bound them before, was gone. We haven't seen each other often enough, he thought. She doesn't even dare ask me why Mona and I went our separate ways.
He brought out a half-empty bottle of cognac. She shook her head, so he poured one for himself.
The late news was dominated by the story of Strom. Bergman's identity was not revealed. Wallander knew that it was because of his having been a policeman. He assumed that the chief of the national police was hard at work setting out the necessary smoke screens so they could keep Bergman's identity secret for as long as possible. Sooner or later, of course, the truth would have to come out.When the news was finished, the telephone rang.
Wallander asked his sister to answer it. 'Find out who it is and say you'll check to see if I'm home,' he told her.
'It's someone called Brolin,' she said when she came back from the corridor.Painfully, he got up from his chair and took the telephone.'I hope I didn't wake you,' said Anette Brolin.'Not at all. My sister is visiting.'
'I just thought I'd call and say that I think all of you did an extraordinary job.''Mostly we were lucky.'
Why is she calling? he wondered. He made a quick decision.'How about a drink?' he suggested. 'Great. Where?' He could hear that she was surprised. 'My sister is just going to bed. How about your place?' 'That's fine.'
He hung up and went back into the living room. 'I wasn't planning to go to bed at all,' said his sister. 'I have to go out for a while. Don't wait up for me. I don't know how long I'll be.'
The cool evening made it easy to breathe. He turned down Regementsgatan and felt a sudden sense of relief. They had solved the murder in Hageholm within 48 hours. Now they had to turn their attention back to the murders in Lunnarp.
He knew that he'd done a good job. He had trusted his intuition, acted without hesitation, and it had produced results. The thought of the crazy chase with the horsebox gave him the shakes. But the relief was still there.
Anette Brolin lived on the third floor of a turn-of-the-century building. He called her on the intercom and she answered. The flat was large but sparsely furnished. Against one wall were several paintings still waiting to be hung up.
'Gin and tonic?' she asked. 'I'm afraid I don't have much of a selection.'
'Please,' he said. 'Right now anything is fine. Just so as long as it's strong.'
She sat down across from him on a sofa and pulled her legs up under her. He thought she was extremely beautiful.
'Do you have any idea how you look?' she asked with a laugh.'A lot of people ask me that,' he replied.
Then he remembered Klas Manson. The man who robbed the shop, whom Anette Brolin had refused to detain. He really didn't think he should talk about work, but he couldn't help it.'Klas Manson,' he said. 'Do you remember that name?'She nodded.
'Hansson told me that you thought our investigation was poor. That you didn't intend to apply for Manson's remand in custody to be extended unless it was done more carefully.'
'The investigation was poor, sloppily written. Insufficient evidence. Vague testimony. I'd be in dereliction of my duty if I sought further detention based on material like that.'
'The investigation was no worse than most. Besides, you forgot one important fact.''What was that?'
'That Klas Manson is a guilty man. He's robbed shops before.'
'Then you'll have to come up with better investigative work.'
'I don't think there's anything wrong with the report. If we let the man loose, he'll just commit more crimes.''You can't just put people in jail willy-nilly.'
Wallander shrugged. 'Will you hold off releasing him if I rustle up some more exhaustive testimony?' he asked.
'That depends on what the witness says.'
'Why are you so stubborn? Manson is guilty. If we just hold him for a while, he'll confess. But if he has the slightest inkling that he can get out, he'll clam up.'
'Prosecutors have to be stubborn. Otherwise what do you think would happen to law and order in this country?'
Wallander could feel that the gin had made him reckless.
'That question can also be asked by an insignificant, provincial police detective,' he said. 'Once I believed that being on the force meant that you were involved in protecting the property and safety of ordinary people. Probably I still believe it. But I've seen law and order being eroded away. I've seen young people who commit crimes being almost encouraged to continue. No-one intervenes. No-one cares about the increasing number of victims. It just gets worse and worse.'
'Now you sound like my father,' she said. 'He's a retired judge. A true old-fashioned, reactionary civil servant.'
'Could be. Maybe I am conservative. But I mean what I say. I actually understand why people sometimes take matters into their own hands.'
'So you probably also understand how some misguided individuals can fatally shoot an innocent asylum seeker?'
'Yes and no. The insecurity in this country is enormous. People are afraid. Especially in farming communities like this one. You'll soon find out that there's a big hero right now at this end of the country. A man who is applauded behind drawn curtains. The man who saw to it that there was a municipal vote that said no to accepting refugees.'
'So what happens if we put ourselves above the decisions of parliament? We have a policy for refugees in this country and it must be adhered to.'
'Wrong. It's precisely the absence of a clear policy on refugees that creates chaos. Right now we're living in a country where anyone for any reason can come across the border in any manner. Control has been eliminated. The customs service is paralysed. There are plenty of unsupervised airfields where the dope and the illegal immigrants are unloaded every night.'
He was aware that he was losing his cool. The murder of the Somali was a crime with many layers.
'Bergman, of course, must be locked up with the most severe punishment,' he went on. 'But the Immigration Service and the government have to take their share of the blame.''That's nonsense.'
'Is it? People who belonged to the fascist secret police in Romania are starting to show up here in Sweden. Seeking asylum. Should it be granted to them?''The principle has to apply equally.''Does it really? Always? Even when it's wrong?'
She got up from the sofa and refilled their glasses. Wallander was starting to feel depressed. We're too different, he thought. We talk for 10 minutes and a chasm opens.
He felt aggressive. And he looked at her and could feel himself getting aroused. How long was it since the last time he and Mona had made love? A year ago almost. A whole year with no sex.He groaned at the thought.'Are you in pain?' she asked.
He nodded. He wasn't, but he yielded to his desire for sympathy.'Maybe it would be best if you went home,' she said.
That was the last thing he wanted to do. He didn't feel that he even had a home since Mona moved out. He finished his drink and held out his glass for a refill. Now he was so intoxicated that he was starting to shed his inhibitions.'One more,' he said. 'I've earned it.''Then you have to go,' she said.
Her voice had suddenly turned cool. But he didn't let it bother him. When she brought his glass, he grabbed her and pulled her down in the chair.
'Sit here by me,' he said, laying his hand on her thigh.
She pulled herself free and slapped him. She hit him with the hand with the wedding ring, and he could feel it tear his cheek.'Go home now,' she said.
