Henning Mankell - The Troubled Man

It was a very warm evening, oppressively so. Wallander could feel a headache coming on.

“Is there anything in what I’ve told you that you find particularly surprising?” Talboth asked halfheartedly, mostly to keep the conversation going.

“No.”

“Is there any conclusion you’ve drawn that doesn’t fit in with what I’ve said?”

“No. Not that I can think of.”

“What do the police investigating Louise’s death have to say?”

“They don’t have any leads. There’s no murderer, no motive. The only clues are the microfilm and documents hidden in a secret pocket in her purse.”

“But surely that’s proof enough to show that she’s the spy everybody has been looking for? Perhaps something went wrong when she was due to hand over her material?”

“That’s a plausible explanation. I assume that’s the basis on which the police are proceeding. But what went wrong? Who was it that met her? And why did it happen just now?”

Talboth stopped and stamped on his cigarette butt.

“It’s a big step forward in any case,” he said. “She’s obviously guilty. The investigation can concentrate on Louise now. They’ll probably find the middleman sooner or later.”

They continued walking and came to the entrance door. Talboth tapped in the code.

“I need more fresh air,” Wallander said. “I’m a dyed-in-the-wool night owl. I’ll stay out for a bit longer.”

Talboth nodded, gave him the entry code, and went inside. Wallander watched the door closing silently. Then he stared walking along the deserted street. The feeling that something was fundamentally wrong struck him once more. The same feeling he’d had after leaving the island following the night he’d spent with Håkan von Enke. He thought about what Talboth had said, about the truth often being the opposite of what you’d expected. Sometimes you needed to turn reality upside down in order to make it stand up.

Wallander paused and turned around. The street was still deserted. He could hear music coming from an open window. A German hit song. He heard the words leben, eben , and neben . He continued walking until he came to a little square. Some young people were making out on a bench. Maybe I should stand here and shout out into the night, he thought. I don’t know what’s going on . That’s what I could shout. The only thing I’m sure about is that there’s something I’m not getting. Am I coming closer to the truth, or drifting further away from it?

He strolled around the square for a while, growing more and more tired. When he returned to the apartment, Talboth seemed to have gone to bed. The door to the balcony was locked. Wallander undressed and fell asleep almost immediately.

In his dreams the horses started running again. But when he woke up the next morning, he could remember nothing about them.

When Wallander opened his eyes, he didn’t know where he was at first. He glanced at his watch: six o’clock. He stayed in bed. He could hear through the wall what he assumed was the noise of the machines adjusting the oxygen level of the water in the gigantic aquarium, but he couldn’t hear whether the trains were running. They lived a silent life in their well-insulated tunnels. Like moles, he thought. But also like the people who wormed their way into the places where decisions were made, decisions they then stole and passed on to the other side, which was supposed to be kept in ignorance.

He got out of bed and felt an urge to leave. He didn’t bother to take a shower, but simply dressed and emerged into the large, well-lit apartment. The balcony door was open, the thin curtains flapping gently in the breeze. Talboth was sitting there, cigarette in hand. A cup of coffee was on the table in front of him. He turned slowly to face Wallander, who had the impression that Talboth had heard him coming. He smiled. It suddenly seemed to Wallander that he didn’t trust that smile.

“I hope you slept well.”

“The bed was very comfortable,” said Wallander. “The room was dark and quiet. But I think I should thank you for your hospitality now and take my leave.”

“So you’re not going to give Berlin another day to impress you? There’s an awful lot I could show you.”

“I’d love to stay on, but I think it’s best I set off for home now.”

“I take it your dog needs somebody to look after it?”

How does he know I have a dog? Wallander thought. I’ve never mentioned it. He had a vague impression that Talboth realized immediately he’d said something he shouldn’t have.

“Yes,” said Wallander. “You’re right. I mustn’t take too much advantage of my neighbors’ willingness to keep an eye on Jussi. I’ve spent all summer heading off to first one place, then another. And of course I have a grandchild I want to see as often as possible.”

“I’m glad that Louise had time to enjoy her,” said Talboth. “Children are one thing, but grandchildren are even more meaningful; they are the ultimate fulfillment. Children give us the feeling that our existence has been meaningful, but grandchildren are the confirmation of that. Do you have a photo of her?”

Wallander showed him the two photographs he had brought.

“A lovely little girl,” said Talboth, getting to his feet. “But you must have some breakfast before you leave.”

“Just a cup of coffee,” said Wallander. “I never have anything to eat in the morning.”

Talboth shook his head in disapproval. But he came back out onto the balcony with a cup of coffee — black, the way Wallander always drank it.

“You said something yesterday that I’ve been wondering about,” Wallander said.

“No doubt I said all kinds of things that you’ve been wondering about.”

“You said that sometimes one needed to look for explanations in places diametrically opposed to where one was looking at the time. Did you mean that as a general principle, or were you referring to something specific?”

Talboth thought for a moment.

“I don’t recall saying what you say I did,” he said. “But if I did, it was no doubt meant as a general principle.”

Wallander nodded. He didn’t believe a word of what Talboth said. He had meant something specific. It was just that Wallander hadn’t caught on to what it was.

Talboth seemed on edge, not as calm and relaxed as he had been the previous day.

“I’d like to take a photo of the two of us together,” he said. “I’ll get my camera. I don’t have a guest book, but I always take photographs when I have visitors.”

He came back with a camera, which he balanced on the arm of one of the chairs. He set the timer and came to sit down beside Wallander. When the picture was taken, he took another one himself, this time of Wallander alone. They said their good-byes shortly afterward. Wallander had his jacket in one hand and his car keys in the other.

“Will you manage to find your way out of the city without help?” Talboth asked.

“My sense of direction isn’t all that good, but I’ll no doubt find the right road sooner or later. Besides, there’s a logic in the German road network that puts all the others to shame.”

They shook hands. Wallander took the elevator down to street level and waved to Talboth, who was leaning over his balcony railing. As he left the building, Wallander noticed that Talboth’s name didn’t appear on the nameplate listing all the tenants; it said instead “USG Enterprises.” Wallander memorized the name, then got in his car and drove off.

It took him several hours to find his way out of the city. When he finally emerged onto the highway, he realized too late that he had missed an exit and was now heading for the Polish border. With considerable difficulty he eventually managed to turn and set off in the right direction. When he passed Oranienburg, he shuddered at the memory of what had happened there.