It all came to a head at the highest part of the bridge.
Konovalenko was going at very high speed, but Wallander had managed to keep on his tail. When he was sure of not hitting a car coming in the opposite direction, he stuck his pistol out of the window and shot. His aim was just to hit the car. The first shot missed. But the second was on target, and by an incredible stroke of luck he managed to burst one of the rear tires. The Mercedes immediately went into a skid, and Konovalenko could not stop it. Wallander slammed on the brakes and watched as Konovalenko careered into the concrete barrier at the outer edge of the bridge. There was an enormous crash. Wallander could not see what had happened to Konovalenko behind the wheel. But without a second thought he shifted into first gear and drove straight into the back of the wrecked car. He felt a searing pain as the safety belt bit into his chest. Wallander wrestled with the lever to find reverse. With tires screeching, he backed off and prepared for another ram. Then he repeated the maneuver one more time. The car in front was hurled a few more meters forward. Wallander backed off again, flung open the door, and took cover. Cars were already lining up behind him. When Wallander waved his pistol and yelled at the drivers to keep out of the way, several tumbled out of their cars and ran for it. Wallander could see a similar line of cars on the other side of the bridge. Still no sign of Konovalenko. Even so, he fired a shot at the crumpled car.
After the second bullet, the gas tank exploded. Wallander never knew for sure afterwards if it was his bullet that caused the fire, or whether the leaking gas had ignited for some other reason. The car was instantly engulfed by roaring flames and thick smoke. Wallander approached the car cautiously.
Konovalenko was on fire.
He was trapped on his back with half his upper body sticking out through the windshield. Afterwards, Wallander would remember his staring eyes, indicating he could not believe what was happening to him. Then his hair started burning, and a few seconds later it was obvious to Wallander he was dead. Sirens were approaching in the distance. He walked slowly back to his own car and leaned against the door.
He gazed out over Kalmar Sound. The water glistened. There was a smell of the sea. His mind was a complete blank; he could not think at all. Something had come to an end, and he felt stupefied. Then he heard a voice from a megaphone ordering somebody to lay down their arms. It was a while before he realized the voice was talking to him. He turned round and saw fire engines and patrol cars on the Kalmar side. Konavalenko’s car was still ablaze. Wallander looked at his pistol. Then he threw it over the side of the bridge. Armed police were coming towards him. Wallander waved his ID.
“Chief Inspector Wallander,” he yelled. “I’m a cop!”
He was soon surrounded by suspicious local colleagues.
“I’m a cop and my name’s Wallander,” he repeated. “You might have read about me in the papers. There’s been an APB on me since last week.”
“I recognize you,” said one of the cops in a broad local accent.
“The guy on fire in the car is Konovalenko,” said Wallander. “He’s the one who shot our colleague in Stockholm. And a few more besides.”
Wallander looked around.
Something that might have been joy, or maybe relief, was beginning to well up inside him.
“Shall we go?” he asked. “I could use a cup of coffee. It’s all over here.”
Chapter Thirty-one
Jan Kleyn was arrested in his office at BOSS headquarters around midday, Friday, May 22. Soon after eight in the morning Chief Prosecutor Wervey had listened to Scheepers’s account of the circumstances and President de Klerk’s decision late the previous night. Then, without comment, he signed a warrant for Jan Kleyn’s arrest and another to search his house. Scheepers requested that Inspector Borstlap, who had made a good impression in connection with the murder of van Heerden, should take care of the arrest of Jan Kleyn. When Borstlap had deposited Jan Kleyn in an interrogation room, he went to an adjacent room where Scheepers was waiting. He was able to report that the arrest had taken place without any problems. But he had observed something that seemed to him important, and possibly worrisome. His information about why somebody in the intelligence service should be brought in for interrogation was scanty. Scheepers had stressed the secrecy surrounding everything to do with state security. Nevertheless, Borstlap had been told in confidence that President de Klerk was aware of what was happening. Borstlap had therefore felt instinctively that he ought to report what he had seen.
Jan Kleyn had not been surprised by his arrest. Borstlap had seen through his indignation as a poorly performed charade. Somebody must have warned Jan Kleyn about what was going to happen. Since it was clear to Borstlap that the decision to arrest Jan Kleyn had been made in great haste, he realized Kleyn must either have friends in circles close to the president or there must be a mole operating in the public prosecutor’s office. Scheepers listened to what Borstlap had to say. It was less than twelve hours since de Klerk made his decision. Apart from the president only Wervey and Borstlap knew what was going to happen. It was clear to Scheepers he must inform de Klerk immediately that his office must be bugged. He asked Borstlap to wait outside while he made an important telephone call. But he did not get hold of de Klerk. His secretary said he was in a meeting and could not be reached until later in the afternoon.
Scheepers left the room and went out to Borstlap. He had made up his mind to keep Kleyn waiting. He had no illusions about the latter being worried because he was not told why he had been arrested. It was more for his own sake. Scheepers felt a degree of uncertainty about the imminent confrontation.
They drove to Jan Kleyn’s house outside Pretoria. Borstlap was driving, and Scheepers was slumped in the back seat. He suddenly started to think about the white lioness he and Judith had seen. It was a symbol of Africa, he thought. The animal at rest, the calm before it gets to its feet and musters all its strength. The beast of prey one cannot afford to wound, but which must be killed if it starts to attack.
Scheepers gazed out of the car window and wondered what was happening in his life. He wondered whether the grand design worked out by de Klerk and Nelson Mandela, involving the ultimate retreat of the whites, would actually succeed. Or would it lead to chaos, uncontrolled violence, a crazy civil war with positions and alliances constantly changing and the outcome impossible to predict? The apocalypse, he thought. The doomsday we have always tried to contain like an evil genie in a bottle. Will the genie take its revenge when the bottle is broken?
They stopped outside the gate of Jan Kleyn’s big house. Borstlap had already informed him on his arrest that his house would be searched, and requested the keys. Jan Kleyn played up his outraged dignity and refused. Then Borstlap threatened to break down the front door. He got the keys in the end. There was a guard posted outside the house, and a gardener. Scheepers introduced himself. He looked around the walled yard. It was designed on the basis of straight lines. In addition, it was so well tended it had lost all signs of life. That’s what Jan Kleyn must be like as well, he thought to himself. His life is an extension of straight ideological lines. There is no room in his life for divergence, not in his thoughts, his emotions, nor his garden. The exception is his secret: Miranda and Matilda.
They entered the house. A black servant stared at them in astonishment. Scheepers asked him to wait outside while they searched the building. They asked him to tell the gardener and the guard not to go away until they received permission.
The house was sparsely but expensively furnished. They could see Jan Kleyn preferred marble, steel, and substantial wood in his furniture. Lithographs hung here and there on the walls. The motifs were taken from South African history. There were also some fencing swords, old pistols and game bags. A hunting trophy was mounted over the mantelpiece, a stuffed kudu with powerful, curved horns. While Borstlap went through the whole house, Scheepers shut himself into Jan Kleyn’s study. The desk was empty. There was a filing cabinet against one wall. Scheepers looked for a safe but found nothing. He went downstairs to the living room where Borstlap was searching through a bookcase.