and forth between them.
'Can't you come here?' he said.
'I think it's best if we take a break,' she said. 'At least for a week or so.'
Wallander felt himself go cold. Was Mona moving away from him?
'I think it's best,' she repeated.
'I thought we were going on holiday together?'
'I thought so too. If you haven't changed your mind.'
'Of course I haven't changed my mind.'
'You don't need to raise your voice. You can call me in a week. But not before.'
He tried to keep her on, but she had already hung up.
Wallander spent the rest of the evening with a sense of panic growing inside. There was nothing he feared as much as abandonment. It was only with the utmost effort that he managed to stop himself from calling Mona when it was past midnight. He lay down only to get back up again. The light summer sky was suddenly threatening. He fried a couple of eggs that he didn't eat.
Only when it was approaching five o'clock did he manage to doze off. But almost immediately he was up again.
A thought in his mind.
The betting form.
Halen must have turned these in somewhere. Probably at the same place every week. Since he mostly kept to the neighbourhood, it must be in one of the little newsagents that were close by.
Exactly what finding the right shop would yield, he wasn't sure. In all likelihood, nothing.
Nonetheless he decided to pursue his thought. It at least had the benefit that it kept his panic about Mona at bay.
He fell into a restless slumber for several hours.
The next day was Sunday. Wallander spent that day doing nothing much at all.
On Monday, 9 June, he did something he had not done before. He called in sick, citing stomach flu as the cause. Mona had been sick the week before. To his surprise, he felt no guilt.
It was overcast but there was no precipitation when he left his building shortly after nine in the morning. It was windy and had become colder. Summer had still not arrived in earnest.
There were two small newsagents nearby that handled bets. One was very close by, on a side street. As Wallander walked through the door it occurred to him that he should have brought a picture of Halen with him. The man behind the counter was Hungarian. Even though he had lived here since 1956 he spoke Swedish very badly. But he recognised Wallander, who often bought cigarettes from him. He did so now as well, two packs.
'Do you take bets?' Wallander asked.
'I thought you only bought lottery tickets?'
'Did Artur Halen place his bets with you?'
'Who is that?'
'The man who died in the fire recently.'
'Has there been a fire?'
Wallander explained. But the man behind the counter shook his head when Wallander described Halen.
'He did not come here. He must have gone to someone else.'
Wallander paid and thanked him. It had started to rain lightly. He hurried his pace. The whole time he was thinking about Mona. The next newsagent had not had anything to do with Halen either. Wallander went and stood under the cover of an overhanging balcony and asked himself what he was doing. Hemberg would think I was crazy, he thought.
Then he walked on. The next newsagent was almost a kilometre away. Wallander regretted not having worn a raincoat. When he reached the newsagent, which was right next to a grocery, he had to wait behind someone else. The person behind the counter was a woman about Wallander's age. She was beautiful. Wallander did not take his eyes off her as she searched for an old issue of a specialised motorcycle magazine that the customer ahead of him wanted. It was very hard for Wallander not to immediately fall in love with a beautiful woman who came his way. Then and only then could he force all thoughts of Mona and associated anxiety into submission. Even though he had already bought two packs of cigarettes he bought one more. At the same time he was trying to work out if the woman in front of him was someone who would show disapproval if he said he was a policeman. Or if she belonged to the majority of the population who despite everything still believed that most policemen were in fact needed and honourably occupied. He took a chance on the latter.
'I have some questions for you too,' he said as he paid for his cigar ettes. 'I am Detective Inspector Kurt Wallander.'
'Oh my,' the woman answered. Her dialect was different.
'You aren't from around here?' he asked.
'Was that what you wanted to ask?'
'No.'
'I'm from Lenhovda.'
Wallander did not know where that was. He guessed it was in Blekinge. But he did not say this. Instead he continued to the matter of Halen and the betting forms. She had heard about the fire. Wallander described Halen's appearance. She thought for a moment.
'Maybe,' she said. 'Did he speak slowly? Kind of quietly?'
Wallander thought about it and nodded. That could describe Halen's manner of speaking.
'I think he played a small game,' Wallander said. 'Only thirty-two rows or so.'
She reflected on this, then nodded.
'Yes,' she said. 'He came here. Once a week. One week thirty-two rows, the next sixty-four.'
'Do you remember what he wore?'
'A blue coat,' she said immediately.
Wallander recalled that almost every time he had seen Halen he had been wearing a blue jacket with a zip.
There was nothing wrong with her memory. Nor with her curiosity.
'Had he done something?'
'Not that we know.'
'I heard it was suicide.'
'Indeed it was. But the fire was arson.'
I shouldn't have said that, Wallander thought. We don't know that for sure yet.
'He always had exact change,' she said. 'Why do you want to know if he placed his bets here?'
'Routine questioning,' Wallander answered. 'Can you remember anything else about him?'
Her answer caught him by surprise.
'He used to borrow the telephone,' she said.
The telephone was on a little shelf next to the table where the betting forms were kept.
'Was that a frequent occurrence?'
'It happened every time. First he placed the bet and paid. Then he made his call, came back to the counter and paid for it.'
She bit her lip.
'There was something strange about those phone calls. I remember thinking about it one time.'
'What was it?'
'He always waited until another customer came into the shop before he dialled the number and started to talk. He never called when he and I were the only ones in the shop.'
'He didn't want you to overhear.'
She shrugged.
'Maybe he just wanted his privacy. Isn't that normal?'
'Did you ever hear what he talked about?'
'You can listen even when you're attending a customer.'
