by Unknown
“There is a huge debate taking place,” she went on. “We can only hope that something good comes out of it, now that the issues are actually being discussed.”
“It might also force the senior members of the police administration in this country to be a little more self-critical,” Hansson said. “We’re not entirely without blame for the way things have developed.”
“What are you suggesting?” Wallander asked, curious. Hansson rarely participated in discussions about the police force.
“I’m thinking about the scandals in which the police have been involved,” Hansson said. “Maybe they’ve always existed, but not as often as they do now.”
“That’s something we should neither exaggerate nor ignore,” Per Åkeson said. “The big problem is the gradual shift in what the police and the courts see as a crime. What would have brought a conviction yesterday is suddenly considered a trifle today, and the police often don’t even bother to investigate. I think that’s offensive to the national sense of justice, which has always been strong in this country.”
“They’re probably related,” Wallander said. “But I have strong doubts that a discussion of the citizen militia will have any effect on this, even though I’d like to believe otherwise.”
“I’m thinking of prosecuting these men with as serious charges as I can,” Åkeson said. “The assault was vicious, that’s something I can emphasise. There were four men involved and I think I can convict at least three of them. I should also tell you that the chief prosecutor wants to be kept informed. I consider that quite surprising, but it indicates that at least this is being taken seriously at a high level.”
“Åke Davidsson sounds intelligent and articulate in an interview in Arbetet,” said Svedberg. “He’s not going to have any permanent injuries by the way.”
“Then there’s Terese and her father,” Wallander said. “And the boys at the school.”
“Is it true that Martinsson is thinking of resigning?” Åkeson asked.
“That was his first reaction,” Wallander replied. “Which seems both reasonable and natural. But I’m not sure he’s really going to go through with it.”
“He’s a good policeman,” Hansson said. “Doesn’t he know that?”
“Yes,” Wallander said. “The question is whether that’s enough. Other things can come up when something like this happens. Especially with our workload.”
“I know,” Chief Holgersson said. “And that’s not going to get any better.”
Wallander remembered that he still hadn’t done what he had promised Nyberg: talk to Holgersson about his workload. He made a note of it.
“We’ll have to take up this discussion later,” he said.
“I just wanted to inform you,” Holgersson said. “That’s all, except that Björk called to wish you luck. He was sorry to hear about what happened to Martinsson’s daughter.”
“He resigned in time,” Svedberg said. “What did we give him as a leaving present? A fishing rod? If he was still working here, he wouldn’t have time to use it.”
“He probably has a lot on his hands now too,” Holgersson said.
“Björk was a good chief,” Wallander said. “Now let’s move on.”
They started with Höglund’s timetable. Next to his notepad Wallander had placed the plastic bag containing the Swedish Railways timetable that he had found in Katarina Taxell’s desk.
Höglund had done a thorough job. The times of the various events were mapped out and listed in relation to each other. Wallander knew that this was an assignment he wouldn’t have done as well. In all probability he would have been sloppy. All policemen are different, he thought. It’s only when we can work with something that brings out our strengths that we’re of any real use.
“I don’t really see a pattern emerging,” Höglund said as she neared the end of her presentation. “The pathologists in Lund have established the time of Eriksson’s death as late on the evening of 21 September. Runfeldt also died at night. The times of death correspond, but one can’t draw any conclusions from this. There’s no correspondence in terms of the days of the week. If we add the two visits to the Ystad maternity ward and the murder of Blomberg, there might be a fragment of a pattern.”
She broke off and looked around the table. Neither Wallander nor anyone else seemed to understand what she meant.
“It’s almost pure mathematics,” she said. “But it seems as if our killer acts according to a pattern that is so irregular that it’s interesting. On 21 September Eriksson dies. On the night of 30 September, Katarina Taxell is visited at the Ystad maternity ward. On 11 October Gösta Runfeldt dies. On the night of 13 October the woman is back at the maternity ward and knocks down Svedberg’s cousin. Finally, on 17 October Eugen Blomberg is found dead. To this we can also add the day that Runfeldt probably disappeared. There is no regularity whatsoever. Which might be surprising, since everything else seems to be minutely planned and prepared. This is a killer who takes the time to sew weights into a sack that are carefully balanced to the victim’s weight. So we could say that perhaps the irregularity is caused by something out of the killer’s control. And then we have to ask: what?”
Wallander wasn’t quite following her.
“One more time,” he said. “Slowly.”
She repeated what she had said. This time Wallander understood what she meant.
“Maybe we can just say that it doesn’t have to be a coincidence,” she concluded. “I won’t try to stretch it further than that.”
Wallander started to see the picture more clearly.
“Let’s assume that there is a pattern,” he said. “Then what’s your interpretation? What factors affect a killer’s timetable?”
“There could be various explanations. The killer doesn’t live in Skåne, but makes regular visits here. Or perhaps he or she has a job that follows a certain rhythm.”
“So you think these dates could be days off? If we could follow them for another month, would it be clearer?”
“That’s possible. The killer has a job that follows a rotating schedule. The days off don’t always occur on Saturdays and Sundays.”
“That might turn out to be important,” Wallander said hesitantly. “But I find it difficult to believe it.”
“Otherwise I couldn’t manage to read much from the times,” she said.
Wallander held up the plastic bag.
“Now that we’re talking about timetables, I found this in a secret compartment in Katarina Taxell’s desk, as if this were her most important possession, that she hid from the world. A timetable for Swedish Railways’ inter-city trains for the spring of 1991. With a departure time underlined: Nässjö 16.00. It goes every day.”
He pushed the plastic bag over to Nyberg.
“Fingerprints,” he said.
Then he moved on to Krista Haberman and told them about the morning visit in the fog. There was no mistaking the sombre mood in the room.
“So I think we have to start digging,” he concluded. “When the fog lifts and Hansson has had a chance to find out who worked the land, and whether any changes took place after 1967.”
For a long time there was complete silence as everyone evaluated what Wallander had just said. It was Åkeson who spoke.
“This sounds both incredible and at the same time highly plausible,” he said. “I assume that we have to take this possibility seriously.”
“It would be good if this didn’t get out,” Chief Holgersson said. “There’s nothing people like better than having old, unsolved missing-person cases come up again.”
They had made a decision. Wallander decided to end the meeting as quickly as possible because everyone had a lot of work to do.
“Katarina Taxell has disappeared,” he said. “Left her home in a red Golf with an unknown driver. Her departure was hasty. Her mother wants us to put out an APB on her, which we can hardly refuse since she’s the next of kin. But I think we should wait, at least a few more days.”
/> “Why?” Åkeson asked.
“I have a suspicion that she’ll make contact,” Wallander said. “Not with us, of course. But with her mother, who she knows will be worried. She’ll call to reassure her. Unfortunately she probably won’t say where she is. Or who she’s with.”
Wallander now turned to face Åkeson.
“I want someone to stay with Taxell’s mother and record the conversation. Sooner or later it’ll come.”
“If it hasn’t happened already,” Hansson said, getting to his feet. “Give me Birch’s phone number.”
He got it from Höglund and quickly left the room.
“There’s nothing more for now,” Wallander said. “Let’s say we’ll meet again at 5 p.m. if nothing else happens before then.”
When Wallander got to his own office, the phone was ringing. It was Martinsson, wanting to know if Wallander could meet him at his house at 2 p.m. Wallander promised to be there. He left the station and ate lunch at the Hotel Continental. He knew that he couldn’t afford it, but he was hungry and didn’t have much time. He sat alone at a window table, nodding to people passing by, surprised and hurt that no-one stopped to offer condolences at the death of his father. It was in the papers. News of a death travels fast, and Ystad was a small town. He ate halibut and drank a light beer. The waitress was young and blushed every time he looked at her. He wondered sympathetically how she was going to stand her job.
At 2 p.m. he rang Martinsson’s bell, and they went and sat in the kitchen. Martinsson was home alone. Wallander asked about Terese. She had gone back to school. Martinsson looked pale and dejected. Wallander had never seen him so depressed.
“What should I do?” Martinsson asked.
“What does your wife say? What does Terese say?”
“That I should keep working, of course. They’re not the ones who want me to quit. I’m the one.”
Wallander waited. But Martinsson didn’t say anything.
“Remember a few years back?” Wallander began. “When I shot a man in the fog near Kåseberga and killed him? And then ran over another one on the Öland Bridge? I was gone almost a year. All of you thought that I had quit. Then there was that case with the two lawyers named Torstensson, and suddenly everything changed. I was about to sign my letter of resignation, but instead I went back on duty.”
Martinsson nodded. He remembered.
“Now, after the fact, I’m glad that I did what I did. The only advice I can give you is that you shouldn’t do anything rash. Wait to make up your mind. Work one day at a time. Decide later. I’m not asking you to forget, I’m asking you to be patient. Everyone misses you. You’re a good policeman. Everyone notices when you’re not there.”
Martinsson threw out his arms.
“I’m not that important. Sure, I know a few things. But you can’t tell me that I’m in any way irreplaceable.”
“You are irreplaceable,” Wallander said. “That’s just what I’m trying to tell you.”
Wallander had expected the conversation to take a long time. Martinsson sat in silence for a few minutes. Then he got up and left the kitchen. When he came back he had his jacket on.
“Shall we go?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Wallander. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
In the car on the way to the station, Wallander gave him a brief summary of the events of the past few days. Martinsson listened in silence. When they entered reception, Ebba stopped them. Since she didn’t take the time to welcome Martinsson back, Wallander knew at once that something had happened.
“Ann-Britt is trying to get hold of you two,” she said. “It’s important.”
“What’s happened?”
“Someone named Katarina Taxell called her mother.”
Wallander looked at Martinsson. So he had been right, but it had happened faster than he had expected.
CHAPTER 33
They weren’t too late. Birch had managed to be there in time. In just over an hour the tape of the conversation was in Ystad. They gathered in Wallander’s office, where Svedberg had set up a tape recorder, and listened tensely to the brief conversation. The first thing that occurred to Wallander was that Katarina Taxell didn’t want to talk any longer than necessary.
They listened to it once, then a second time. Svedberg handed Wallander a pair of earphones so that he could listen to the two voices more closely.
“Mama? It’s me.”
“Dear God. Where on earth are you? What happened?”
“Nothing happened, we’re fine.”
“Where on earth are you?”
“With a good friend.”
“Who?”
“A good friend. I just wanted to call and tell you everything’s fine.”
“What happened? Why did you disappear?”
“I’ll explain some other time.”
“Who are you staying with?”
“You don’t know her.”
“Don’t hang up. What’s your phone number?”
“I’m going now. I just wanted to call so you wouldn’t worry.”
Her mother tried to say something else, but Katarina hung up.
They listened to the tape at least 20 times. Svedberg wrote down what was said on a piece of paper.
“It’s the eleventh line that interests us,” Wallander said. “‘You don’t know her.’ What does she mean by that?”
“Just what she says,” Höglund said.
“That’s not what I’m getting at,” Wallander answered. “‘You don’t know her.’ That could mean two things. Either that her mother has never met her or that her mother doesn’t understand what she means to Katarina.”
“The first one is the most plausible,” Höglund said.
While they talked Nyberg put on the earphones and listened again. The sounds seeping out told them that he had the volume turned up high.
“There’s something audible in the background,” Nyberg said. “A banging noise.”
Wallander put on the earphones. Nyberg was right. There was a steady pounding in the background. The others took turns listening. No-one could say for sure what it was.
“Where is she?” asked Wallander. “She’s arrived somewhere. She’s staying with the woman who came to pick her up. And somewhere in the background something is banging.”
“Could it be near a construction site?” Martinsson suggested. It was the first thing he had said since returning to work.
“That’s a possibility,” Wallander said.
They listened again. It was definitely a banging sound.
“Send the tape to Linköping,” he said. “If we can identify the sound, it might help us.”
“How many construction sites are there in Skåne alone?” Hamrén said.
“It could be something else,” Wallander said. “Something that might give us an idea where she is.”
Nyberg left. They stayed in Wallander’s office, leaning against the walls and desk.
“Three things are important from now on,” Wallander said. “For the time being we’ll have to put aside certain aspects of the investigation. We have to keep mapping out Katarina Taxell’s life. Who is she? Who are her friends? That’s the first thing. The second thing is: who is she staying with?”
He paused before he went on.
“We’ll wait until Hansson comes back from Lödinge, but I think our third task will be to start digging at Eriksson’s place.”
The meeting broke up. Wallander had to go to Lund, and he was thinking of taking Höglund with him. It was already late afternoon.
“Do you have a babysitter?” he asked when they were alone in his office.
“Yes,” she said. “My neighbour needs the money, thank God.”
“How can you afford it on a police salary?” Wallander asked.
“I can’t,” she said. “But my husband makes a good living. That’s what saves us. We’re one of the lucky families today.”
Wallander called Birch and told him that they were on their w
ay. He let Höglund take her car. He no longer trusted his own car, in spite of the expensive repairs. The land-scape slowly vanished into the twilight. A cold wind blew across the fields.
“We’ll start at Taxell’s mother’s house,” he said. “Later we’ll go back to her flat.”
“What do you think you might find? You’ve already gone over the flat. And you’re usually thorough.”
“Maybe nothing new. But maybe a connection between two details that I didn’t see before.”
She drove fast.
“Do you usually rev the engine when you start the car?” Wallander asked suddenly.
She gave him a quick look. “Sometimes. Why do you ask?”
“Because I wonder if it was a woman driving the red Golf that picked up Taxell and the baby.”
“Don’t we know that for sure?”
“No,” Wallander said firmly. “We hardly know anything for sure.”
He looked out the window. They were passing Marsvinsholm.
“There’s something else we don’t know with certainty,” he said after a while. “Though I’m becoming more and more convinced of it.”
“What’s that?”
“She’s alone. There’s no man anywhere near her. There’s no-one at all. We’re not looking for a woman who might give us a possible lead. There’s nothing behind her. There’s just her. No-one else.”
“So she’s the one who committed the murders? Dug the pungee pit? Strangled Runfeldt after holding him captive? Tossed Blomberg in the lake, alive in a sack?”
Wallander replied by asking another question.
“Do you remember, early on, when we talked about the killer’s language? That he or she wanted to tell us something? About the deliberateness of the modus operandi?”
She remembered.
“It strikes me now that from the start we saw things correctly. But we were thinking wrong.”
“Because a woman was behaving like a man?”
“Maybe not exactly the behaviour. But she committed deeds that made us think of brutal men.”
“So we were supposed to think about the victims? It was they who were brutal?”
“Exactly. Them and not the killer. We read the wrong message into what we saw.”