Wallander heard her words and knew what they meant. Both Hansson and his now-dead colleague Svedberg had been suspended on earlier occasions. In Hansson’s case, Wallander had been convinced that the allegations were false. In Svedberg’s case he had not been so sure, and the allegations had later been corroborated. But in neither case had he supported Björk, who was chief back then, in going so far as to suspend his colleagues. It seemed to him to be calling them guilty before the investigation had yielded any results.
Suddenly his anger left him. He was completely calm.
“You do as you like,” he said. “But if you suspend me now I will resign effective immediately.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“I don’t care what the hell it sounds like. It’s just a fact. And don’t think you can count on me coming back if the investigation proves that they were lying and I was telling the truth.”
“I wish you would try to cooperate instead of threatening to resign.”
“I have been a police officer for many years,” Wallander said, “and I know enough to tell you that the steps you say you have to take are not necessary. There’s someone higher up who’s very nervous about that picture appearing in the paper and who wants to make an example of me. And you are choosing to go along with it.”
“It’s nothing like that,” she said.
“You know as well as I do that it’s exactly like that. When were you planning to suspend me, anyway? As soon as you dismissed me from this meeting?”
“The man from Hassleholm promised to work quickly. Since we are in the middle of a difficult homicide investigation right now, I was going to put it off.”
“Why? Let Martinsson take charge. He’ll do an excellent job.”
“I thought we would finish out the week as usual.”
“No,” Wallander said. “Nothing is as usual right now. Either you suspend me as of this moment or else you don’t do it at all.”
“I don’t understand why you have to resort to these threats. I thought we had a good working relationship.”
“I thought so too. But clearly I was wrong.”
They were silent.
“So how is it going to be?” Wallander asked. “Am I suspended or not?”
“You are not suspended,” she said. “At least not right now.”
Wallander left her office. As he walked through the halls he realized he was drenched with sweat. When he got to his office he locked the door behind him. Now the full force of his emotions came back. He wanted to sit down and write his resignation, clear out his office, and leave the station for good. Their afternoon meeting would have to take place without him. He was never coming back.
At the same time there was something inside him that resisted. If he left now, it would look like he was guilty. Then the final conclusion of the internal investigation wouldn’t have much impact. He would always be tainted.
He slowly arrived at his decision. He would keep working for now, but he would inform his colleagues of the situation. The most important thing was that he had let Holgersson know where things stood. He did not intend to toe the line on this or ask for mercy.
He started to calm down. He opened his door wide and continued working. At noon, he went home and took his clothes out of the dryer. He carefully picked the pieces of Elvira’s letter from the trash, although he couldn’t exactly say why. At least she had nothing to do with the police.
He ate lunch at István’s restaurant and chatted with one of his father’s friends, who happened to be there. He returned to the police station shortly after one o’clock.
He walked in through the glass doors feeling somewhat on edge. Chief Holgersson could have changed her mind since their meeting and decided to suspend him after all. He didn’t know how he would react to this. Secretly he found the idea of handing in his resignation appalling. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what his life would look like after that. But when he reached his office there were only a few unimportant messages waiting for him. Holgersson had not tried to reach him. Wallander took a few deep breaths and then called Martinsson, who was at Runnerström Square.
“We’re working slowly but surely,” he said. “He’s managed to break a couple more codes.”
Wallander could hear the rustling of paper. Then Martinsson came back on the line.
“We now have a connection to a stockbroker in Seoul and to an English firm by the name of Lonrho. I contacted a person in Stockholm who was able to tell me that Lonrho was originally an African company that was involved in highly illegal operations in southern Rhodesia during the time of sanctions.”
“But how are we supposed to interpret this?” Wallander broke in. “A stockbroker in Korea? And this other company, whatever its name is? How does it relate to Falk and our investigation?”
“We’re trying to figure it out. Robert says there are about eighty companies entered into this program. But it will take us a while to find out what the connections between them are and what the program is.”
“But if you were going to speculate? What would you say?”
Martinsson chuckled.
“I see money.”
“And what else?”
“Isn’t that enough? The World Bank, the Korean stockbroker, and this African company all share that as a common denominator. Money.”
Wallander agreed.
“Who knows,” he said. “Perhaps the key player in all of this isn’t Falk but the cash machine where he died.”
Martinsson laughed. Wallander suggested that they meet at around three.
After the conversation ended, Wallander started thinking about Elvira Lindfeldt. He tried to imagine what she could look like, but his mind always came up with a picture of Baiba. Or Mona. Or a very brief glimpse of a woman he had met briefly the year before at a roadside café outside Västervik.
He was interrupted in his thoughts by Hansson, who suddenly appeared in the doorway. Wallander felt guilty, as if his thoughts had been clearly visible.
“All the keys are accounted for,” Hansson said.
Wallander looked at him without understanding what he was talking about. But he didn’t say anything, since he had the feeling that he should know what Hansson meant.
“I have some documentation from Sydkraft,” he went on. “The people who had keys to the substation can all account for them.”
“Good,” Wallander said. “It’s always helpful to be able to strike something off our list.”
“Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to trace the Mercedes van.”
Wallander leaned back in his chair.
“I think you can put that aside for now. We’ll have to get the car eventually, but for now there are more important tasks.”
Hansson nodded and wrote something in his notebook. Wallander told him about the three o’clock meeting. Hansson left.
Wallander put aside his thoughts of Elvira and her appearance. He got back to his paperwork and also thought about what Martinsson had said. The phone rang. It was Viktorsson, asking how the case was going.
“I thought Hansson kept you abreast of all developments.”
“But you are in charge of this investigation.”
Viktorsson’s comment surprised Wallander. He had been sure that Holgersson had arrived at her decision to suspend him in consultation with Viktorsson. But he was fairly sure of the fact that Viktorsson was not being disingenuous when he said Wallander was in charge. Wallander automatically softened toward him.
“I can come and see you tomorrow morning.”
“I’m free at half past eight.”
Wallander made a note of it. Then he spent another half-hour preparing for the meeting. At twenty to three he went to get more coffee, but the machine was broken. Wallander thought once more about Erik Hökberg’s observation about the vulnerability of society. That gave him a new idea. He went back to his office to give Hökberg a call. Hökberg picked up at once. Wallander gave him some details about the latest events and asked if he had ever heard the name Jonas Landahl. Hökberg answered with a definite no. That surprised Wallander.