Henning Mankell - The Troubled Man

It was drizzling unseasonably over Skåne on Saturday when he set off from Ystad to meet Hans von Enke’s parents. He had been sitting in his office since early morning, yet again, for who knows how many times, going through the most important parts of the investigation material concerning the death of the arms dealer and the stolen revolvers. They thought they had identified the thieves, but they still had no proof. I’m not looking for a key, he thought. I’m hunting for the slightest sound of a distant tinkling from a bunch of keys. He had worked his way through about half of the voluminous documentation by three o’clock. He decided to go home, sleep for an hour or two, then get dressed for dinner. Linda had said Hans’s parents were sometimes a bit formal for her taste, but given that, she suggested her father wear his best suit.

“I only have the one I wear at funerals,” said Wallander. “But perhaps I shouldn’t put on a white tie?”

“You don’t need to come at all if you think it’s going to be so awful.”

“I was only trying to make a joke.”

“You failed. You have at least three blue ties. Pick one of those.”

As Wallander sat in a taxi on the way back to Löderup at about midnight, he decided that the evening had turned out to be much more pleasant than he had expected. He had found it easy to talk to both the retired commander and his wife. He was always on his guard when he met people he didn’t know, thinking they would regard the fact that he was a police officer with barely concealed contempt. But he hadn’t detected any such tendency in either of them. On the contrary, they had displayed what he considered to be genuine interest in his work. Moreover, Håkan von Enke had views about how the Swedish police were organized and about various shortcomings in several well-known criminal investigations that Wallander tended to agree with. And he in turn had an opportunity to ask questions about submarines, the Swedish navy, and the current downsizing of the Swedish defense facilities, to which he received knowledgeable and entertaining answers. Louise von Enke hardly spoke but sat there for most of the time with a friendly smile on her face, listening to the others talking.

After he had called a cab, Linda accompanied him as far as the gate. She held on to his arm and leaned her head on his shoulder. She did that only when she was pleased with him.

“So I did okay?” asked Wallander.

“You were better than ever. You can if you make an effort.”

“I can what?”

“Behave yourself. You can even ask intelligent questions about things that have nothing to do with police work.”

“I liked them. But I didn’t get to know her very well.”

“Louise? That’s the way she is. She doesn’t say much. But she listens better than all the rest of us put together.”

“She seemed a bit mysterious.”

They had come out onto the road and stood under a tree to avoid the drizzle, which had continued to fall all evening.

“I don’t know anyone as secretive as you,” said Linda. “For years I thought you had something to hide. But I’ve learned that only a few mysterious people are in fact hiding something.”

“And I’m not one of them?”

“I don’t think so. Am I right?”

“I suppose. But maybe people sometimes hide secrets they don’t even know they have.”

The taxi headlights cut though the darkness. It was one of those bus-like vehicles becoming more and more common with cab companies.

“I hate those buses,” said Wallander.

“Don’t start getting worked up now! I’ll bring your car tomorrow.”

“I’ll be at the police station from ten o’clock on. Go in now and find out what they thought of me. I’ll expect a report tomorrow.”

She delivered his car the following day, shortly before eleven.

“Good,” she said as she entered his office, as usual without knocking.

“What do you mean, ‘Good’?”

“They liked you. Håkan had a funny way of putting it. He said: ‘Your dad is an excellent acquisition for the family.’ ”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

She put the car keys on his desk. She was in a hurry since she and Hans had planned an outing with his parents. Wallander glanced out the window. The clouds were beginning to open up.

“Are you going to get married?” he asked before she disappeared through the door.

“They very much want us to,” she said. “I’d be grateful if you didn’t start nagging us too. We want to see if we’re compatible.”

“But you’re going to have a baby?”

“That will be fine. But being able to put up with each other for the rest of our lives is a different matter.”

She disappeared. Wallander listened to her rapid footsteps, the heels of her boots clicking against the floor. I don’t know my daughter, he thought. There was a time when I thought I did, but now I can see that she’s more and more of a stranger to me.

He stood by the window and gazed out at the old water tower, the pigeons, the trees, the blue sky emerging through the dispersing clouds. He felt deeply uneasy, an aura of desolation all around him. Or maybe it was actually inside him? As if he were turning into an hourglass with the sand silently running out. He continued watching the pigeons and the trees until the feeling drifted away. Then he went back to his desk and continued doggedly reading through the reports piled high in front of him.

Wallander spent Christmas with Linda’s family. He observed his granddaughter, who still hadn’t been given a name, with admiration and restrained joy. Linda insisted that the girl looked like him, especially her eyes, but Wallander couldn’t see any similarities, no matter how hard he tried.

“The girl should have a name,” he said as they sat drinking wine on Christmas Eve.

“All in good time,” said Linda.

“We think the name will announce itself one of these days,” said Hans.

“Why am I named Linda?” she asked out of the blue. “Where does that come from?”

“You can blame me,” said Wallander. “Mona wanted to name you something different; I can’t remember what. But as far as I was concerned, you were Linda from the very beginning. Your granddad thought you should be called Venus.”

“Venus?”

“As you know, he wasn’t always all there. Don’t you like your name?”

“I’ve got a good name,” she said. “And you don’t need to worry. If we get married, I’m not going to change my surname. I’ll never be Linda von Enke.”

“Perhaps I should become a Wallander,” said Hans. “But I don’t think my parents would like that.”

Over the next few days, Wallander spent his time organizing all the paperwork that had accumulated during the past year. It was a routine he had instigated years ago — before ringing out the old year, make room for all the junk that would build up during the one to come.

The evening the verdicts in the arms theft trial were made public, Wallander decided to stay at home and watch a movie. He had invested in a satellite dish and now had access to lots of film channels. He took his service pistol home with him, intending to clean it. He was behind in his shooting practice and knew he would need to submit to a test by the beginning of February at the latest. His desk wasn’t cleared, but he had no pressing business. I’d better make the most of the opportunity, he thought. I can watch a movie tonight; tomorrow might be too late.

But after he got home and took Jussi out for a walk, he started to feel restless. He sometimes felt abandoned in his house out in the wilds, surrounded by empty fields. Like a wrecked ship, he sometimes thought. I’ve run aground in the middle of all these brown muddy fields. This restlessness usually passed quickly, but tonight it persisted. He sat in the kitchen, spread out an old newspaper, and cleaned his gun. By the time he’d finished it was still only eight o’clock. He had no idea what inspired him, but he made up his mind, changed his clothes, and drove back into Ystad. The town was always more or less deserted, especially on weekday evenings. No more than two or three restaurants or bars would be open. Wallander parked his car and went to a restaurant in the square. It was almost empty. He sat at a corner table, then ordered an appetizer and a bottle of wine. While he was waiting for the food, he gulped down a few glasses. He told himself he was swilling the alcohol in order to put his mind at rest. By the time the food arrived, he was already drunk.