Firewall

by Henning Mankell

  "She's hiding her feelings," Wallander said. "We just can't see it."

  "I do hope you're right."

  Wallander briefed her on Modin's hypothesis of an impending financial collapse.

  "We've never even been close to something like this," she said when he finished. "If it's true."

  "We'll find out on Monday, I guess. Unless we think of some way to intervene."

  "Do you think we will?"

  "Maybe. Martinsson is contacting police from all over the world, and Alfredsson is getting in touch with all of the institutions on Falk's list."

  "There isn't much time. If it really is set for Monday. It's the weekend already."

  "There is never enough time," Wallander answered.

  By 9 p.m. Modin was exhausted. It was agreed that he should not spend the next few nights at home, but when Martinsson suggested that he sleep at the station he refused point-blank. Wallander thought of calling Sten Widén to see if he had space for an extra person, but decided against it; and for security reasons he could not stay with anyone on the investigative team, since they could also be considered a target.

  Finally Wallander thought of someone to ask. Elvira Lindfeldt. She was completely unconnected, and it would also give him a chance to see her if only for a short while. He did not mention her name, but said he would take Modin to a safe place for the night.

  He called her at 9.30 p.m. "I have a question that may seem a little strange," he said.

  "I'm used to strange questions."

  "Could you put someone up for the night?"

  "Who would that be?"

  "Do you remember the young man who came to the restaurant that night?"

  "His name was Kolin?"

  "Modin."

  "Has he nowhere to sleep?"

  "I'm only going to say that he needs a place to stay for a few nights."

  "Of course he can stay here. How is he going to get here?"

  "I'll give him a lift. We'll be there shortly."

  "Would you like anything to eat when you arrive?"

  "Some coffee would be good. That's all."

  They left the station at 9.50 p.m. By the time they passed Skurup, Wallander was satisfied that no-one was following them.

  Elvira put the receiver down slowly. She was happy, in fact more than happy. She was overjoyed. This was an amazing stroke of luck. She thought about Carter who was about to take off from the Luanda airport. He would be happy too. After all, this was exactly what he had wanted.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  The night of Saturday, October 18, Wallander would remember as one of the worst in his life. Afterwards he would think back to a near accident that night as a sign. As they passed the turning to Svedala, someone had suddenly decided to overtake him just at the moment that a huge truck was bearing down on them from the other direction. Wallander turned as sharply as he could without driving off the road, and managed to avoid the car, but it had been close. Modin was asleep in the seat and didn't notice anything, but Wallander's heart was pounding inside his chest.

  He kept driving and his mind reverted uneasily to what Höglund had told him about Martinsson and his games. He had an unpleasant sense of being on trial and not being sure of his own innocence. The anxiety and worry was nagging at him from all sides.

  When he followed the sign off the main road for Jägersro, Modin woke up.

  "We'll soon be there," Wallander said.

  "I was dreaming," Modin said. "Someone tried to attack me."

  Wallander found the house easily enough. It was in the far corner of a housing development that looked to have been built between the wars. He drew up.

  "Who lives here?" Modin said.

  "A friend of mine," Wallander said. "Her name is Elvira. You'll be safe here. I'll send someone to pick you up in the morning."

  "I don't even have a toothbrush," Modin said.

  "We'll take care of it somehow."

  It was pretty late, but Wallander had imagined that he would have a cup of coffee, look at her lovely legs and stay until about midnight.

  But they had only just gone inside when Wallander's phone rang. It was Hansson. He could tell that something was up by the tension in his voice. They had found traces of the man they thought had shot at Wallander. Once again it was a person out walking their dog who had helped them. He had spotted a man who seemed to be hiding in the bushes and generally behaving oddly. Since he had been seeing police cars driving to and fro all day, the dog owner thought it best to call in with his information. The dog owner had told Hansson that the man looked as though he was wearing a black raincoat.

  Wallander quickly introduced Elvira to Modin, thanked her for her hospitality, and left. He thought about the curious fact that dog owners had been such a help during the investigation. Perhaps these civilians were a resource that the police should make more use of in future. He drove much too fast and soon arrived at the place north of Sandhammaren that Hansson had described. He had stopped at the station on the way to pick up his gun.

  It was raining again. Martinsson had arrived a few minutes before Wallander. There were officers there in full protective gear, as well as several dog units. The man they were closing in on was in a small pocket of forest bordered on one side by the road to Skillinge and by open fields on the other. Although Hansson had been effective in mobilising police into the area, Wallander could see at once that the man had a good chance of escape. While they were discussing their plan of advance, a message came in on Hansson's radio. A police patrol to the north thought they had seen the suspect. The radio contact broke off. In the distance came the sound of a shot followed closely by a second, and from Hansson's radio came very clearly: "The fucker's shooting at us." Then silence.

  Wallander feared the worst. Martinsson seemed to have disappeared. It took him and Hansson six minutes to get to where the radio transmission had come from. When they saw the patrol car with its lights on they readied their weapons and got out of their own vehicle. The silence was deafening. Wallander shouted out to the others, and to his and Hansson's great relief there was an answer. They ran, bent double, to the patrol car and found two policemen there, scared out of their wits. One of them was El Sayed, the other Elofsson. The man who had shot at them appeared to be in a clump of trees on the other side of the road. They had been standing next to the car when they heard the sound of breaking twigs. Elofsson had directed his flashlight towards the trees while El Sayed had established radio contact with Hansson. Then came the shots.

  "What's on the other side of those trees?" Wallander said.

  "There's a path down to the sea," Elofsson said.

  "Are there any houses there?" No-one knew. "We'll try to surround him," Wallander said. "Now that we have a pretty good idea where he is."

  Hansson managed to locate Martinsson and told him their position. Meanwhile, Wallander dispatched Elofsson and El Sayed deeper into cover. All the time he expected the gunman to turn up alongside the car with his gun cocked.

  "What about a helicopter?" Martinsson said, when he had joined them.

  "Good idea. Make sure it has strong spotlights. But don't let it get here until all of us are in place."

  Martinsson turned to his radio and Wallander studied the terrain. Since it was dark he couldn't really see anything, and since the wind had picked up it was impossible for him to determine if the sounds he heard were real or imagined.

  Martinsson crept over to him. "A helicopter is on its way."

  Wallander had no time to answer. At that moment another shot went off. They steeled themselves.

  The shot had come somewhere from the left. Wallander had no idea who the intended target was. He called out to Elofsson and El Sayed called back. Then he also heard Elfosson's voice. Wallander knew he had to do something. He called out into the darkness.

  "Police! Put down your weapon!"

  Then he repeated the phrase in English.

  There was no answer, only the wind.

  "I don't
like this," Martinsson whispered. "Why is he still there shooting at us? Why doesn't he leave? He must assume that there are reinforcements on the way."

  Wallander was thinking the same thing. Then they heard police sirens in the distance.

  "Why didn't you tell them to be quiet?" Wallander didn't try to hide his irritation. "Hansson should have known."

  At the same moment El Sayed cried out. Wallander thought he glimpsed a shadow run across the road and out into the field that lay to the left of the car. Then it was gone.

  "He's getting away," Wallander said.

  "Where?"

  Wallander pointed to where the shadow had been, but Martinsson couldn't see anything. Wallander had to act fast. If the suspect made it across the field he would reach a larger stretch of forest and then it would be harder to corner him. He told Martinsson to move, then he jumped into the car, turned it on and pulled it violently around. He hit something, but he didn't stop to look what it was. The headlights were shining straight out into the field.

  When the light hit him the man stopped and turned. The raincoat flapped in the wind. Wallander saw the man raise one arm. He dropped under the dashboard. The bullet shattered the windscreen. Wallander rolled out of the car, yelling to the others to get down. Another shot. It took out a headlight. Wallander wondered if the man was just a lucky shot or if he had meant to hit it. It was much harder to see now.

  The sirens were closing in. Suddenly Wallander was afraid that the approaching cars were going to be a target. He shouted to Martinsson to radio the cars and tell them not to approach until they received an all-clear.

  "I've dropped the radio," Martinsson said. "I can't find it in this shit."

  The man in the field was running. Wallander saw how he tripped and almost fell. Wallander got to his feet.

  "What the hell are you doing?"

  "We have to take him," Wallander said.

  "We have to surround him first."

  "If we wait to do that he'll get away."

  Wallander looked at Martinsson who shook his head. Then he started running. The mud immediately started caking up under his shoes. The man was beyond the reach of the light now. Wallander stopped and made sure his safety catch was off. Behind him he heard Martinsson shouting to El Sayed and Elofsson. Wallander stayed outside the light from the remaining headlight and speeded up. Then one of his shoes sank into the mud and came off. Wallander angrily ripped off the other one. His feet were at once soaking wet and cold, but it was easier to walk over the mud. And then he caught sight of the man, who was also having trouble walking over the ploughed mud.

  The distance between them was still such that Wallander did not fancy his chances of hitting his legs. He heard a helicopter in the distance, but it did not come closer. It seemed to be awaiting further orders. They were out in the middle of the field now and the light from the car was very faint. He wasn't that good a shot. The man he was pursuing had twice in a row missed his mark but had hit the headlight from very far away. Wallander frantically tried to think of something that would work. He couldn't understand why neither Hansson nor Martinsson ordered the helicopter to advance.

  Suddenly the man stumbled again and fell. Wallander saw that he was looking for something. It took him a split second to understand that he had dropped his weapon and was looking for it. They were about 35 metres apart. I don't have enough time, he thought, but he was already running and jumping across the stiff furrows. Three times he almost lost his balance. Then the man saw him. Even in this light Wallander could tell he looked Asian.

  Wallander's left foot slipped out from under him, as if he had been on an ice floe. He couldn't recover his balance and fell head first into the mud. At that moment his opponent found his gun. Wallander was now up on one knee and saw that the gun was aimed straight at him. Wallander squeezed his trigger. The gun didn't work. He squeezed again with the same result. In a last desperate attempt to survive Wallander threw himself into the mud and tried to slide down into it. That was when the shot was fired. Wallander flinched, but had not been hit. He lay motionless and waited for his opponent to fire again. But nothing happened. Wallander had no sense of how long he lay there. He felt as if he were watching himself, observing the situation from a distance. So this is how it would end: a pointless death in a muddy field. This is where he had brought his dreams and ambitions. Nothing would come of them now. He would vanish into the final darkness with his face pressed into the cold, wet clay, and he was not even wearing shoes.

  Only when he heard the sound of the fast-approaching helicopter did he dare to think he might survive. He carefully looked up.

  The man lay on his back with his arms spread. Wallander got up and slowly approached. He could see the floodlights from the helicopter starting to search the far end of the field. Dogs were barking and somewhere far away he heard Martinsson's voice.

  The man was dead. That shot he had heard had not been meant for Wallander after all. The man lying in the mud had shot himself in the temple. Wallander was overcome by a sudden onset of nausea and dizziness and had to sit down. His clothes were cold and wet and now he started shaking.

  Wallander looked down at the body. He didn't know who this man was or why he had come to Ystad, but his death was a relief. This was the man who had entered Falk's flat when Wallander was there waiting for Marianne Falk. He had twice tried to kill Wallander. Probably he was also the one who had dragged Hökberg to the power substation, and thrown Landahl into the propeller shaft on the Polish ferry. There were many question marks, but as Wallander sat there on the muddy field he felt that something at least had come to an end.

  He no longer had to fear for his colleagues' or Modin's safety.

  There was no way for him to know that he was wrong about this assumption. It was something he would only come to understand in time.

  Martinsson was the first to reach Wallander. The latter stood up. Elofsson was also nearby. Wallander asked him to try to find his shoes.

  "Did you shoot him?" Martinsson said, in disbelief.

  Wallander shook his head. "He shot himself. If he hadn't, I wouldn't be here now."

  Holgersson appeared, as if from thin air. Wallander let Martinsson do the explaining. Elofsson reappeared with both of Wallander's shoes, wiping the thick clay from them. Wallander wanted to get away. Not only to be able to change his clothes, but to escape from the memory of what it was like to lie there in the mud expecting the end. The depressingly pathetic end.

  Somewhere deep inside there was probably a flicker of happiness, but for the moment a feeling of emptiness dominated.

  The helicopter was gone. Hansson had dismissed it and the whole operation was being dismantled. The only ones left were the team who would do the investigation surrounding the gunman's death.

  Hansson made his way through the mud. He was wearing bright orange boots.

  "You should go home," he told Wallander.

  Wallander nodded and started walking the same way he had come. All around him he saw the flickering of flashlights. Several times he nearly lost his footing.

  As he reached the road, Holgersson caught up with him.

  "I think I have a fairly complete picture of what happened," she said. "But tomorrow we'll have to have a thorough debriefing. It's lucky things turned out as well as they did."

  "The main thing is to determine if this is the individual responsible for Hökberg's and Landahl's deaths."

  "But why? Why did all this happen?"