Henning Mankell - An Event in Autumn - A Kurt Wallander Mystery

“It was pure coincidence. We’re just trying to find out who it was that died.”

“That’s not true. You want to put me in prison. You want me to die in a prison cell.”

“In Sweden all crimes are statute-barred after twenty-five years. Nothing will happen to you, no matter what you say.”

Pihlak pulled a chair toward him and sat down. All the time the pistol was pointed at Wallander.

“I promise not to do anything,” said Wallander. “You’re welcome to tie me up if you want. But put that pistol away.”

Pihlak said nothing. He kept the gun pointing steadily at Wallander’s head.

“I was afraid all those years, of course — afraid that you would find me,” he said after awhile.

“Have you ever been back here? During all those years?”

“Never.”

“Never?”

“Not a single time. I studied to become an engineer at the Chalmers technical university in Gothenburg. Then I worked for an engineering company in Örnsköldsvik until the mid-sixties. Then I moved back to Gothenburg and worked at the Eriksberg shipyard for a few years. Then I went to Malmö — but never here. Never ever. Until I moved into Ekudden.”

Wallander could hear that the man was beginning to hold forth. It was the beginning of the tale he wanted to tell. Wallander tried to surreptitiously change his posture so that the pistol was no longer pointing straight at his face.

“Why couldn’t you leave me in peace?”

“We have to find out who those dead people are. That’s what the police do.”

Ivar Pihlak suddenly burst out laughing.

“I never thought they would be discovered. Not during my lifetime, at least. But they were. Earlier today you stood there in the doorway and started asking me questions. Tell me what you know.”

“We found two skeletons, a man and a woman. Both in their fifties. They’ve been lying there for at least fifty years. Both had been killed. That’s all.”

“That’s not much.”

“There’s one more thing I know. The woman had a lot of fillings in her teeth, but the man’s teeth were quite different.”

Pihlak nodded slowly. “He was tightfisted. Not with himself, but with everybody else.”

“Are you referring to your father?”

“Who else would I be talking about?”

“I ask questions I need answers to. Nothing else.”

“He was so incredibly mean. And evil. He wouldn’t let her go to the dentist until her teeth had started to rot away. He treated my mother as if she were totally devoid of dignity. He used to humiliate her by waking her up in the middle of the night, forcing her to lie naked on the floor and repeat over and over again how worthless she was, until dawn. She was so scared of him that she started shaking whenever he was near.”

Ivar Pihlak suddenly fell silent. Wallander waited. The gun was still pointing straight at him. Wallander had the feeling that this trial of strength could last awhile. But he had to wait for the moment when the man lost concentration. Then Wallander would have the opportunity of attacking him and taking away his gun.

“During those years I often wondered about my mother,” said Pihlak. “Why couldn’t she simply leave him? It made me both despise her and feel sorry for her. How can you possibly have such contrasting feelings for the same person? I still haven’t found a satisfactory answer to that. But if she had left him, it would never have happened.”

Wallander suspected there was deep-seated anguish in everything Ivar Pihlak said. But he still wasn’t sure what caused that feeling.

“One day she’d had enough,” said Pihlak. “She hanged herself in the kitchen. I couldn’t take any more...”

“So you killed him?”

“It was during the night. I must have woken up when she kicked the chair away. But my father carried on sleeping peacefully. I hit him on the head with a hammer. I dug the graves that same night. By dawn they were already buried and the surface soil had been replaced.”

“But some of the currant bushes ended up in the wrong place.”

Pihlak looked at Wallander in surprise.

“Is that how you caught on to it?”

“What happened next?”

“It was all straightforward. I reported that they had both left Sweden. Nobody checked up on that information: the war was still on, everything was in chaos, people were fleeing all over the place, without identities, without roots, without aims. And so I moved, first to Sjöbo, and then, after the war, to Gothenburg. I lived in various apartments while I was studying. I supported myself by working in the docks. I had strong arms in those days.”

The gun was still pointing at Wallander, but he had the feeling that Ivar Pihlak’s concentration was less intense. Wallander cautiously moved his feet so that when the moment came he would be able to brace himself before throwing himself at the old man.

“My father was a monster,” said Pihlak. “I have never regretted what I did. But I was unable to avoid my punishment. I see his shadow around me all the time. I think I see my father’s face and hear him saying: ‘You will never be able to shake me off.’ ”

He suddenly burst into tears. Wallander hesitated, but realized the moment had come. He jumped up off the chair and threw himself at Ivar Pihlak — but he had misjudged the old man’s alertness. He swayed to one side and hit Wallander on the head with the butt of his pistol. It was not a hard blow, but it was sufficient to knock Wallander out. When he came back to his senses, Pihlak was leaning over him.

“You should have left me alone,” Pihlak yelled. “You should have let me die with my shame and my secret. That was all I asked. But now you’ve come and ruined everything.”

Wallander was horrified to note that Pihlak had now passed beyond his limit. He would shoot at any moment. Trying to attack him again was bound to fail.

“I’ll leave you in peace,” said Wallander. “I understand why you did what you did. I shall never say anything.”

“It’s too late. Why should I believe you? You threw yourself at me. You thought you’d be able to sort out an old codger like me without any difficulty.”

“I don’t want to die.”

“Nobody does. But we all do in the end.”

Ivar Pihlak took a step toward him. He was holding the gun with both hands now. Wallander wanted to close his eyes, but he didn’t dare. Linda’s face flitted past in his mind’s eye.

Pihlak pulled the trigger. But no bullet hit Wallander. No bullet emerged at all. When Ivar Pihlak pulled the trigger, the gun exploded. Bits of metal from the ancient pistol hit Pihlak in the forehead, making a deep hole, and he was dead before his body hit the floor.

Wallander sat there for ages without moving. He felt incomprehensibly happy inside. He was alive, but the old man was dead. The gun Ivar Pihlak had held in his hands had not obeyed him during the last second of his life.

Wallander eventually stood up and staggered out to his car. He phoned Martinson and told him what had happened.

He remained outside the house, buffeted by the wind, waiting. He was thinking of nothing, and he wanted nothing. Being able to continue living was quite enough.

It was fourteen minutes before he saw the first of the blue lights approaching.

Two weeks later, a few days before Christmas, Linda accompanied her father to the farm in Löderup. She had insisted that he should pay the place one more visit, then he could give the keys back to Martinson and begin looking seriously for another house.

It was a cold, clear day. Wallander said nothing, and had his cap pulled down low over his forehead. Linda wanted him to show her where Ivar Pihlak had died, and where her father had also thought death had come to collect him. Wallander pointed and mumbled, but when Linda wanted to ask questions he merely shook his head. There was nothing else to say.