He put his glass down on the table. 'Or you'll do what?' he asked. 'Call the police?'
She didn't answer, but he could see that she was furious. He stumbled when he stood up. Suddenly he realised what he had tried to do.'Forgive me,' he said. 'I'm exhausted.'
'We'll forget all about this,' she replied. 'But now you have to go home.'
'I don't know what came over me,' he said, putting out his hand.She took it.'We'll just forget it,' she said. 'Good night.'
He tried to think of something more to say. Somewhere in his muddled consciousness the thought gnawed at him that he had done something both unforgivable and dangerous. Just as he had driven his car home from the meeting with Mona when he was drunk. He left, and heard the door close behind him.
I have to stop drinking, he thought angrily. I can't handle it. Down on the street he sucked the cool air deep into his lungs.
How the hell could anyone be so stupid? he thought. No better than a drunken boy who doesn't know a thing about himself, women, or the world.
He went home to Mariagatan. The next day he would have to get back onto the hunt for the Lunnarp killers.
CHAPTER 13
Early on Monday morning, 15 January, Wallander drove out to the shopping centre on the Malmo road and bought two bouquets of flowers. Just over a week earlier he had driven the same road, towards Jenarp and the scene of the crime that was still demanding all of his attention. The past week had been the most intense of his career. When he looked at his face in the rearview mirror, he thought that every scratch, every lump, every discolouration from purple to black was a memento of the week's events.
It was - 6° C. There was no wind. The white ferry from Poland was making its way into the harbour.
When Wallander arrived at the police station a little after 8 a.m., he gave one of the bouquets to Ebba. At first she refused to take it, but he could see that she was pleased. He took the other bouquet with him to his office. He took a card from his desk drawer and pondered a long time what to write to Anette Brolin. Too long. By the time he managed a few lines, he had abandoned all attempts to find the perfect words. He simply apologised for his rash behaviour the night before. He blamed his rashness on fatigue.
'I'm actually quite shy by nature,' he wrote. Which was not entirely true. But he thought this might give Anette Brolin the opportunity to turn the other cheek.
He was on the point of going over to the prosecutor's office when Bjork came in. As usual, he had knocked so softly that Wallander hadn't heard him.
'Somebody sent you flowers?' said Bjork. 'You deserve them, as a matter of fact. I'm impressed how quickly you solved the murder of the Negro.'
Wallander disliked Bjork referring to the Somali as the Negro. A person lying under that tarpaulin was what there had been. But he had no intention of getting into an argument about it.
Bjork was wearing a flowery shirt that he had bought in Spain. He sat down on the rickety wooden chair near the window.
'I thought we ought to go over the murders at Lunnarp,' he said. 'I've looked through the investigation reports. There seem to be a lot of gaps. I've been thinking that Rydberg should take over the primary responsibility for the investigation while you concentrate on getting Bergman to talk. What do you think about that?'
Wallander countered with a question. 'What does Rydberg say?''I haven't talked to him yet.'
'I think we should do it the other way around. Rydberg has a bad leg, and there's still a lot of footwork to be done in that investigation.'
What Wallander said was true enough, but it wasn't concern for Rydberg's rheumatism that made him suggest reversing the responsibilities. He didn't want to give up the hunt for the Lunnarp killers. Police work was a team effort, but he thought of the murderers as belonging to him.
'There's a third option,' said Bjork. 'We could let Svedberg and Hansson handle Bergman.' Wallander nodded. He'd go along with that. Bjork got up from the rickety chair. 'We need some new furniture,' he said.
'We need more manpower,' replied Wallander.
After Bjork had left, Wallander sat down at his typewriter and typed up a comprehensive report on the arrest of Rune Bergman and the death of Valfrid Strom. He made a particular effort to compile something that Anette Brolin would not object to. It took him over two hours. Finally, he pulled the last page out of the typewriter, signed it, and took it to Rydberg.
Rydberg was sitting at his desk. He looked tired. When Wallander came into his office, he was just putting the telephone down.
'I hear that Bjdrk wants to split us up,' he said. 'I'm glad to be spared dealing with Bergman.'
Wallander put his report on the desk. 'Read through it,' he said. 'If you have no quarrel with it, give it to Hansson.'
'Svedberg had a go at Bergman this morning,' said Rydberg. 'But he still refuses to talk. Even though the cigarettes match. The same brand that was lying in the mud next to where the car must have been.'
'I wonder what's going to turn up,' said Wallander. 'What's behind this whole thing? Neo-Nazis? Racists with connections all over Europe? Why would someone commit a crime like this anyway? Jump out into the road and shoot a complete stranger? Just because he happened to be black?'
'No way of knowing,' said Rydberg. 'But it's something we're going to have to learn to live with.'
They agreed to meet again in half an hour, after Rydberg had been through the report. Then they would start on the Lunnarp investigation in earnest.
Wallander went over to the prosecutor's office. Anette Brolin was in district court. He left the flowers with the young woman at reception.
'Is it her birthday?' she asked. 'Sort of' said Wallander.
When he got back to his office, Kristina was waiting for him. She had already left the flat by the time he woke up that morning. She told him that she had talked to both a doctor and the social worker.
'Dad seems better,' she said. 'They don't think he's slipping into chronic senility. Maybe it was just a temporary period of confusion. We agreed to try regular home care. I was thinking about asking you to drive us out there around midday today. If you can't do it, maybe I could borrow your car.'
'Of course I can drive you. Who's going to do the home care?'
'I'm supposed to have a meeting with a woman who doesn't live far from Dad.'
Wallander nodded. 'I'm glad you're here. I couldn't have handled this alone.'
They agreed that he would come to the hospital right after midday. After his sister left, Wallander straightened up his desk and placed the thick folder of material on the Lovgren case in front of him. It was time to get started.
Bjork had told him that for the time being, there would be four people on the investigative team. Since Naslund was laid up with the flu, only three of them were at the case meeting in Rydberg's office. Martinsson had nothing to say and seemed to have a hangover. But Wallander remembered the decisive manner with which he had taken care of the hysterical widow at Hageholm.
They began with a thorough review of all the material. Martinsson was able to add information produced by his work with the central criminal records. Wallander felt a great sense of security in this methodical and meticulous scrutiny of details. To an outside observer such work would probably seem unbearably tedious. But that was not the
