallander. I'm going to see Mona tonight and I'm going to tell her that I love another woman.They said goodbye in reception.
'You'll get a briefing on Monday,' said Wallander. 'We're starting to get a few leads.''Any closer to an arrest?''No. But the searches at the banks produced good results.'
She nodded.
'Preferably before ten on Monday,' she said. 'The rest of the day I have detention hearings and negotiations in the district court.'
They settled on 9 a.m. Wallander watched her as she disappeared down the corridor. He felt strangely exhilarated when he got back to his office. Anette Brolin, he thought. In a world where everything is said to be possible, anything could happen.
He devoted the rest of the day to reading the notes from various interviews that he had only skimmed before. The definitive autopsy report had also arrived. Once again he was shocked at the degree of violence the old couple had been subjected to. He read the reports of the interviews with the two daughters and the door-to-door canvassing in Lunnarp. All the information matched and added up.
No-one had any idea that Johannes Lovgren was a significantly more complex person than he had appeared. The simple farmer had been hiding a split personality. Once during the war, in the autumn of 1943, he had been taken to court in a case of assault and battery. But he had been acquitted. Someone had dug up a copy of the report, and Wallander read through it carefully. But he could not see a reasonable motive for revenge. It seemed to have been an ordinary quarrel that led to blows at the community centre at Erikslund.
Ebba brought in his suit.'You're an angel,' he said.
'Hope you have a wonderful time tonight,' she said with a smile.
Wallander felt a lump in his throat. She really meant what she said.
He spent the time until 5 p.m. filling in a football lottery form, making an appointment to have his car serviced, and thinking through the important interviews he had the following day. He also wrote a reminder to himself that he had to prepare a memo for Bjork for his return.
Just after 5 p.m., Thomas Naslund stuck his head round the door.'Are you still here?' he said. 'I thought you'd gone home.' 'Why would I have done that?' 'That's what Ebba said.'
Ebba keeps watch over me, he thought with a smile. Tomorrow I'll bring her some flowers before I leave for Simrishamn.Naslund came into the room.'Do you have time right now?' he asked.'Not much.''I'll make it quick. It's about Klas Manson.'
Wallander had to think for a moment before he remembered who that was.'The one who robbed that shop?'
'That's the one. We have witnesses who can identify him, even though he had a stocking over his head. A tattoo on his wrist. There's no doubt that he's the one. But this new prosecutor doesn't agree with us.'Wallander raised his eyebrows. 'What do you mean?''She thinks the investigation was sloppy.'
'Was it?'
Naslund looked at him in amazement. 'It was no sloppier than any other investigation. It's a cut-and-dried
