but then he kept on walking without having eaten anything at all.
The whole time, the same thoughts were running through his mind. Could what he now envisaged really be true? Could he have misinterpreted what had happened so fundamentally?
He wandered around town and eventually went to the marina, walked to the end of the pier and sat down on his usual bench. He took the photo out of his pocket and examined it yet again, then put it back.
*
The penny had dropped. Baiba had been right, his beloved Baiba whom he was now longing for more than ever.
Everything added up at last. He could see the pattern that had eluded him thus far. And he could see it very clearly.
A fishing boat was on its way out of the harbour. The man at the helm raised a hand and waved to Wallander. He waved back. Thunderclouds were building up on the horizon. At this moment he missed his father. That didn’t happen often. For a short while after his father’s death, Wallander had been aware of a frightening vacuum, but at the same time it was a relief that he had passed away. But at this moment neither the vacuum nor the relief was still there; he simply missed his father and longed to relive the good times they’d had together, despite everything.
Perhaps I never saw him as he really was, didn’t know who he really was, nor what he meant for me and for others. Just as little as I understood until now about Hakan von Enke’s disappearance and Louise’s death. At last I feel I’m getting closer to a solution, rather than drifting further and further away from it.
He realised that he would have to make another journey this summer, which had already involved so much travelling. But he had no choice. He knew now what he needed to do.
Once again he took the photo out of his jacket pocket. He held it in front of him, then tore it in two, right down the middle. Once there had been a world that brought Stig Wennerstrom and Hakan von Enke together, but now he had torn them apart.
‘Was that the case even in those days?’ he said out loud to himself. ‘Or was it something that came about much later?’
He didn’t know. But he intended to find out.
Nobody heard him as he sat there, at the very end of the pier, speaking aloud to himself.
39
Looking back, he had only vague and disjointed memories of that day. He eventually left the pier and went back into town, stopped outside a newly opened cafe in Hamngatan, peered in through the door, then left immediately. He made another tour of the streets before stopping at the Chinese restaurant near Stora Torget that he usually frequented. He sat down at an empty table - there were not many customers at this time in the afternoon - and somewhat absent-mindedly chose a dish from the menu.
If anybody had asked him afterwards what he had eaten, he probably wouldn’t have been able to tell them. His thoughts were elsewhere. He was formulating a plan to confirm his suspicions. He now held different cards in his hand; everything he had believed earlier had been proved wrong.
He sat there for ages, poking at his food with his chopsticks, then suddenly devoured everything, far too quickly, paid the bill and left the restaurant. He returned to the police station. On the way to his office he was stopped by Kristina Magnusson, who invited him to join her family for dinner that weekend. He could pick the day, Saturday or Sunday. Since he couldn’t think of an excuse to turn her down, he told her he’d be delighted to join her on Sunday. He hung his home-made ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the handle of his office door, switched off his mobile phone, and closed his eyes. After a while he straightened his back, scribbled a few notes in his notepad and knew that he had now made up his mind. For better or worse, he needed to determine whether things really were as he now thought. To make sure he wasn’t mistaken, hadn’t allowed himself to be fooled again. In a sudden outburst of anger he hurled his pen at the wall and cursed loudly. Just once, no more. Then he called Sten Nordlander. The connection was poor. When Wallander insisted that it was absolutely vital that they talk, Nordlander promised to call him back. Wallander hung up, and wondered why it was so difficult to call certain parts of the archipelago. Or was Nordlander actually somewhere else?
He waited. He spent the time going over all the thoughts filling his head. His brain was like a tank full to the brim. He was worried that it might start to overflow.
Sten Nordlander called forty minutes later. Wallander had placed his watch on the desk in front of him and noted that the hands pointed to ten minutes past six. The connection was now perfect.
‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. I’m moored at Uto now.’
‘Not far from Musko, then,’ said Wallander. ‘Or am I wrong?’
‘Not at all. You could say without fear of contradiction that I’m in classic waters. Submarine waters, that is.’
‘We need to meet,’ said Wallander. ‘I want to talk to you.’
‘Did something happen?’
‘Something’s always happening. But I want to talk to you about a thought that’s occurred to me.’
‘So nothing’s happened?’
‘Nothing. But I don’t want to discuss this on the phone. What are you doing for the next few days?’
‘It must be important if you’re thinking of coming here.’
‘There’s something else I need to take care of in Stockholm,’ said Wallander, as calmly as he could.
‘When were you thinking of coming?’
‘Tomorrow. I know it’s short notice.’
Nordlander thought for a moment. Wallander could hear his heavy breathing.
‘I’m on my way home,’ he said. ‘We could meet in town.’
‘If you tell me how to get to wherever you’ll be, I can make my way there.’
‘I think that would be best. Shall we meet in the lobby of the Mariners’ Hotel? What time?’
‘Four o’clock,’ said Wallander. ‘Thank you for agreeing to meet me.’
Nordlander laughed.
‘Do you give me any choice?’
‘Do I sound that strict?’
‘Like an old schoolmaster. You’re sure that nothing’s happened?’
‘Not as far as I know,’ said Wallander evasively. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then.’
Wallander sat down at his computer and with some effort eventually managed to buy a train ticket and book a room at the Mariners’ Hotel. Since the train was due to leave early the following day, he drove home and took Jussi to his neighbours’. The husband was in the farmyard, tinkering with his tractor. He raised his eyebrows at Wallander when he saw him approaching with the dog.
‘Are you sure you don’t want to sell him?’
‘Completely sure. But I have to go away again. To Stockholm.’
‘I seem to recall that only the other day you were sitting in my kitchen and telling me how much you hated big towns.’
‘I do. But I have to go for work reasons.’
‘Don’t you have enough crooks to deal with down here?’
‘I certainly do. But I’m afraid I do have to go to Stockholm.’
Wallander stroked Jussi and handed over the leash. Jussi was used to this by now, and didn’t react.
But before leaving, Wallander had a question for his neighbour. It was only polite to ask at this time of year, as autumn was approaching.
‘How’s the harvest looking?’
‘Not too bad.’
Very good, in other words, Wallander thought as he made his way back home. He’s usually pretty gloomy when it comes to forecasting crop yields.
Wallander called Linda when he got in. He didn’t tell her the real reason for his journey; he simply said he’d
