Хеннинг Манкелль - The Man Who Smiled

“Not drunk, but you’re over the limit. I don’t want you getting into trouble.”

Widén had left his car keys on the table. Wallander put them in his pocket. “Just to be on the safe side,” he said. “I don’t want you changing your mind while I’m gone.”

“You must be out of your mind,” Widén said. “I’m not drunk.”

“We can argue about that when I get back,” Wallander said. “I’ve got to go this very minute.”

“I don’t give a shit about your Kurt Ström,” Widén said, “but I don’t want anything to happen to her.”

“I take it she’s more than just a stablehand to you,” Wallander said.

“Yes,” Widén said. “But that’s not why I don’t want anything to happen.”

“That has nothing to do with me,” Wallander said.

“Exactly right. It doesn’t.”

Wallander found a pair of unused sneakers in his closet. Many times he had vowed to start jogging, but had never gotten around to it. He put on a thick sweater and a woollen cap, and was ready to leave.

“Make yourself at home,” he said to Widén, who had openly planted his whiskey bottle on the kitchen table.

“You worry about Sofia, not about me,” Widén said.

Wallander closed the door behind him, then paused on the dark staircase, wondering what to do. If Ström was dead, everything had failed. He felt as if he was back to where he had been the previous year, when death was waiting in the fog. The men at Farnholm Castle were dangerous, whether they smiled like Harderberg or skulked in the shadows like Tolpin and Obadia.

I’ve got to get Sofia out of there, he thought. I must call Björk and organize an emergency team. We’ll bring in every police district in Skåne if we have to.

He switched on the light and ran down the stairs. He called Björk from his car, but as soon as Björk answered he turned off the phone.

I have to figure this out myself, he thought. I don’t want any more dead bodies.

He drove to the police station and got his handgun and a flashlight. He went to Svedberg’s deserted office and turned on the light, then trawled through papers until he found the map of the Farnholm Castle grounds. He folded it and put it in his pocket. When he left the station it was 7:45. He drove to Malmövägen and stopped at Höglund’s house. He rang the bell, and her husband opened the door. He declined the offer to go inside, saying that he only wanted to leave her a message. When she came to the door she was in a robe.

“Listen carefully,” he said. “I’m going to break into Farnholm Castle.”

“Ström?” she said.

“I think he’s dead.”

She turned pale and Wallander wondered if she was going to faint.

“You can’t go to the castle on your own,” she said, when she had recovered her composure.

“I have to.”

“Why do you have to?”

“I have to figure this out myself,” he said, annoyed. “Please stop asking questions. Just listen.”

“I’m going with you,” she said. “You can’t go there by yourself.”

She had made up her mind. There was no point in arguing with her.

“All right, you can come,” he said, “but you’ll wait outside. I could use somebody I can be in radio contact with.”

She ran up the stairs. Her husband ushered Wallander in and closed the door.

“This is what she warned me would happen,” he said with a smile. “When I get back home, she’s the one who’ll be going out on business.”

“This probably won’t take very long,” Wallander said, though he could hear how lame the words sounded.

A couple of minutes later she came back down wearing a tracksuit.

“Don’t wait up for me,” she said to her husband.

Nobody to wait up for me, Wallander thought. Nobody. Not even a dozing cat among the plant pots on a window ledge.

They drove to the police station and got two radios.

“Maybe I should get a gun,” she said.

“No,” Wallander said. “You’ll wait outside the perimeter. And you’d better do exactly as I say.”

They left Ystad behind. It was a clear, cold night. Wallander was driving fast.

“What are you going to do?” she said.

“I’m going to find out what happened.”

She can see through me, he thought. She knows I don’t have a clue what I’m going to do.

They continued in silence and reached the turnoff to Farnholm Castle at about 9:30. Wallander drove into a parking place reserved for tractors and switched off his engine and also the lights. They sat there in the dark.

“I’ll be in touch every hour,” Wallander said. “If you hear nothing for more than two hours, call Björk and tell him to organize a full emergency team.”

“You shouldn’t be doing this, you know,” she said.

“All my life I’ve been doing things I shouldn’t be doing,” Wallander said. “Why stop now?”

They tuned their radios.

“Why did you become a police officer and not a vicar?” he said, looking into her eyes reflected in the dim light of the radios.

“I was raped,” she said. “That changed my whole life. All I wanted to do after that was join the police force.”

Wallander sat for a while in silence. Then he opened the door, got out, and closed it quietly behind him. It was like entering another world. Höglund was nowhere to be found any longer.

The night was very calm. For some reason he was struck by the thought that in two days it would be Lucia, and all of Sweden would be occupied with blond girls wearing a crown of burning candles on their heads, singing “Santa Lucia” and celebrating what used to be thought of as the winter solstice. He positioned himself behind a tree trunk and unfolded his map. He shone his flashlight on it and tried to memorize the key elements. Then he switched off the flashlight, put the map into his pocket, and ran down the road leading to the castle gates. It would be impossible to climb the double fence of barbed wire. There was only one way in, and that was through the gates.

After ten minutes he paused to get his breath back. Then he made his way cautiously along the road until he could see the bright lights at the gates, and the bunker that guarded them.

I must do what they least expect, he thought. The last thing they’ll be waiting for is an armed man trying to get into the castle grounds on his own.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He took his pistol out of his pocket. Behind the bunker was a narrow patch of shadow. He glanced at his watch: 9:57.

Then he made his move.

The first call came after half an hour. She could hear his voice clearly, with no interference, as if he had not gone far from the car but was standing close by in the shadows.

“Where are you?” she said.

“I’m inside the grounds,” he said. “Stand by for the next call in an hour from now.”

“What’s happening?”

But there was no answer. She thought there had been a temporary loss of contact and waited for him to call back, but then she realized that Wallander had switched off without replying to her question. There was no sound from the radio.

It seemed to Wallander that he was walking through the valley of the shadow of death. Nevertheless, getting in had been easier than he had ever dared to hope. He had sneaked swiftly to the narrow patch of shadow behind the bunker and been surprised to discover a small window. By standing on tiptoe he could see inside. There was only one person in the bunker, sitting in front of a bank of computer screens and telephones. Only one person, and a woman at that. She seemed to be knitting a child’s sweater. Wallander could hardly believe his eyes. The contrast with what was happening within the gates was too great, almost impossible to grasp. Obviously she could not possibly suspect that there would be an armed man just outside, so he walked calmly around the bunker and tapped on the door, trying to make it as friendly a knock as possible. Just as he had thought, she opened the door wide, not anticipating any threat. She had her knitting in her hand, and looked at Wallander in surprise. It had not occurred to him to draw his pistol. He explained who he was, Inspector Wallander from the Ystad police, and even apologized for disturbing her. He ushered her gently back inside the bunker and closed the door behind them. He looked to see whether there was a security camera inside the bunker as well, but there was no sign of one, and invited her to sit down. At that point it dawned on her what was happening, and she started screaming. Wallander drew his pistol. Holding the gun in his hand worried him so much that he felt sick. He avoided aiming at her, but ordered her to be quiet. She looked scared to death, and Wallander wished he had been able to calm her down, saying she could continue knitting the sweater, which was no doubt meant for one of her grandchildren. But he thought about Ström and Sofia, he thought about Sten Torstensson and the mine in Mrs. Dunér’s garden. He asked if she had to keep reporting back to the castle, but she said she did not.