The Man Who Smiled (1994) kw-4

by Henning Mankell

  "You look shattered," Svedberg said. "What's happened?"

  "I've been running. I want you to come with me. It won't take long. Where's your car?"

  "It's right outside the front door."

  "Drive me back to my place in Mariagatan," Wallander said. "Let me get out shortly before we get there. You know the car I'm using at the moment, a police Volvo?"

  "The dark blue one or the red one?"

  "The dark blue one. Turn into Mariagatan. There's another car parked behind my Volvo, you can't miss it. I want you to drive past and see whether there's anybody in the car apart from the driver. Then come back to where you've dropped me off. That's all. Then you can go home to your paper."

  "You don't want to arrest somebody?"

  "That's exactly the last thing I want to do. I just want to know how many there are in the car."

  Svedberg had taken off his glasses and put down the newspaper.

  "What's going on?" he said.

  "I think somebody's watching my flat," Wallander said. "I only want to know how many of them there are. That's all. But I want whoever it is in the car to think I'm still in my flat. I came out by the back door."

  "I'm not sure I understand all this. Wouldn't it be best to make an arrest? We can ask for help."

  "You know what we've decided," Wallander said. "If it's anything to do with Harderberg we should pretend we're not very wide awake."

  Svedberg shook his head. "I don't like this," he said.

  "All you need to do is to drive to Mariagatan and make an observation," Wallander said. "Then I'll go back to my flat. I'll phone you if I need help."

  "I suppose you know best," Svedberg said, sitting on a stool in order to tie his shoelaces.

  They went down to the street and got into Svedberg's Audi, then drove past Stortorget, down Hamngatan and left into Osterleden. When they got to Borgmastaregatan they turned left again. Wallander asked Svedberg to stop when they came to Tobaksgatan.

  "I'll wait here," he said. "The car's ten metres behind."

  Minutes later Svedberg was back. Wallander got into the car again.

  "There was only the driver."

  "Thanks for your help. You can go home now. I'll walk from here."

  Svedberg gave him a worried look. "Why is it so important to know how many there are in the car?" he asked.

  Wallander had forgotten to prepare for that question. He was so focused on what he had decided to do that he had not taken Svedberg's natural curiosity into account.

  "I've seen that car before," he lied. "There were two men in it then. If there's only the driver in it now, it could mean the other man isn't far away."

  This explanation was pretty feeble, but Svedberg raised no objections.

  "FHC 803," he said. "But I expect you've noted that down already."

  "Yes," Wallander said. "I'll look it up in the register. You don't need to bother about that. Just go home now. I'll see you tomorrow. Thanks for your help."

  He got out of the car and waited until Svedberg had disappeared down Osterleden, then he started walking towards Mariagatan. Now that he was on his own again he could feel himself getting agitated, the nagging worry that his fear was making him weak.

  He went in by the back door and left the stair lights off when he returned to his flat. If he stood on tiptoe on the toilet seat and looked through the little bathroom window, he could see the street below. The car was still there. Wallander went to the kitchen. If they had meant to blow me up, they'd have done that already, he thought. They must be waiting for me to go to bed, and for the lights to go out.

  He waited until nearly midnight, then went back to the bathroom and checked to be sure the car was still there. Then he switched off the kitchen light and switched on in the bathroom. After ten minutes he switched off in the bathroom and switched on in the bedroom. He waited for ten more minutes, and switched off in there as well. Then he went rapidly down the stairs and left the building through the back door, crouched behind the drainpipe at the corner of the car park and waited. He wished he had put on a warmer jumper. A cold wind was getting up. He cautiously moved his feet about in an attempt to keep warm. By 1 a.m. the only incident of note was that Wallander needed to pee against the wall. Apart from the occasional car driving past, all was peaceful.

  At about 1.40 he heard a noise from the street. He peered out from behind the drainpipe. The driver's door had opened, although the inside light had not come on. After a few seconds' pause the driver emerged and closed the door quietly behind him. He was staring up at Wallander's windows all the time. He was wearing dark clothes, and Wallander was too far away to make out his features. Even so, he was sure he had seen the man before. He tried to remember where. The man hurried across the street and vanished through the front entrance.

  Then it came to Wallander where he had seen him. He was one of the men lurking in the shadows at the foot of the stairs at Farnholm Castle, on both occasions Wallander had been there. He was one of Harderberg's shadows. And now he was on his way up the stairs to Wallander's flat, perhaps with the objective of killing him. Wallander felt almost as if he were lying in bed, in spite of being where he was, outside in the street, in the cold.

  I am witnessing my own death, he thought.

  He pressed himself tightly against the drainpipe and waited. At 2.03 the door opened without a sound and the man emerged again into the street. He looked round, and Wallander drew back behind the corner. Then he heard the car take off in a racing start.

  He's going to report to Harderberg, Wallander thought. But he's not going to tell him the truth because he would not be able to explain how I could be in the flat one minute, switch off the light and go to bed, and have disappeared the next.

  Wallander could not exclude the possibility that the man had left some device in the flat, so he got into his car and drove to the police station. The officers on duty greeted him in surprise when he appeared in reception. He collected a mattress he knew was stored in the basement, then lay on the floor of his office. It was gone 3.00, and he was worn out. He had to get some sleep if he was going to be able to think clearly, but the man in the dark clothes followed him into his dreams.

  Wallander woke up covered in sweat after a series of chaotic nightmares. It was shortly after 5 a.m. He spent a while thinking about what Norin had told him, then he got up and went to fetch some coffee. It tasted bitter after standing all night. He did not want to go back to his flat yet. He took a shower in the changing room downstairs. By 7.00 he was back at his desk. It was Wednesday, November 24.

  He recalled what Hoglund had said a few days earlier: "We seem to have all the data, but we can't see how it hangs together." That's what we must start doing now, Wallander thought. Make everything fit together. He phoned Nyberg at home. "We have to meet," Wallander said.

  "I tried to find you yesterday," Nyberg said. "Nobody knew where you were. We have some news."

  "We? Who's we?"

  "Ann-Britt Hoglund and I."

  "About Avanca?"

  "I got her to help me. I'm a technician, not a detective."

  "I'll see you in my office as soon as you can get here. I'll phone Hoglund."

  Half an hour later Nyberg and Hoglund were sitting in Wallander's office. Svedberg put his head round the door. "Do you need me?" he said.

  "FHC 803. I haven't got round to looking it up. Could you do that for me, please?"

  Svedberg nodded and closed the door.

  "Avanca," Wallander said.

  "Don't expect too much," Hoglund said. "We've only had a day in which to look into the company and who owns it, but we've already established that it's no longer a family business run by the Romans. The family let the company use their name - and their reputation - and they still have some shares, possibly quite big holdings. But for several years now Avanca has been part of a consortium comprising several different firms associated in some way or other with pharmaceuticals, health care and hospital equipment. It's incredibly complicate
d, and the firms all seem to be intertwined. The umbrella for the consortium is a holding company in Liechtenstein called Medicom. It is divided up in turn among several owning groups. They include a Brazilian company concerned mainly with producing and exporting coffee. But what's much more interesting is that Medicom has direct financial links with Bayerische Hypotheken-und-Wechsel-Bank."

  "Why is that interesting?" Wallander said. He had already lost track of Avanca.

  "Because Harderberg owns a plastics factory in Genoa," she said. "They make speedboats."

  "I'm lost," Wallander said.

  "Here comes the punchline," Hoglund said. "The factory in Genoa is called CFP, whatever that stands for, and helps its customers to arrange funding by way of a sort of leasing contract."

  "Avanca, please," Wallander said. "I couldn't care less about Italian plastic boats just now."

  "Perhaps you should," Hoglund said. "CFP's leasing contracts are drawn up in cooperation with Bayerische Hypotheken-und-Wechsel-Bank. In other words, there is a link with the Harderberg empire. The first one we've found since the investigation began."

  "I can't make head nor tail of it," Wallander said.

  "There could be even closer links," she said. "We'll have to ask the fraud squad to help us with this. I hardly know what I'm doing myself."

  "This is impressive." Nyberg had not said a word until now. "Maybe we should find out if that plastics factory in Genoa makes other things besides speedboats."

  "Such as cool boxes for transplant organs?" Wallander said.

  "For instance."

  "If this turns out to be true," Wallander said, "it means that Harderberg is in some degree involved in the manufacturing and importing of these plastic containers. He might even have control, even if at first glance it looks to be a maze of different but interconnected companies. Can it really be possible that a Brazilian coffee producer has links with a tiny firm in Sodertalje?"

  "That would be no more odd than the fact that American car manufacturers also make wheelchairs," Hoglund said. "Cars cause car accidents, which in turn creates a demand for wheelchairs."

  Wallander clapped his hands and stood up. "Right, let's turn up the pressure on this investigation," he said. "Ann-Britt, can you get the financial experts to draw up some kind of large-scale wall map showing what Harderberg's holdings really look like? I want everything on it - speedboats in Genoa, cobs at Farnholm Castle, everything we've found out so far. And Nyberg, can you devote yourself to this plastic container? Where it comes from, how it got into Gustaf Torstensson's car."

  "That would mean that we blow the plan we've been working to so far," Hoglund objected. "Harderberg's bound to find out that we're digging into his companies."

  "Not at all," Wallander said. "It's all a matter of routine questions. Nothing dramatic. Besides, I'll talk to Bjork and Akeson and suggest it's high time we had a press conference. It will be the first time in my life I've ever taken that initiative, but I think it would be a good thing if we could give the autumn a helping hand to spread about a bit more mist and fog."

  "I heard that Akeson is still in bed with flu," Hoglund said.

  "I'll call him," Wallander said. "We're turning up the pressure, so he'll have to come whether he's got a cold or not. Tell Martinsson and Svedberg we're meeting at 2.00 today."

  Wallander had decided to wait until everybody was there before he said anything about what had happened the previous night.

  "Right, let's get going," he said.

  Nyberg went out, but Wallander asked Hoglund to stay behind. He told her that he and Widen had managed to place a stablegirl at Farnholm Castle.

  "Your idea was an excellent one," he said. "We'll see if it produces the goods."

  "Let's hope she comes to no harm."

  "She'll just be looking after some horses," Wallander said. "And keeping her eyes open. Let's not get hysterical. Harderberg can't suspect everybody on his staff to be police officers in disguise."

  "I hope you're right," she said.

  "How's it going with the flight log?"

  "I'm working at it," she said, "but Avanca took all my time yesterday."

  "You've done well," Wallander said.

  She was pleased to be told that, he noticed. We're far too reluctant to praise our colleagues, Wallander thought. Especially when there's no end to the amount of criticism and tittle-tattle we bandy about.

  "That's all," he said.

  She left, and Wallander went to stand at the window and ask himself what Rydberg would have done in this situation. But for once he felt that he had no time to wait for his old friend's answer. He just had to believe that the way he was running the investigation was right.

  He used up a huge amount of energy over the rest of the morning. He convinced Bjork of the importance of holding a press conference the next day, and he promised him that he would himself take care of the journalists once he had agreed with Akeson what they were going to say.

  "It's not like you to call in the mass media off your own bat," Bjork said.

  "Maybe I'm becoming a better person," Wallander said. "They say it's never too late."

  After meeting with Bjork he phoned Akeson at home. It was his wife who answered, and she was reluctant to let Wallander talk to her husband, who was in bed.

  "Has he got a temperature?" Wallander asked.

  "When you're ill, you're ill. Full stop," Mrs Akeson said.

  "I'm sorry," Wallander insisted, "but I've got to speak to him."

  After a considerable pause Akeson came to the phone. He sounded worn out. "I'm ill," he said. "Influenza. I've been on the loo all night."

  "I wouldn't disturb you if it weren't important," Wallander said. "I'm afraid I need you for a few minutes this afternoon. We can send a car to collect you."

  "I'll be there," Akeson said. "But I can take a taxi."

  "Do you want me to explain why it's important?"

  "Do you know who killed them?"

  "No."

  "Do you want me to approve a warrant for the arrest of Alfred Harderberg?"

  "No."

  "Then you can explain when I get in this afternoon."

  Wallander next phoned Farnholm Castle. He did not recognise the voice of the woman who answered. Wallander introduced himself and asked if he could speak to Kurt Strom.

  "He doesn't come on duty until this evening," the woman said. "No doubt you'll get him at home."

  "I don't suppose you're prepared to give me his phone number," Wallander said.

  "Why ever not?"

  "I thought it might be against your rules, security and so on."

  "No, not at all," she said, and gave him the number.

  "Please pass on my greetings to Dr Harderberg, and thank him for his hospitality the other evening," Wallander said.

  "He's in New York."

  "Well, please tell him when he comes back. Will he be away for long?"

  "We expect him back the day after tomorrow."

  Something had changed. He wondered if Harderberg had issued instructions to respond positively to queries from the Ystad police.

  Wallander dialled Strom's home number. He let it ring for some considerable time, but got no reply. He called reception and asked Ebba to find out where Strom lived. While he was waiting he went to fetch a cup of coffee. He remembered that he still had not been in touch with Linda, as he had promised himself he would be. But he decided to wait until evening.

  Wallander left the station at around 9.30 and set off towards Osterlen. Strom apparently lived in a little farmhouse not far from Glimmingehus. Ebba knew the area better than most, so she had drawn him a rough map. Strom had not answered the phone, but Wallander had a hunch he would find him there. As he drove through Sandskogen he tried to remember what Svedberg had told him about the circumstances in which Strom had been kicked out of the police force. He tried to anticipate what his reception would be. Wallander had occasionally come across police officers who had been involved in a crime, and he recalled s
uch occasions with distaste. But he could not avoid the conversation in store for him.

  He had no difficulty following Ebba's map, and he drove straight to a small white-painted house typical of the area, to the east of Glimmingehus. It was set in a garden that was no doubt very pretty in the spring and summer. When he got out of the car two Alsatians in a steel cage started barking. There was a car in the garage, and Wallander assumed he had guessed right: Strom was at home. He did not need to wait long. Strom appeared from behind the house, wearing overalls and with a trowel in his hand. He stopped dead on seeing who his visitor was.

  "I hope I'm not disturbing you," Wallander said. "I did ring, but I got no answer."

  "I'm busy filling in some cracks in the foundations," Strom said. "What do you want?"

  Wallander could see Strom was on his guard.

  "I've got something to ask you about," he said. "Maybe you can shut the dogs up."

  Strom shouted at the dogs and at once they fell silent.

  "Let's go inside," he said.

  "No need," Wallander said. "We can stay here. It'll only take a minute." He looked around the little garden. "A nice place you've got here. A bit different from a flat in the middle of Malmo."

  "It was OK there as well, but this is closer to work."

  "It looks as though you live on your own here. I thought you were married?"

  Strom glared at him with eyes of steel. "What's my private life got to do with you?"

  Wallander opened wide his arms in apology. "Nothing," he said. "But you know how it is with former colleagues. You ask after the family."

  "I'm not your colleague," Strom said.

  "But you used to be, didn't you?"

  Wallander had changed his tone. He was looking for a confrontation. He knew that toughness was the only thing Strom had any respect for.

  "I don't suppose you've come here to discuss my family."

  Wallander smiled at him. "Quite right," he said. "I haven't. I only reminded you that we used to be colleagues out of politeness."

  Strom had turned ashen. For a brief moment Wallander thought he had gone too far, and that Strom would take a swing at him.

  "Let's forget it," Wallander said. "Let's talk about something else. October 11. A Monday evening. Six weeks ago. You know the evening I mean?"