At 6.30 p.m. Wallander suggested to Hansson that they could start sending people home. Everyone was exhausted. They might as well be waiting, and resting, in their own homes. They would remain on call through the night.
“So who should stay here?” asked Hansson.
“Ekholm and Hoglund,” Wallander answered. “And one more. Whoever’s the least tired.”
Ludwigsson and Hamren both stayed.
They all moved down to one end of the table instead of spreading out as usual.
“The hideout,” Wallander said. “What would be a secret and impregnable fortress? What would an insane boy who transforms himself into a lone warrior seek?”
“I think his plans must have fallen apart,” Ekholm said. “Otherwise they would have stayed in the basement room.”
“Smart animals dig extra exits,” Ludwigsson said thoughtfully.
“You mean that he might have a second hideout in reserve?”
“Maybe. In all likelihood it’s also in Malmo.”
The discussion petered out. Hamren yawned. A phone rang down the hall and someone appeared in the doorway, saying that there was a call for Wallander. He got up, much too tired to ask who it was. It didn’t occur to him that it might be Baiba, not until he had picked up the phone in his own office. By then it was too late. But it wasn’t Baiba. It was a man who spoke with a broad Skane accent.
“Who is this?” Wallander asked.
“Hans Logard.”
Wallander almost dropped the receiver. “I need to meet with you. Now.”
Logard’s voice was strained, as if he was having a lot of trouble forming his words. Wallander wondered whether he was on drugs.
“Where are you?”
“First I want a guarantee that you’ll come. And that you’ll come alone.”
“You won’t get it. You nearly killed me and Sjosten.”
“God damn it! You have to come!”
The last words sounded almost like a shriek. Wallander grew cautious. “What do you want?”
“I can tell you where Stefan Fredman is. And his sister.”
“How can I be sure of that?”
“You can’t. But you should believe me.”
“I’ll come. You tell me what you know. And then we’ll bring you in.”
“All right.”
“Where are you?”
“Are you coming?”
“Yes.”
“Wetterstedt’s villa.”
A feeling that he should have thought of that possibility raced through Wallander’s mind.
“Do you have a gun?” he asked.
“The car is in the garage. The revolver is in the glove compartment. I’ll leave the door to the house open. You’ll see me when you come in the door. I’ll keep my hands in sight.”
“All right, I’m coming.”
“Alone?”
“Yes, alone.”
Wallander hung up, thinking feverishly. He had no intention of going alone. But he didn’t want Hansson to start organising a major strike force. Ann-Britt and Svedberg, he thought. But Svedberg was at home. He called him and told him to meet him outside the hospital in five minutes. With his service revolver. Did he have it? He did. Wallander told him briefly that they were going to arrest Logard. When Svedberg tried to ask questions, Wallander cut him off. Five minutes, he said, outside the hospital. Until then, don’t use the phone.
He unlocked a desk drawer and took out his revolver. He detested even holding it. He loaded it and tucked it in his jacket pocket, then went to the conference room and waved Hoglund outside. He took her into his office and explained. They would meet in the car park right away. Wallander told her to bring her service revolver. They would take Wallander’s car. He told Hansson he was going home to shower. Hansson yawned and waved him goodbye. Svedberg was outside the hospital. He got into the back seat.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
Wallander told them about the phone call. If the revolver wasn’t in the car they’d call it off. Same thing if the door wasn’t open. Or if Wallander suspected something was wrong. The two of them were supposed to stay out of sight but ready.
“He might have another gun,” Svedberg said. “He might try to take you hostage. I don’t like this. How could he know where Stefan Fredman is? What does he want?”
“Maybe he’s stupid enough to try and make a deal with us. People think Sweden is just like the United States.”
Wallander thought about Logard’s voice. Something told him he really did know where the boy was.
They parked the car out of sight of the house. Svedberg was to watch the beach side. When he got there he was alone, except for a girl sitting on the boat under which they’d found Wetterstedt’s dead body. She seemed to be completely entranced by the sea and the black rain cloud bearing down on the land. Hoglund took up a position outside the garage. Wallander saw that the front door was open. He moved slowly. The car was in the garage. The revolver was in the glove compartment. He took out his own gun, put the safety catch off, and advanced cautiously to the door. Everything was still.
He stepped up to the door. Hans Logard stood in dark hall. He had his hands on his head. Wallander sensed danger. But he went inside. Logard looked at him. Then everything happened very fast. One of Logard’s hands slipped down and Wallander saw a gaping wound in his head. Logard’s body fell to the floor. Behind him stood Stefan Fredman. He had lines painted on his face. He threw himself furiously at Wallander, an axe lifted high. Wallander raised his revolver to shoot, but too late. Instinctively he ducked and a rug slipped under him. The axe grazed his shoulder. He fired a shot and an oil painting jumped on one of the walls. At the same instant Hoglund, appeared in the doorway. She stood crouched and ready to fire. Fredman saw her just as he was raising the axe to slam it into Wallander’s head. He leapt to the left. Wallander was in the line of fire.
Fredman vanished towards the open terrace door. Wallander thought of Svedberg. Slow Svedberg. He yelled to Hoglund to shoot. But he was gone. Svedberg, who had heard the first shot, didn’t know what to do. He yelled at the girl sitting on the boat to take cover, but she didn’t move. He ran towards the garden gate. It hit him in the head as it flew open. He saw a face he would never forget. He dropped his revolver. The man had an axe in his hand. Svedberg did the only thing he could do, he ran yelling for help. Fredman got his sister, motionless still on the boat, and dragged her to his moped. They rode off just as Wallander and Hoglund came running out.
“Call for back-up!” Wallander shouted. “Where the hell is Svedberg? I’ll try and follow them in the car.”
Heavy rain begain to fall. Wallander ran to his car, trying to work out which way they would have gone. Visibility was poor even with the windscreen wipers on full. He thought he had lost them but suddenly caught sight of the moped again. They were going down the road towards the Saltsjobad Hotel. Wallander kept a safe distance behind. He didn’t want to frighten them. The moped was going very fast. Wallander frantically tried to think how to put an end to the chase. He was just about to call in his location when the moped wobbled. He braked. The moped was heading straight for a tree. The girl was thrown off, right into the tree. Stefan Fredman landed somewhere off to the side.
“Damn!” said Wallander. He stopped the car in the middle of the road and ran towards the moped.
Louise Fredman was dead, he could see that at once. Her white dress seemed strangely bright against the blood streaming from her face. Stefan appeared uninjured. Wallander watched the boy fall to his knees beside his sister. The rain poured down. The boy started to cry. It sounded as if he was howling. Wallander knelt next to him.