Wallander only had one more question.
‘Did he always come in alone?’
‘Yes, always.’
‘You’ve been a great help,’ he said.
‘May I ask why you need this information?’
‘Unfortunately not,’ Wallander said. ‘We ask questions, but we can’t always tell you why.’
‘Maybe I should join the police,’ she said. ‘I’m not planning to work in this shop for the rest of my life.’
Wallander leaned over the counter and wrote down his telephone number on a small notepad next to the cash register.
‘Call me sometime,’ he said. ‘We can get together and I can tell you what it’s like to be a police officer. Anyway, I live right round the corner.’
‘Wallander,’ she said. ‘Is that what it is?’
‘Kurt Wallander.’
‘My name is Maria. But don’t get any ideas. I already have a boyfriend.’
‘I won’t,’ Wallander said and smiled.
Then he left.
A boyfriend can always be overcome, he thought as he stepped into the street. And stopped short. What would happen if she really called him? If she called while Mona was over? He asked himself what he had done. At the same time he couldn’t help but feel a certain satisfaction.
Mona deserved it. That he gave his phone number to someone named Maria who was very beautiful.
As if Wallander was being punished for the mere thought of sinning, the rain started to pour down at that moment. He was drenched by the time he got home. He laid the wet cigarette packets on the kitchen table and stripped off all his clothes. Maria should have been here now to towel me off, he thought. And Mona can cut hair and take her damn coffee break.
He put on his dressing gown and wrote down in his notepad what Maria had said. So Hålén had called a woman every Wednesday. A woman whose name started with the letter A. In all likelihood it was her first name. The question now was simply what this meant, other than that the image of the lonely old man had been shattered.
Wallander sat at the kitchen table and read through what he had written the day before. Suddenly he was struck by a thought. There should be a sailors’ register somewhere. Someone who could tell him about Hålén’s many years at sea, which vessels he had worked on.
I know someone who could help me, Wallander thought. Helena. She works for a shipping company. At the very least she can tell me where I can look. If she doesn’t hang up on me when I call.
It was not yet eleven. Wallander could see through the kitchen window that the downpour was over. Helena didn’t normally take her lunch break until half past twelve. That meant that he would be able to get hold of her before she left.
He got dressed and took the bus down to the Central Station. The shipping company that Helena worked for was in the harbour district. He walked in through the gates. The receptionist nodded at him in recognition.
‘Is Helena in?’ he asked.
‘She’s on the phone. But you can go on up. You know where her office is.’
It was not without a feeling of dread that Wallander made his ascent to the first floor. Helena could get angry. But he tried to calm himself, thinking that at first she would simply be surprised. That could give him the time he needed to say that he was here purely on business. It was not her ex-boyfriend Kurt Wallander who was here, it was the police officer by the same name, the would-be criminal investigator.
The words ‘Helena Aronsson, Assistant Clerk’, were printed on the door. Wallander drew a deep breath and knocked. He heard her voice and walked in. She had finished her phone call and was sitting at the typewriter. He had been right. She was clearly surprised, not angry.
‘You,’ she said. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’m here on police business,’ Wallander said. ‘I thought you might be able to help me.’
She had stood up and was already looking like she was going to ask him to leave.
‘I mean it,’ Wallander said. ‘It’s nothing personal, not at all.’
She was still on her guard.
‘What would I be able to help you with?’
‘May I sit down?’
‘Only if it won’t take long.’
The same power language as Hemberg, Wallander thought. You’re supposed to stand there and feel subordinate, while the person with power remains seated. But he sat down and wondered how he could once have been so in love with the woman on the other side of the desk. Now he could not remember her being anything other than stiff and dismissive.
‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘So there’s no need for you to ask.’
‘I’m fine too.’
‘What do you want?’
Wallander sighed internally over her rude tone but told her what had happened.
‘You work in the shipping industry,’ he finished. ‘You would know how I could find out what Hålén really did at sea. Which companies he worked for, which ships.’
‘I work with freight,’ Helena said. ‘We rent vessels or cargo space for Kockums and Volvo. That’s all.’
‘There must be someone who knows.’
‘Can’t the police find this out some other way?’
Wallander had anticipated this question and had thus prepared an answer.
‘This case is being handled a little on the side,’ he said, ‘for reasons that I can’t go into.’
He could see that she only partly believed him. But she seemed amused.
‘I could ask some of my colleagues,’ she said. ‘We have an old sea captain. But what do I get in return? If I help you?’
‘What would you like?’ he asked in return, in as friendly a tone as he could muster.
She shook her head.
‘Nothing.’
Wallander stood up.
‘I have the same phone number as before,’ he said.
‘Mine is different,’ Helena said. ‘And you’re not getting it.’
When Wallander was back out on the street he noticed that he was damp with sweat. The meeting with Helena had been more stressful than he had wanted to admit. He ended up standing still, wondering what to do next. If he had had more money he would have gone to Copenhagen. But he had to remember that he had taken a sick day. Someone could call him. He shouldn’t stay away from home too long. And also he was finding it increasingly difficult to justify the fact that he was spending so much time on his dead neighbour. He went to a cafe across from the Denmark ferries and had the daily special. But before he ordered he checked to see how much money he had. He would have to go to the bank tomorrow. He still had a thousand kronor there. That would last him for the rest of the month. He ate stew and drank some water.
By one o’clock he was back out on the pavement. New storms were moving in from the south-west. He decided to go home. But when he saw a bus that was going to his father’s suburb he took that instead. If nothing else he could spend a few hours helping his father pack.
There was indescribable chaos in the house. His father was reading an old newspaper, a torn straw hat on his head. He looked up at Wallander in surprise.
‘Have you finished?’ he asked.
‘Finished with what?’
‘Have you come to your senses and finished being a cop?’
‘I’m off today,’ Wallander said. ‘And there’s no use bringing up the subject again. We’re never going to see eye to eye.’
‘I’ve found a paper from 1949,’ he said. ‘There’s a great deal of interest in it.’
‘Do you really have time to read newspapers that are more than twenty years old?’
‘I never had time to read it at the time,’ his father said. ‘Among other things, because I had a two-year-old son who did nothing but scream all day. That’s why I’m reading it now.’
‘I was planning to help you pack.’
His father pointed to a table stacked with china.
‘That stuff needs to be packed in boxes,’ he said. ‘But it has to be done correctly. Nothing c
an break. If I find a broken plate you’ll have to replace it.’
His father returned to his paper. Wallander hung up his coat and started to pack the china. Plates that he remembered from his childhood. He found a cup with a chip in it that he could remember particularly clearly. His father turned a page in the background.
‘How does it feel?’ Wallander asked.
‘How does what feel?’
‘To be moving.’
‘Good. Change is nice.’
‘And you still haven’t seen the house?’
‘No, but I’m sure it’ll be fine.’
My father is either crazy or else he’s becoming senile, Wallander thought. And there’s nothing I can do about it.
‘I thought Kristina was coming,’ he said.
‘She’s out shopping.’
‘I’d like to see her. How is she doing?’
‘Fine. And she’s met an excellent fellow.’
‘Did she bring him?’
‘No. But he sounds good in all respects. He’ll probably see to it that I get grandchildren soon.’
‘What’s his name? What does he do? Do I have to drag all this out of you?’
‘His name is Jens and he’s a dialysis researcher.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Kidneys. If you’ve heard of them. He’s a researcher. And in addition he likes to hunt small game. Sounds like an excellent man.’
At that precise moment Wallander dropped a plate. It cracked in two. His father did not look up from the paper.
‘That’ll cost you,’ he said.
Wallander had had enough. He took his coat and left without a word. I will never go out to Österlen, he thought. I will never set foot in his home again. I don’t understand how I have put up with that man all these years. But now I’ve had enough.
Without realising it he had started to speak aloud. A cyclist, who was huddled up against the wind, stared at him.
Wallander went home. The door to Hålén’s apartment was open. He walked in. A lone technician was gathering up the remains of some ashes.
‘I thought you were done?’ Wallander said, surprised.
‘Sjunnesson is thorough,’ the technician answered.
There was no continuation of the conversation. Wallander went back out onto the stairwell and unlocked his own door. At the same time Linnea Almquist walked into the building.
‘How terrible,’ she said. ‘The poor man. And so alone.’
‘Apparently he had a lady friend,’ Wallander said.
‘I find that hard to believe,’ Linnea Almquist said. ‘I would have noticed that.’
‘I’m sure you would have,’ Wallander said. ‘But he may not have been in the habit of seeing her here.’
‘One should not speak ill of the dead,’ she said and started up the stairs.
Wallander wondered how it could be considered speaking ill of the dead to suggest that there may have been a woman in an otherwise lonely existence.
Once he was in his apartment, Wallander could no longer push aside thoughts of Mona. He should call her. Or would she call him of her own accord in the evening? In order to shake off his anxiety, Wallander started to gather up and throw out old newspapers. Then he started in on the bathroom. He did not have to do much before he realised that there was much more old, ingrained dirt than he could have imagined. He kept going at it for over three hours before he felt satisfied with the result. It was five o’clock. He put some potatoes on to boil and chopped some onions.
The phone rang. He thought at once it had to be Mona, and his heart started to beat faster.
But it was another woman’s voice. She said her name, Maria, but it took a few seconds before he realised it was the girl from the newsagent.
‘I hope I’m not disturbing you,’ she said. ‘I lost the piece of paper you gave me. And you’re not in the phone book. I could have called directory assistance, I suppose. But I called the police instead.’
Wallander flinched.
‘What did you say?’
‘That I was looking for an officer by the name of Kurt Wallander. And that I had important information. At first they didn’t want to give me your home phone number. But I didn’t give in.’
‘So you asked for Detective Inspector Wallander?’
‘I asked for Kurt Wallander. What does it matter?’
‘It doesn’t,’ Wallander said and felt relieved. Gossip moved quickly at the station. It could have brought about complications and spawned an unnecessary funny story about Wallander walking around claiming to be a detective inspector. That was not how he envisioned starting his career as a criminal investigator.
‘I asked if I was disturbing you,’ she repeated.
‘Not at all.’
‘I was thinking,’ she said. ‘About Hålén and his betting forms. He never won, by the way.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I would entertain myself by checking to see how he had bet. Not just him. And he was very ill-informed when it came to English football.’
Exactly what Hemberg said, Wallander thought. There can be no more doubt in that regard.
‘But then I was thinking about the phone calls,’ she went on. ‘And then I thought of the fact that a couple of times he also called someone other than that woman.’
Wallander increased his concentration.
‘Who?’
‘He called the cab company.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘I heard him place an order for a car. He gave his address as the building right next to the shop.’
Wallander thought about it.
‘How often did he order a cab?’
‘Three or four times. Always after first calling the other number.’
‘You didn’t happen to hear where he was going?’
‘He didn’t mention it.’
‘Your memory isn’t half bad,’ Wallander said admiringly. ‘But you don’t remember when he made those calls?’
‘It must have been on a Wednesday.’
‘When did it happen last?’
The answer came quickly and confidently.
‘Last week.’
‘Are you sure of that?’
‘Of course I’m sure. He called a cab last Wednesday, the twenty-eighth of May, for your information.’
‘Good,’ Wallander said. ‘Very good.’
‘Is that of any help?’
‘I’m certain it is.’
‘And you’re still not planning to tell me what it is that has happened?’
‘I couldn’t,’ Wallander said. ‘Even if I wanted to.’
‘Will you tell me later?’
Wallander promised. Then he hung up and thought about what she had told him. What did it mean? Hålén had a woman somewhere. After calling her, he ordered a taxi.
Wallander checked the potatoes. They were not yet soft. Then he reminded himself that he actually had a good friend who drove a cab in Malmö. They had been schoolmates since year one and had kept in touch over the years. His name was Lars Andersson and Wallander recalled that he had written his number on the inside of the telephone directory.
He found the number and dialled it. A woman answered, Andersson’s wife Elin. Wallander had met her a few times.
‘I’m looking for Lars,’ he said.
‘He’s out driving,’ she said. ‘But he’s on a day shift. He’ll be back in about an hour.’
Wallander asked her to tell her husband he had called.
‘How are the children?’ she asked.
‘I have no children,’ Wallander said, amazed.
‘Then I must have misunderstood,’ she answered. ‘I thought Lars said that you had two sons.’
‘Unfortunately, no,’ Wallander said. ‘I’m not even married.’
‘That never stopped anyone.’
Wallander returned to the potatoes and onions. Then he composed a meal using some of the leftovers that had accumulated in the fridge. Mona had still not called. It
had started to rain again. He could hear accordion music from somewhere. He asked himself what the hell he was doing. His neighbour Hålén had committed suicide, after first swallowing some precious stones. Someone had tried to retrieve them and had subsequently set fire to the apartment in a rage. There were plenty of lunatics around, also greedy people. But it was no crime to commit suicide. Nor to be greedy per se.
It was half past six. Lars Andersson had not called. Wallander decided to wait until seven o’clock. Then he would try again.
The call from Andersson came at five minutes to seven.
‘Business always picks up when it’s raining. I heard that you had called?’
‘I’m working on a case,’ Wallander said. ‘And I was thinking that you could perhaps help me. It’s a matter of tracking down a driver who had a client last Wednesday. Around three o’clock. A pickup from an address here in Rosengård. A man by the name of Hålén.’
‘What’s happened?’
‘Nothing that I can talk about right now,’ Wallander said and felt his discomfort grow every time he avoided giving an answer.
‘I can probably find out,’ Andersson said. ‘The Malmö call centre is very organised. Can you give me the details? And where should I call to? The police headquarters?’
‘It’s best if you call me. I’m leading this thing.’
‘From home?’
‘Right now I am.’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘How long do you think it will take?’
‘With a little luck, not very long.’
‘I’ll be home,’ Wallander said.
He gave Andersson all the details he had. When the call was over he had a cup of coffee. Still no call from Mona. Then he thought of his sister. Wondered what excuse his father would give for him having left the house so abruptly. If he even bothered to say that his son had been there. Kristina often took her father’s side. Wallander suspected it had to do with cowardice, that she was afraid of their father and his unpredictable temper.
Then he watched the news. The auto industry was doing well. There was an economic boom in Sweden. After that they showed footage from a dog show. He turned down the volume. The rain continued. He thought he heard thunder somewhere in the distance. Or else it was a Metropolitan plane coming in for landing at Bulltofta.
It was ten minutes past nine when Andersson called back.