Хеннинг Манкелль - Firewall

Wallander grimaced. He had never seen anything like it — two young girls involved in such meaningless brutality. According to Martinsson’s notes, the younger girl had a high grade-point average. The older one was a hotel receptionist and had previously worked as a nanny in London. She had just enrolled at the local community college. Neither one of them had ever been involved with the authorities before.

I just don’t get it , Wallander thought. This total lack of respect for human life. They could have killed that taxi driver, it may even turn out that way if he dies in the hospital. Two girls. If they had been boys, maybe I could understand, if only because I’m used to it by now.

He was interrupted by a knock on the door. His colleague Ann-Britt Höglund came in the door. As usual, she looked pale and tired. Wallander thought about the change she had undergone since first coming to Ystad. She had been one of the best of her graduating class at the Police Academy and had arrived with a great deal of energy and ambition. Today she still possessed a strong will, but she was changed. The paleness in her face came from within.

“Do you want me to come back later?” she asked.

“No, by all means.”

She sat down gingerly in the rickety chair opposite him. Wallander pointed to the papers on his desk.

“Do you have anything to say about this?” he asked.

“Is it the taxi-driver case?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve talked to the older girl, Sonja Hökberg. She gave me clear and strong answers, answered everything. And seemed completely without remorse. The other girl has been in custody with the social-welfare people because of her youth.”

“Do you understand it?”

Höglund paused before answering.

“Yes and no. We already know that very young people are committing serious crimes these days.”

“Forgive me, but I can’t recall a previous case involving teenage girls attacking anyone with knives and hammers. Were they drunk?”

“No. But I don’t know if that should surprise us. Maybe what should surprise us is that something like this didn’t happen sooner.”

Wallander leaned over the table.

“You’ll have to run that last part by me again.”

“I don’t know if I can explain it.”

“Give it a try.”

“Women aren’t needed in the workforce anymore. That era is over.”

“But that doesn’t explain why young girls have started assaulting taxi drivers.”

“There has to be something more to it that we don’t know. Neither one of us believes in the idea that people are born evil.”

Wallander shook his head.

“I try to hang on to that belief,” he said, “though at times it’s a challenge.”

“Just look at the magazines these young girls are reading. Now it’s all about beauty again, nothing else. How to get a boyfriend and find meaning for life through his interests and dreams, that sort of thing.”

“Weren’t they always like that?”

“No. Think about your own daughter. Didn’t she have her own ideas about what to do with her life?”

Wallander knew she was right. But he shook his head doubtfully anyway.

“I just don’t know why they attacked Lundberg.”

“But you should. Young girls are slowly starting to see through the messages society sends them. When they figure out they aren’t needed, that in fact they’re superfluous, they react just as violently as boys. And go on to commit crimes, among other things.”

Wallander was quiet. He now understood the point Höglund had been trying to make.

“I don’t think I can do a better job of explaining it,” she said. “Don’t you think you should talk to them yourself?”

“Martinsson already suggested it.”

“Actually, I stopped by for another reason. I need your help on something.”

Wallander waited for her to continue.

“I promised to give a talk to a local women’s club here in Ystad. They’re meeting Thursday evening. But I don’t feel up to it anymore. There’s too much going on in my life, and I can’t seem to focus.”

Wallander knew she was in the middle of agonizing divorce proceedings. Her ex-husband was constantly away due to his work as a machinery installer, which sent him all over the world. That meant the process was dragging on. It was over a year ago now that she had first told Wallander about the marriage ending.

“Why don’t you see if Martinsson can do it?” Wallander said. “You know I’m hopeless at lectures.”

“You would just have to tell them what it’s like to be a police officer,” she said. “And you’d only need to speak for half an hour to an audience of about thirty women. They’ll love you.”

Wallander shook his head firmly.

“Martinsson would be more than happy to do it,” he said. “And he has experience in politics, so he’s used to this kind of thing.”

“I already asked him. He can’t do it.”

“Holgersson?”

“Same. There’s just you.”

“What about Hansson?”

“He would start talking about horse racing after a few minutes. He’s hopeless.”

Wallander realized he would have to say yes. He couldn’t leave her in the lurch.

“What kind of women’s club?”

“It started as a book club, I think, that grew into a society for intellectual and literary activity. They’ve been active for about ten years.”

“And I would be there to talk to them about what it’s like to be a police officer?”

“That’s all. They’ll probably ask you questions, too.”

“Well, I don’t want to do it, but I will since you’re in a bind.”

She was clearly relieved and pulled out a piece of paper.

“Here’s the name and number of the contact person.”

Wallander glanced at the note. The address was a building in the middle of town, not too far from where he lived. Höglund got to her feet.

“They won’t pay you anything,” she said. “But you’ll get plenty of coffee and cake.”

“I don’t eat cake.”

“If it’s any consolation, this kind of public service is exactly what the National Chief of Police wants us to be doing. You know how we’re always getting those memos about finding new ways of reaching out to the community.”

Wallander thought briefly about asking her how she was doing in her personal life, but decided to let it pass. If she had any problems she wanted to discuss with him, she would have to be the one to bring them up.

“Weren’t you going to attend Stefan Fredman’s funeral?”

“I was just there. And it was exactly as depressing as you might imagine.”

“How is the mother doing? I can’t remember her name.”

“Anette. She’s certainly been dealt a bum hand in life. But I think she’s taking good care of the one child she has left. Or trying to, at any rate.”

“We’ll have to wait and see.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“What’s the boy’s name?”

“Jens.”

“We’ll have to wait and see if the name Jens Fredman starts popping up in our police reports in about ten years.”

Wallander nodded. There was certainly that possibility.

Höglund left the room. Wallander got up to get a fresh cup of coffee. The young police officers were no longer in the lunchroom. Wallander walked over to Martinsson’s office. The door was wide open, but the room was empty. Wallander returned to his office. His headache was gone. He looked out of the window. Some blackbirds were screeching over by the water tower. He tried to count them, but there were too many.

The phone rang and he answered without sitting down at his desk. It was someone calling from the bookstore to let him know that the book he had ordered had come in. Wallander couldn’t recall ordering a book, but he said nothing. He promised to stop by and pick it up the following day.