non-stop for a long time.
'We'll put Lunnarp on hold until Monday morning,' he said. 'Right now we're going to concentrate on Hageholm. Whoever isn't needed at the moment should go home and get some rest. It looks like next week is going to be just as busy as this one.'
Then he remembered that Bjork would be back at work on Monday.
'Bjork will be taking over,' he said. 'So I want to take this opportunity to thank everyone for their efforts so far.''Did we pass?' asked Hansson sarcastically.'You get the highest marks,' replied Wallander.
After the meeting he asked Rydberg to stay behind for a moment. He needed to talk through the situation with somebody in peace and quiet. And Rydberg was, as usual, the one whose opinion he respected most. He told him about Boman's efforts in Kristianstad. Rydberg nodded thoughtfully. Wallander saw that he was hesitant.
'It might be a dud,' said Rydberg. 'This double murder is puzzling me more and more, the longer I think about it.''In what way?' asked Wallander.
'I can't get away from what the woman said before she died. I have a feeling that deep inside her tormented and wounded consciousness, she must have realised that her husband was dead. And that she was going to die too. I think it's human instinct to offer a solution to a mystery if there's nothing else left. And she said only one word: 'foreign'. She repeated it. Four or five times. It has to mean something. And that noose. The knot. You said it yourself. That murder smells of revenge and hatred. But still we're looking in a completely different direction.'
'Svedberg has made a chart of all of Lovgren's relatives,' said Wallander. 'There are no foreign connections. Only Swedish farmers and one or two craftsmen.'
'Don't forget his double life,' said Rydberg. 'Nystrom described the neighbour he had known for 40 years as an ordinary man. With few assets. After two days we discovered that none of this was true. So what's to prevent us from finding other false bottoms to this story?''So what do you think we should do?'
'Exactly what we are doing. But be open to the possibility that we might be on the wrong track.'
They turned to the murdered Somali. Ever since he left Malmo, Wallander had been toying with an idea.'Can you stay a little longer?' he asked.'Sure,' replied Rydberg, surprised. 'Of course I can.'
'There was something about that police officer,' said Wallander. 'I know it's mostly a hunch. An extremely unreliable trait in a policeman. But I thought we ought to keep an eye on that gentleman, you and I. Through the weekend, in any case. Then we can see whether we should continue and bring in more manpower. But if I'm right, that he might be involved, that his car wasn't stolen, then he should be feeling a little uneasy right now.'
'I agree with Hansson that no policeman would be dim enough to pretend his car had been stolen if he were planning to commit a murder,' Rydberg objected.
'I think you're both wrong,' Wallander replied. 'The same way that he was wrong in thinking that just because he had once been a policeman, that alone would steer all suspicion away from him.'Rydberg rubbed his aching knee.'We'll do as you say, then,' he said. 'What I believe or don't believe is neither here or there if you think it's important.'
'I want him under surveillance,' said Wallander. 'We'll split up the shifts until Monday morning. It'll be rough, but we can do it. I can take the night shifts, if you like.'
Rydberg said that he might as well handle the watch until midnight. Wallander gave him the address. The temp came into the office with the pizza he had ordered.'Have you eaten?' Wallander asked.
'Yes,' replied Rydberg hesitantly.'No you haven't. Take this one and I'll get another.'
Rydberg ate the pizza at Wallander's desk. He wiped his mouth and stood up.'Maybe you're right,' he said.'Maybe,' replied Wallander.
Nothing happened the rest of the day. The car continued to elude them. The fire department dragged the lakes, finding only parts of an old combine. Few tip-offs came in from the public.
Reporters from the newspapers, radio and TV called constantly, wanting updates. Wallander repeated his appeal for information on a missing pale blue Citroen with a white roof. Directors of the various refugee camps called in, anxious and demanding increased police protection. Wallander answered as patiendy as he could.
An old woman was hit and killed by a car in Bjaresjo. Svedberg, back from the gravel pit, took on that case, even though Wallander had promised him the afternoon off.
Naslund called at 5 p.m., and Wallander could tell that he was tipsy. He wanted to know whether anything was happening, or whether he could go to a party in Skillinge. Wallander told him to go ahead.
He called the hospital twice to ask about his father. Each time they told him that he was tired and uncommunicative. He also called Sten Widen. A familiar voice answered the phone.
'I was the one who helped you with the ladder up to the loft,' Wallander said. 'The man you guessed was a policeman. I'd like to talk to Sten, if he's there.''He's in Denmark buying horses,' replied Louise.'When is he back?''Maybe tomorrow.''Would you ask him to call me?'‘I’ll do that.'
He hung up. Wallander had the distinct impression that Sten Widenwas not in Denmark at all. Maybe he was even standing right next to the young woman, listening. Maybe they were together in the unmade bed when he called.
Wallander gave his memo to one of the patrol officers, who promised to hand it to Bjork the minute he stepped off the plane at Stump airport that evening.
He decided to go through his bills, which he had forgotten to pay on the first of the month. He filled out a bunch of giro slips and enclosed a cheque in the manila envelope. He wasn't going to be able to afford either a video or a stereo this month.
Next he answered an inquiry about a trip to the Royal Opera in Copenhagen at the end of February. He said yes.
It was 8 p.m. He read through Svedberg's report on the fatal accident in Bjaresjo. He could see at once that there was no question of criminal proceedings. The woman had stepped out into the road slap in front of a car travelling within the speed limit. The farmer who was driving the car was not at fault, all the eyewitness accounts agreed on that. He made a note to see to it that Anette Brolin read through the report after the autopsy was done.
At 8.30 p.m. two men started slugging each other in a block of flats on the outskirts of Ystad. Peters and Noren swiftly separated the combatants. They were two brothers, well known to the police. They got into a fight about three times a year.
A greyhound was reported lost in Marsvinsholm. The dog had been seen heading west, so the report was passed to the station in Skurup.
At 10 p.m. Wallander left the police station. It was cold and the wind was blowing in gusts. The sky was clear and filled with stars. Still no snow. He went home and put on heavy-duty long underwear and a woollen cap. Absent-mindedly he watered the drooping plants in the kitchen window. Then he drove to Malmo.
Noren was duty officer that night. Wallander had promised to call in regularly. But presumably Noren would have his hands full with Bjork, who would be coming home to discover that his holiday was definitely over.
Wallander stopped at a hotel restaurant in Svedala. He hesitated before deciding on only a salad. He doubted that this was a wise moment to change his eating habits, but he knew that he might fall asleep if he ate too much before an all-night shift.
He drank several cups of strong coffee after his meal. An elderly woman came over to his table and tried to sell him
Wallander pulled out onto the E65 again and drove the last stretch to Malmo. He began to doubt the value of this assignment. Was he justified in trusting his intuition? Shouldn't Hansson's and Rydberg's objections have been enough for him to drop the idea of this surveillance? He felt unsure of himself. Irresolute. And the salad had not been enough.
It was 11.35 pm when he turned onto a street near the yellow house where Bergman lived. He pulled his cap
