The night of Sunday the nineteenth of October would go down t as one of the worst in Wallander’s life. Afterward he would think back to a near accident that night as a sign. As they passed the exit for Svedala, a car had suddenly decided to overtake him just as a huge truck was bearing down on them in the oncoming lane. Wallander turned his steering wheel as sharply as he could without driving off the road, but it was close. Robert Modin was sleeping in the front seat next to him and didn’t notice anything. But Wallander’s heart was pounding inside his chest.
As he kept driving, his mind returned uneasily to what Höglund had told him about Martinsson and his games. He had an unpleasant feeling of being on trial and not being sure of his own innocence. The anxiety and worry was nagging at him from all sides.
When he exited the highway to Jagersro, Robert Modin woke up.
“We’ll be there soon,” Wallander said.
“I was dreaming,” Modin said. “Someone tried to attack me.”
Wallander found the house easily. It lay in the corner of a housing development that looked like it had been built between the wars. He parked and turned off the engine.
“Who lives here?” Modin asked.
“A friend of mine,” Wallander said. “Her name is Elvira. You’ll be safe here. I’ll send someone to pick you up in the morning.”
“I don’t even have a toothbrush with me,” Modin said.
“We’ll take care of it somehow.”
It was almost eleven o’clock. Wallander had imagined that he would have a cup of coffee, look at her lovely legs, and stay until about midnight.
But it didn’t turn out that way. They had only just gone inside when his phone rang. It was Hansson. Wallander could tell that something was up by the tension in his voice. They had finally found traces of the man they thought had shot at Wallander. Once again it was a person out walking a dog who had helped them, this time by notifying them of a man who seemed to be hiding in the bushes and generally behaw ing strangely Since he had been seeing police cars driving to and fro all day, the dog owner thought it best to call in with his information. The dog owner had told Hansson that the man appeared to have been dressed in a black raincoat.
Wallander quickly thanked Elvira for her hospitality, introduced Modin to her again, and then left. He thought about the curious fact that dog owners had been such a big help during the investigation. Perhaps these civilians were a resource that the police should make more use of in the future? He drove much too fast and soon arrived at the spot north of Sandhammaren that Hansson had described to him. On the way he had stopped at the station and picked up his gun.
It had started raining again. Martinsson arrived a few minutes before Wallander. Police officers in full protective gear were in place, as well as several canine units. The man they were closing in on was located in a small pocket of forest that was bordered on one side by the highway to Skillinge and some open fields on the other. Although Hansson had been very effective in mobilizing police into the area, Wallander immediately realized that the man would have a good chance of being able to get away. They tried to come up with a reasonable plan of attack. While they were discussing their options, something came in on Hansson’s radio. A police patrol toward the north thought they had spotted the suspect. The radio contact broke off. In the distance came the sound of a shot closely followed by another. Then the radio came on again: “The fucker’s shooting at us.” Then silence.
Wallander immediately feared the worst. Martinsson seemed to have disappeared. It took him and Hansson six minutes to reach the spot where the radio transmission had come from. When they saw the patrol car with its lights on they readied their weapons and got out of their own vehicle. The silence was deafening. Wallander shouted out to the others, and to his and Hansson’s great relief there was an answer. They ran over to the patrol car in a crouched position where they found two policemen who were scared out of their wits. One of them was El Sayed, the other Elofsson. The man who had shot at them appeared to be in a clump of trees on the other side of the road. They had been standing next to the car when they heard the sound of breaking twigs. Elofsson had directed his flashlight toward the trees while El Sayed had established radio contact with Hansson. Then the shots had come.
“What’s beyond those trees?” Wallander hissed.
“There’s a path down to the sea,” Elofsson said.
“Are there any houses down there?”
No one knew.
“We’ll try to surround him,” Wallander said. “Now at least we have a better idea of where he is.”
Hansson managed to locate Martinsson and tell him where they were. Meanwhile Wallander dispatched Elofsson and El Sayed deeper into the shadows. The whole time he expected the suspect to turn up alongside the car with his gun cocked.
“What about a helicopter?” Martinsson asked.
“Good idea. Make sure it has strong spotlights. But don’t let it turn up until all of us are in place.”
Martinsson turned to his radio and Wallander carefully looked out at the terrain. Since it was dark, he couldn’t really see anything, and since the wind had picked up it was hard for him to hear anything, either. It was impossible for him to determine if the sounds he heard were real or imagined.
Martinsson crept over to him.
“They’re on their way. Hansson has dispatched a helicopter.” Wallander never had time to answer. At that moment another shot was fired. They steeled themselves.
The shot had come somewhere from the left. Wallander had no idea who the intended target was. He called out to Elofsson, and El Sayed called back. Then he also heard Elfosson’s voice. Wallander knew he had to do something. He called out into the darkness.
“Police! Lay down your weapon!”
Then he repeated the phrase in English.
There was no answer, only the wind.
“I don’t like this,” Martinsson whispered. “Why is he still there shooting at us? Why doesn’t he leave? He must know there are reinforcements on the way.”
Wallander didn’t reply. He had started thinking the same thing. Then they heard police sirens in the distance.
“Why didn’t you tell them to be quiet?”
Wallander didn’t try to hide his irritation.
“Hansson should have known better.”
At the same moment El Sayed cried out. Wallander thought he glimpsed a shadow running across the road and out into the field that lay to the left of the car. Then it was gone.
“He’s getting away,” Wallander hissed.
“Where?”
Wallander pointed in the direction where the shadow had been, but there was no point. Martinsson couldn’t see anything. Wallander realized he had to act fast. If the suspect made it across the field he would reach a larger stretch of forest and then it would be harder to get him. He told Martinsson to move, then he jumped into the car, started it, and pulled it around violently. He hit something but didn’t stop to look what it was. But now the headlights were shining straight out into the field.
The man was out there. When the light hit him he stopped and turned around. The raincoat flapped in the wind. Wallander saw the man raise one arm. He threw himself to the side. The bullet went straight through the windshield. Wallander rolled out of the car while he yelled to the others to get down. Another shot rang out. It took out a headlight. Wallander wondered if the man was just a lucky shot or if he had meant to hit it. It was much harder to see now.
The police sirens were getting closer. Suddenly Wallander was afraid that the approaching cars were going to be a target. He yelled out to Martinsson to radio the cars and tell them not to approach until they received an all-clear.