“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” she said. “But I wonder if we could set a date for tomorrow. That is, if you still want to.”
“I’m a bit busy right now,” Wallander said.
She asked him to speak up, saying it was hard to hear him.
“Can I call you back?” he asked. “I’m busy right now.”
“Can you repeat that?” she asked. “I really can’t hear you very well.”
He raised his voice slightly.
“I can’t talk now. I’ll call you back.”
“I’m at home,” she replied.
Wallander turned off his phone. This is insane, he thought. She doesn’t understand. She thinks I’m avoiding her. Why did she have to pick this time to call, for heaven’s sake?
Then he had a thought that made his head spin. He didn’t know where it came from and he brushed it aside before it had a chance to catch. But it had been there, like a dark undercurrent in his mind. Why did she call just now? Was it a coincidence?
It was an unreasonable thought and it was a symptom of his fatigue and his growing sense of being the object of his colleagues’ conspiracies to get rid of him. He stared at the phone before putting it away. He would call her as soon as this was over. He was about to put the phone in his pocket when it slipped. He bent down to try to catch it before it fell on the wet ground.
It saved his life. At the same moment that he bent down he heard a loud noise like a gunshot above and behind him. He left the phone where it was and raised his shotgun. Something was moving in the fog. Wallander threw himself to the side and then stumbled away as fast as he could. His heart was beating wildly. He didn’t know who had fired the gun and he didn’t know why. He must have heard my voice, Wallander thought. He heard me and was creeping up toward me. If I hadn’t dropped the phone I wouldn’t be here now. The thought terrified him. The shotgun shook in his arms. He didn’t know where his phone was, nor the car. He lost all sense of direction as he ran. He just wanted to get away. He crouched down with the shotgun in his arms and waited. The man was out there somewhere. Wallander tried to see through the thick white mass and strained his ears. But there was no sound. Wallander realized he shouldn’t stay. He made a quick decision and fired into the air. The bang was deafening and he ran a few meters to one side, then listened again. He was close to the fence now and knew which way to go to get away from the parking lot.
Then there was a new sound. The sound of sirens rapidly approaching. Someone heard that first shot, he thought. There are plenty of police out on the roads right now. He hurried down to the entrance. Now he had a leg up on his opponent, and that feeling was transforming his fear to rage. He had just been shot at for the second time in the space of a few days. But he also tried to think clearly. The Mercedes van was still there, and there was only one way out of the parking lot. If the man chose to take the car, it would be easy to get him. If he fled on foot it would be much harder.
Wallander reached the entrance and ran down along the road. The sirens were close now, signaling one, maybe even two or three, patrol cars. Hansson was in the first car. Wallander had never been so happy to see him.
“What’s happening here?” Hansson shouted. “We got a report of a gunshot in the area. And Höglund said you had gone down here.”
Wallander tried to explain what had happened as quickly as he could.
“No one goes down there without the proper protection,” he finished. “We also need dogs. But first we have to be prepared for the possibility that he tries to shoot his way out.”
They quickly erected a barrier and started putting on their vests and helmets. Höglund arrived, closely followed by Martinsson.
“The fog is about to lift,” Martinsson said. “I’ve talked to the National Weather Service. It’s very localized.”
They waited. It was now one o’clock on Saturday, the eighteenth of October. Wallander had borrowed Hansson’s phone and gone off to one side. He dialed Elvira’s number but changed his mind and hung up before she answered.
The fog didn’t lift until half past one. But then it disappeared quickly. It was gone in a matter of minutes and the sun came out. They saw the parked van and Martinsson’s car. No one was around. Wallander walked over and found his phone.
“He must have taken off on foot,” he said. “He abandoned the van.” Hansson called Nyberg, who promised to come as quickly as possible. They searched the car but found nothing that told them anything about its driver.
“Did you catch sight of him at all?”
Höglund was the one who asked the question. It irritated Wallander and made him defensive.
“No,” he said. “I didn’t see him. You wouldn’t have been able to, either.”
She was taken aback.
“It was just a question,” she said sourly.
We’re all tired, Wallander thought. She and I both. Not to mention Nyberg. Martinsson might be the exception, since he had the energy to sneak around the police station and talk behind people’s backs.
Two canine units had been dispatched and were now searching the area. They immediately picked up a scent that led down toward the water. Nyberg arrived with his forensic technicians.
“I want fingerprints,” Wallander said. “That’s the main thing. I want to know if anything matches what we found at Apelbergsgatan or Runnerström Square. Or the power substation and Sonja Hökberg’s purse. And don’t forget Siv Eriksson’s apartment.”
Nyberg took a quick look into the van.
“I’m so grateful every time I’m called out to look at something that doesn’t involve mutilated bodies,” he said. “Or so much blood that I have to put on waders.”
Robert Modin was still missing without a trace. The canine units came back at three. They had lost the track some distance up the coast.
“Everyone looking for Robert Modin should also be keeping an eye out for a man with an Asian appearance,” Wallander said. “But it’s important that he not be directly approached. This man is armed and dangerous. He’s been unlucky twice, but don’t count on a third time. We should also remain alert to incoming reports of stolen cars.”
Wallander gathered the members of his closest team. The sun was shining and there was no wind. He led them to the meditation garden.
“Were there any police during the bronze age?” Hansson asked.
“Probably,” Wallander said. “But I doubt there was a justice department breathing down their necks.”
“They played horns,” Martinsson said. “I was at a concert recently at the Ale stone formation. They had tried to re-create prehistoric music. It sounded like foghorns.”
“Let’s try to focus on the situation at hand,” Wallander said. “Further discussion of the bronze age will have to wait. Robert Modin receives a threat on his computer and he flees. He has now been gone for about five or six hours. Somewhere out here is a person who is looking for him, but we can also assume this person is after me. This will naturally come to extend to all of you.”
He looked around at them.
“We need to ask ourselves why,” he continued, “and I can only find one reasonable explanation. He, or someone, is worried that we know something. And even worse, this person — or persons — is worried that we’re in a position to prevent something from occurring. I’m completely convinced that everything that has happened has been a result of Falk’s death, and has to do with whatever is in his computer.”
He paused and looked at Martinsson.