He arrived at his decision in only a few minutes. After all, Carter had discovered Wallander’s weakness, one that opened a possibility of getting to him.
Every person has his secret, Carter thought. Even this Wallander. Secrets and weaknesses.
He started typing again and heard banging and clattering starting to come from the kitchen before he was done. He read through his message three times before he was completely satisfied and sent it off.
Carter went down to the dining room and ate his breakfast. Every morning, he tried to tell if Celine was pregnant again. He had decided to fire her the next time it happened. He handed her the shopping list he had made the night before. He gave her the money, then unlocked the two front doors. Altogether there were sixteen different locks to unlock every morning.
Celine left the house. The city had begun to stir. But this house, built by a Portuguese doctor, had thick walls. When Carter returned to his study he had the feeling that he was surrounded by silence, the silence that always existed in the middle of the African din. There was a blinking light on his computer. He had mail.
It was now only a week before the electronic tidal wave would sweep the world.
Shortly after seven o’clock on Monday evening it was as if someone had let the air out of Martinsson and Wallander. That was after they had left the house in Snappehanegatan and returned to the police station.
They had tried to understand what must have happened. Had Jonas Landahl returned to erase all the files on his computer? In that case, why had he left the diskette behind? Was the content of the diskette unimportant? But why then had it been hidden with such care? There were many questions, but no good answers. Martinsson suggested carefully that the perplexing message — RELEASE THE MINKS — was a deliberate attempt to lead them astray. But what direction was that? Wallander wondered glumly. There seemed to be no direction that was any better than the rest.
They discussed whether or not they should put out an alert for Jonas Landahl. Wallander hesitated, since they had no real reason to bring him in — at least not until Nyberg had been able to examine the house. Martinsson did not agree with him, and it was at about this time that they were both overtaken by exhaustion. Wallander felt guilty because he couldn’t steer the investigation in the right direction. He suspected that Martinsson silently agreed with him on this point.
Robert Modin had been sent home, though he had been eager to continue working all night. Martinsson started checking the police registers for the name “Jonas Landahl.” He had focused on descriptions of animal-rights activists, but had found nothing. He had turned off his computer and joined Wallander, who was sitting in front of a plastic mug of cold coffee in the lunchroom.
They had decided to call it a day. Wallander remained in the lunchroom for a while, too tired to think, too tired to go home. The last thing he did was try to get in touch with Hansson. Someone finally told him that Hansson had gone to Växjö in the afternoon.
Wallander called Nyberg, but there was nothing new to report. The technicians were still working on the car.
On his way home, Wallander stopped at the grocery store. When he was in line to pay he realized he had left his wallet on his desk at work. The checkout clerk recognized him and let him buy his food on credit. The first thing Wallander did when he got home was write a note to himself in capital letters reminding him to pay his bill the following day. He put the note on his doormat so he would be unable to miss it as he was leaving. Then he cooked up a spaghetti dinner and ate it in front of the TV. For once the food was quite good. He flipped through the channels and finally decided on a movie. But it was already halfway through when he started, and he never got into it. Then he reminded himself that there was another movie he needed to see. The one with Al Pacino.
He went to bed at eleven o’clock and unplugged the phone. There was no wind, and the streetlamp outside the window was completely still. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep.
On Tuesday morning he woke up shortly before six o’clock, feeling well rested. He had dreamed of his father. And about Sten Widen. They had been in a strange landscape filled with rocks. In the dream Wallander had been afraid he was about to lose sight of them. Even I can interpret this dream, he thought. I’m still as afraid of abandonment as a young child.
The cell phone rang. It was Nyberg. As usual, he got straight to the point. He always assumed the person he was calling was fully awake, regardless of what time it was. But that never stopped him from complaining about other people calling him at all hours.
“I’ve just finished work on the garage at Snappehanegatan,” he said. “I found something in the back seat of the car that I didn’t see at first.”
“What was it?”
“A piece of gum. It says ‘Spearmint.”’
“Was it stuck to the back seat?”
“It was an unopened stick. If it had been a used piece of gum I would have found it much earlier.”
Wallander was already out of bed and halfway across the cold floor to the bathroom.
“Good,” he said. “I’ll be in touch.”
Half an hour later he had showered and dressed and was on his way to the station. His morning coffee would have to wait until he got to the office. He had planned to walk to work, but changed his mind at the last minute and took the car. He tried to quell his guilty conscience. The first person he looked for when he got in was Irene. But she wasn’t in yet. If Ebba was still working, she would already be here, Wallander thought. Even though she didn’t officially start until seven. But she would have sensed intuitively that I needed to speak to her. He realized he was being unfair to Irene. No one could compare to Ebba. He went to get a cup of coffee in the meantime. He spoke to some of the traffic police officers, who were complaining about speeding drivers and the rising incidence of driving under the influence. There was going to be a big crackdown today. Wallander listened absently, reflecting that policemen had a tendency to be whiny. He walked back to the reception area just as Irene was removing her coat and scarf.
“Do you remember me borrowing some gum from you the other day?”
“I don’t think ‘borrow’ is the right word in that context. I gave it to you, or rather, to that girl.”
“What kind was it?”
“A regular brand. ‘Spearmint,’ I think.”
Wallander nodded.
“Was that it?” Irene asked, surprised.
Wallander returned to his office, walking so quickly that he almost spilled his coffee. He was in a hurry to confirm this trail of thought. He called Höglund at home and heard a child wail in the background when she picked up.
“I want you to do me a favor,” he said. “I want you to ask Eva Persson what kind of gum she chews. I also want you to ask if she used to give any to Sonja.”
“Why is this so important?”
“I’ll explain it to you when you get down here.”
She called him back after ten minutes. There was still a lot of noise in the background.
“I talked to her mother. She said Eva chewed different kinds of gum. I doubt she would lie about something like this.”
“So she kept an eye on what kind of gum her daughter bought?”
“Mothers know a lot about their daughters,” she said.
“Or think they do.”