“I’ll take care of it,” Wallander said and stretched out his hand for the receipt.
Modin ate. Wallander and Martinsson watched him in silence. Then Wallander’s phone rang again. It was Elvira Lindfeldt. He went out into the hall and closed the door behind him.
“I heard on the radio that shots were fired in an incident close to Ystad,” she said. “And there were policemen involved. I hope that wasn’t you.”
“Not directly,” Wallander said vaguely. “But we have a lot going on right now.”
“It made me worried, that’s all. I had to ask. Now of course I’m getting curious but I won’t ask any more questions.”
“There isn’t much I can tell you,” Wallander said.
“I understand that you don’t have a lot of free time at the moment.”
“It’s too early to say. But I’ll be in touch.”
When the conversation was over Wallander thought about the fact that it had been a long time since anyone had cared about him. Let alone worried about him.
He went back into the room. It was twenty minutes to six. Modin was still eating. Wallander and Martinsson left to get some coffee.
“I forgot to tell you that I cross-checked the list of names I got from Sydkraft. But I didn’t find anything.”
“We didn’t expect to,” Wallander said.
The coffee machine was on the blink again. Martinsson pulled out the plug and then put it in again. Now it was working.
“Is there a computer program inside the coffee machine?” Wallander asked.
“Hardly,” Martinsson said. “Though I guess you can imagine more sophisticated machines that would be controlled with tiny computer chips.”
“What if someone went in and changed the program? Could they change it so tea came out instead of coffee? And milk when someone wanted espresso?”
“Of course.”
“But how would it get triggered? How could you get it to start?”
“Well, you could imagine that a certain date has been entered in. A date and a time, perhaps an interval of an hour. Then the eleventh time that someone presses the button for coffee, the virus is triggered.”
“Why the eleventh?”
“That was just an example. It could have been any number that you’d chosen.”
“Is there anything you can do once that change occurs?”
“You could pull out the plug and restart it,” Martinsson said. “You can hang a sign saying the machine is broken. But the program that runs the machine would have to be replaced.”
“Is this what Modin is talking about?”
“Yes, but on a larger scale.”
“But we have no idea where Falk’s coffee machine is.”
“It could be anywhere in the world.”
“And that would mean that whoever sets off the chain reaction wouldn’t even have to be aware of it.”
“It would even be an advantage if the responsible party was nowhere near where the virus first arises.”
“So we’re looking for the symbolic equivalent of a coffee machine,” Wallander said. He walked over to the window and looked out. It was already dark. Martinsson walked over to where he was.
“I want you to do something,” Wallander said. “I’d like you to write a memo about what we just talked about. The threat of a global financial collapse. Get Alfredsson to help you. Then send it on to Stockholm and all of the internationl police agencies you can think of.”
“If we’re wrong, we’ll be the laughing stock of the world.”
“We have to take that chance. Give me the papers and I’ll sign them.”
Martinsson left. Wallander stayed in the lunchroom, deep in thought. He didn’t notice when Höglund slipped in. He jumped when she turned up at his side.
“You know the poster of that movie,” she said. “The one that you saw in Sonja Hökberg’s closet?”
“The Devil’s Advocate. I have the movie at home, I just haven’t had time to see it.”
“I don’t think the movie is so important, actually,” she said. “But I’ve been thinking about Al Pacino. He resembles someone.”
Wallander looked at her.
“Who does he resemble?”
“The man in her sketch. Carl-Einar Lundberg. He actually looks a little like Al Pacino.”
Wallander realized that she was right. He had seen a picture of Lundberg in a file she had put on his desk. He just hadn’t thought about the resemblance until now. Another detail fell into place.
They sat down at a table. Höglund was tired.
“I went over to talk to Eva Persson,” she said. “I thought I would be able to get something more out of her. Silly me.”
“How was she?”
“She’s still completely nonchalant. That’s the worst thing. I wish she looked like she slept badly and cried at night. But she doesn’t. She just sits there chewing her gum and seems mildly irritated at having to answer my questions.”
“She’s hiding her feelings,” Wallander said. “We just can’t see it.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Wallander filled her in on Modin’s hypothesis of an impending financial collapse.
“We’ve never even been close to something like this,” she said when he finished. “If it’s true.”
“We’ll find out on Monday, I guess. Unless we think of some way to intervene.”
“Do you think we will?”
“Maybe. Martinsson is contacting police all over the world, and Alfredsson is getting in touch with all of the institutions on Falk’s list.”
“There isn’t much time. If it really is set for Monday. And it’s the weekend.”
“There’s never enough time,” Wallander answered.
By nine o’clock, Robert Modin was completely exhausted. They had decided that he was not going to be spending the next few nights at home. But when Martinsson suggested he sleep at the station, he flat-out refused. Wallander thought about calling Sten Widen to see if he could accomodate an extra person, but he decided against it. For security reasons Modin could not spend the night with anyone on the investigative team, since they could also be considered a target. They had to be careful.
Finally, Wallander thought of a person to ask. Elvira Lindfeldt. She was a complete outsider, and it would also give him a chance to see her, if only for a short while.
Wallander didn’t say her name, but he said he would take Robert to a safe place for the night.
He called her shortly before nine-thirty.
“I have a question that may seem a little strange,” he said.
“I’m used to strange questions.”
“Could you take an extra person for the night?”
“Who would that be?”
“Do you remember the young man who came to the restaurant that night?”
“His name was Kolin?”
“Modin.”
“He has nowhere to sleep?”
“I’m only going to say that he needs a place to stay for a few nights.”
“Of course he can stay here. How is he going to get here?”
“I’ll give him a ride. We’ll be there shortly.”
“Do you want anything to eat when you arrive?”
“Some coffee would be nice. That’s all.”
They left the station shortly before ten. When they passed Skurup Wallander was sure no one was following them.
Elvira Lindfeldt slowly put down the receiver. She was happy, in fact more than happy. She was overjoyed. This was an amazing stroke of luck. She thought about Carter, who was about to take off from the Luanda airport.
He would be happy, too.
After all, this was exactly what he had wanted.
Chapter Thirty-Seven