Goteborg.''Did he report this to our colleagues in Malmo?'Hansson nodded. Wallander grabbed the phone.'Then let's get moving,' he said.
The police in Malmo promised to speed up their interrogation of the man. The registration number of the stolen car, the model, year and colour were already being sent all over the country.
'BBM 160,' said Hansson. 'A dove-blue turtle with a white roof. How many of those can there be in this country? A hundred?'
'If the car isn't buried, we'll find it,' said Wallander. 'What time is sunrise?''Around eight or nine o'clock,' replied Hansson.
'As soon as it gets light we need a helicopter over the reserve. You take care of that.'
Hansson nodded. He was just leaving the room when he stopped.'Damn it! There was one more thing.'
'Yes?'
'The man who called and said that his car was stolen. He was a policeman.' Wallander gave Hansson a puzzled look. 'A policeman? What do you mean?' 'I mean that he was a policeman. Like you and me.'
CHAPTER 11
Wallander went into one of the holding cells in the station and lay down for a nap. After a great deal of effort, he managed to set the alarm function on his watch. He was going to allow himself to sleep for two hours. When the beeping sound on his wrist woke him up, he had a slight headache. The first thing he thought about was his father. He took a few aspirin out of the first aid kit he found in a cupboard and washed them down with a cup of lukewarm coffee. Then he hesitated, trying to decide whether he should take a shower first or call his sister in Stockholm.
Finally he went down to the changing room and got into the shower. Slowly his headache evaporated. But he felt weighed down with weariness as he sank into the chair behind his desk. It was 7.15 a.m. His sister was always up early. She picked up the phone almost as soon as it started ringing. As gently as possible he told her what had happened.
'Why didn't you call me before?' she asked indignantly. 'You must have noticed what was going on.''I guess I noticed too late,' he replied warily.
They agreed that she would wait until after he had spoken to the social worker before she decided when to come to Skane.
'How are Mona and Linda?' she asked as the conversation was drawing to a close.
It dawned on him that she didn't know about the separation.
'Fine,' he said. ‘I’ll call you later.'
He drove to the hospital. The temperature had fallen below freezing again. An icy wind was blowing through the town from the southwest.
A nurse, who had just received a report from the night staff, told Wallander that his father had slept fitfully. But he had not suffered from his night-time promenade through the fields. Wallander decided to see the social worker first.
Wallander distrusted social workers. All too often in his career he had encountered welfare people, called in when the police had caught juvenile offenders with misguided views on what action should be taken. Social workers were often too soft and yielding when they ought in his opinion to be making tough decisions. More than once he had raged at the welfare authorities because he felt that their pussy-footing encouraged young criminals to continue their activities.
Maybe this one is different, he thought. After a short wait he was greeted by a woman in her 50s. Wallander described his father's sudden decline. How unexpected it was, how helpless he felt.
'It might be temporary,' said the social worker. 'Sometimes elderly people suffer from periods of confusion. If it passes, it might be enough to see that he gets regular home care. If it turns out that he really is senile, then we'll have to come up with some other solution.'
They decided that his father should stay in over the weekend. Then she would discuss with the doctors what to do next. Wallander stood up. This woman seemed to know what she was talking about.'It's hard to be sure what to do,' he said.
She nodded. 'Nothing is as troublesome as when we're forced to become parents to our own parents,' she said.
'I know. My mother finally became so difficult that I couldn't keep her at home.'
Wallander went to see his father, who was in a room with four beds. All were occupied. One man was in a cast, another was curled up as if he had severe stomach pains. Wallander's father was lying staring at the ceiling.'How are you, Dad?' he asked.
It was a moment before his father answered. 'Leave me alone.'
He spoke in a low voice. There was no hint of petulance. Wallander had the impression that his father's voice was full of sorrow. He sat on the edge of the bed for a while. Then he left.'I'll be back, Dad. And Kristina says hello.'
Wallander hurried out of the hospital, filled with a sense of helplessness. The icy wind whipped his face. He didn't feel like going back to the station, so he called Hansson on the scratchy car phone.
'I'm driving over to Malmo,' he said. 'Have we got a helicopter in the air?'
'It's been up for half an hour,' replied Hansson. 'Nothing yet. We have two dog patrols out too. If that damned car is anywhere in the reserve, we'll find it.'
Wallander drove to Malmo. The morning traffic was fierce and intense. He was frequently forced over towards the shoulder by drivers passing without enough room. I should have taken a squad car, he thought. But maybe that doesn't make any difference these days.
Wallander arrived at the Malmo police station where the man who had had his car stolen was waiting for him. Before Wallander went in to see him, he talked to the officer who had taken the report of the theft.
'Is it true that he's a policeman?' Wallander asked. 'He was,' the officer replied. 'But he took early retirement.' 'Why was that?'
The officer shrugged. 'Problems with his nerves. I honestly don't know.' 'Do you know him?'
'He mostly kept to himself. Even though we worked together for ten years, I can't say that I really knew him.' 'But surely someone does?'
The police officer shrugged again. 'I'll find out,' he said. 'But remember, anybody can have his car stolen.'
Wallander went into the room and said hello to the man, whose name was Rune Bergman. He was 53 and had been retired for four years. He was thin, with nervous, flitting eyes. Along one side of his nose he had a scar from what looked like a knife wound.
Wallander immediately sensed that the man sitting in front of him was on guard. He couldn't say why. But the feeling was palpable, and it grew stronger as the conversation progressed.
'Tell me what happened,' he said. 'At four o'clock in the morning you discovered your car was missing.'
'I was going to drive to Goteborg. I like to get started before dawn when I'm going on a long drive. When I went outside, the car was gone.''From the garage or from a parking place?'
'From the street outside my house. I have a garage. But there's so much junk in it that there's no room for the car.''Where do you live?''In a suburb near Jagersro.''Do you think any of your neighbours saw anything?' 'I asked them. But no-one heard or saw anything.'
'When did you last see your car?''I was inside all day. But the car was there the night before.''Locked?''Of course it was locked.''Did it have a lock on the steering wheel?''Unfortunately, no. It was broken.'
His answers came easily. But Wallander couldn't rid himself of the feeling that the man was on guard.'What
