Wallander knew the two medics bringing him in.
“Is it bad?” he asked them.
“Niklasson is tough,” said the older of the two. “He’ll survive. He got into a fight in a pub in Sandskogen.”
Wallander went out to the car park. It was chilly. They’d also have to find out if there was a Karin or Katarina in Lund. Birch could handle that. It was 11.30 p.m. He tried the doors of Svedberg’s car. It was locked. He wondered if he should go back and ask for the keys. He might have to wait a long time. Instead, he began pacing back and forth in the car park.
Suddenly he was back in Rome again. Ahead of him, in the distance, was his father, out on a secret midnight excursion towards an unknown destination. A son tailing his own father. The Spanish Steps, then the fountain. His eyes glistened. An old man alone in Rome. Did he know that he was going to die soon?
Wallander stopped. He had a lump in his throat. When would he ever have the peace and quiet that he needed to work through his grief over his father? Life tossed him back and forth. He would soon be 50. It was autumn now. Night. And he was walking around in a hospital car park, freezing. What he feared most was that the world would become so hostile and alien that he’d no longer be able to handle it. What would be left then? Retire early? Ask for a desk job? End up spending 15 years going around to schools giving talks about drugs and traffic accidents?
The house, he thought. And the dog. And maybe Baiba too. An outward change is necessary. I’ll start with that. Later we’ll see what happens with me. My workload is too heavy. I can’t continue like this.
It was past midnight. He paced the car park. The ambulance had left. Everything was quiet. He knew there were a lot of things he needed to think through, but he was too tired. The only thing he could manage to do was wait. And keep moving so he wouldn’t freeze.
Finally Svedberg appeared. He was walking fast. Wallander could see that he had news.
“Katarina Taxell is from Lund,” he said.
Wallander felt his excitement rise.
“Is she here?”
“She had her baby on 15 October. She’s gone home already.”
“Do you have the address?”
“I’ve got more than that. She’s a single mother, there’s no father listed in the records. And she didn’t have any visitors while she was here.”
Wallander realised that he was holding his breath. “Then it could be her,” he said. “The woman called K.A.”
They hurried back to the station. At the entrance Svedberg braked hard to avoid hitting a hare that had wandered into town. They sat down in the empty canteen. The phone rang in the duty officers’ room. Wallander filled a cup with bitter coffee.
“She couldn’t be the one who stuffed Blomberg in a sack,” Svedberg said, scratching his scalp with a coffee spoon. “There’s no way that a new mother would go out and kill someone.”
“She’s a link,” Wallander said. “If what I’m thinking is true. She fits in between Blomberg and the person who seems most important right now.
“The nurse who knocked Ylva down?”
“That’s the one.”
Svedberg strained to follow Wallander’s thoughts.
“So you think this nurse showed up at the maternity ward to see her?”
“Yes.”
“But why did she come at night? Why didn’t she come during normal visiting hours? There must be visiting hours, surely? And no-one writes down who visits patients, or who has visitors, do they?”
Wallander saw that Svedberg’s questions were important. He had to answer them before they could continue.
“She didn’t want to be seen,” he said. “That’s the only conceivable explanation.”
“Seen by whom?” Svedberg said stubbornly. “Was she afraid of being recognised? Did she not want even Katarina Taxell to see her? Did she visit the hospital at night to look at a woman asleep?”
“I don’t know,” Wallander said. “It’s strange, I agree.”
“There’s only one conceivable explanation,” Svedberg continued. “She comes at night because she could be recognised in the daytime.”
Wallander pondered this. “So you’re saying that someone who works there during the day might have recognised her?”
“You can’t ignore the fact that she has twice visited the maternity ward at night. And then she gets involved in a situation where it’s necessary to assault my cousin, who was doing nothing wrong.”
“There might be an alternative explanation,” Wallander said
“What’s that?”
“Night could be the only time she is able to visit the maternity ward.”
Svedberg nodded thoughtfully.
“That’s possible, of course. But why?”
“There could be lots of reasons. Where she lives. Her work. Maybe she wants to make these visits in secret.”
Svedberg pushed his coffee cup away.
“Her visits must have been important. She went there twice.”
“We can put together a timetable,” Wallander said. “The first time she came was on the night of 30 September. At the hour when everyone is at their most tired, and least alert. She stays a few minutes and then disappears. Two weeks later she repeats the whole thing. At the same hour. This time she’s stopped by Ylva Brink, who is knocked down. Then she disappears without a trace.”
“Katarina Taxell has her child several days later.”
“And the woman doesn’t come back. On the other hand, Eugen Blomberg is murdered.”
“Do you think a nurse is behind all this?”
They looked at each other without saying anything.
Wallander suddenly realised that he had forgotten to tell Svedberg to ask Ylva Brink about an important detail.
“Do you remember the plastic holder we found in Gosta Runfeldt’s suitcase?” he said. “The kind used by the hospital staff?”
Svedberg nodded. He remembered.
“Call the maternity ward,” Wallander said. “Ask Ylva if she remembers whether the woman who knocked her down was wearing a name tag.”
Svedberg got up to use the phone. The conversation was brief.
“She’s positive that she was wearing a name tag,” he said. “Both times.”
“Could she read the name on the tag?”
“She isn’t sure that there was a name.”
Wallander thought a moment.
“She might have lost the badge the first time,” he said. “Somewhere she got hold of a hospital uniform, so she could also have got a new plastic holder.”
“It’d be impossible to find any fingerprints at the hospital,” Svedberg said. “It’s always being cleaned. Besides, we don’t even know if she touched anything.”
“She wasn’t wearing gloves, at least,” Wallander asked. “Ylva would have noticed that.”
Svedberg tapped his forehead with the coffee spoon.
“Maybe so,” he said. “Ylva said that the woman grabbed hold of her when she hit her.”
“She only grabbed her clothes,” Wallander said. “And we won’t find anything on them.”
For a moment he felt discouraged.
“Even so, we should talk to Nyberg,” he said. “Maybe she touched the bed that Katarina Taxell was lying in. We have to try. If we can find fingerprints that match with those that we found in Runfeldt’s suitcase, the investigation would take a big leap forward. Then we could look for the same fingerprints on Eriksson and Blomberg.”
Svedberg pushed across his notes on Katarina Taxell. Wallander saw that she was 33, and self-employed, although it didn’t say what her occupation was. She lived in central Lund.
“We’ll go there first thing tomorrow morning,” he said. “Since the two of us have been working on it tonight, we might as well continue. Now I think it’d be smart for us to get a few hours sleep.”
“It’s strange,” Svedberg said. “First we’re looking for a mercenary soldier, and now we’re looking for a nurse.”
“Who p
resumably isn’t really a nurse,” Wallander interjected.
“We don’t know that for sure,” Svedberg replied. “Just because Ylva didn’t recognise her doesn’t mean that she’s not a nurse.”
“You’re right. We can’t exclude that possibility.” He got up.
“I’ll drive you home,” Svedberg said. “How is your car?”
“I really should get a new one, but I don’t know how I’m going to afford it.”
One of the duty officers rushed into the room.
“I knew you were here,” he said. “I think something has happened.”
Wallander felt the knot in his stomach. Not again, he thought.
“There’s a man lying badly injured on the side of the road between Sovestad and Lodinge. A lorry driver found him. We don’t know whether he was run over or attacked. An ambulance is on the way out there, but I thought that since it was close to Lodinge. .”
He never finished his sentence. Svedberg and Wallander were already on their way out of the room.
They arrived just as the medics were lifting the injured man onto a stretcher. Wallander recognised them as the ones he had spoken to outside the hospital earlier.
“Like ships passing in the night,” said one of them.
“Was it a car accident?” Wallander asked him.
“If so, it was a hit-and-run. But it looks more like an assault.”
Wallander looked around. The stretch of road was deserted.
“Who would be walking around here in the middle of the night?” he asked.
The man’s face was covered in blood. He wheezed faintly.
“We’re going now,” the medic said. “We’ve got to hurry. He might have internal injuries.”
The ambulance left. They searched the site in the headlights of Svedberg’s car. A few minutes later a squad car arrived from Ystad. Svedberg and Wallander hadn’t found anything. Not even any skid marks. Svedberg told the officers what had happened, and then they set off back to the station. It was getting windy. The thermometer in Svedberg’s car read 3 °C.
“This is probably not related,” Wallander said. “If you drop me off at the hospital, you can go home and get some sleep. At least one of us should be awake in the morning.”
“Where should I pick you up?” Svedberg asked.
“At Mariagatan. Let’s say 6 a.m. Martinsson gets up early. Call him and tell him what happened. Ask him to talk to Nyberg about the plastic holder. And tell him that we’re going to Lund.”
For the second time that night Wallander found himself outside the hospital. When he arrived at the casualty ward, the man was being treated. Wallander sat down and waited. He was exhausted. He couldn’t stop himself from falling asleep. He woke abruptly when someone said his name, and at first he didn’t know where he was. He’d been dreaming that he was walking along dark streets, searching for his father, but he couldn’t find him.
A doctor was standing in front of him. Wallander was instantly wide awake.
“He’s going to make it,” the doctor said. “But he was severely beaten.”
“So it wasn’t a car accident?”
“No. An assault. As far as we can tell, he hasn’t suffered any internal injuries.”
“Did he have any papers on him?”
The doctor gave him an envelope. Wallander took out a wallet, which contained a driver’s licence, among other things. The man’s name was Ake Davidsson. Wallander noticed that he wasn’t supposed to drive at night.
“Can I talk to him?”
“I think it’d be better to wait.”
Wallander decided to ask Hansson or Hoglund to follow it up. If this was an assault case, they’d have to leave it in someone else’s hands for the time being. They just didn’t have the time.
Wallander got up to leave.
“We found something that I think might interest you,” the doctor said.
He handed him a piece of paper. Wallander read the scrawled message: “A burglar neutralised by the night guards.”
“What night guards?” he asked.
“I read in the papers about a citizen militia being formed,” said the doctor. “Isn’t it possible that they would call themselves the night guards?”
Wallander stared at the message in disbelief.
“There’s something else that points to it,” the doctor continued. “The paper was attached to his body. It was stapled to his skin.”
Wallander shook his head.
“This is fucking incredible,” he said.
“Yes,” the doctor said. “It’s incredible that it’s gone this far.”
Wallander never liked to call a taxi. He walked home through the empty streets. He thought about Katarina Taxell. And Ake Davidsson.
When he got home, he stretched out on the sofa with a blanket over him, taking off only his jacket and shoes. The alarm clock was set. But he found that he couldn’t sleep. He was starting to get a headache. He went out to the kitchen and took some aspirin. The streetlight swayed in the wind outside his window. Eventually he lay down again, and dozed uneasily until his alarm went off. When he sat up on the sofa he felt more tired than he had on lying down. He went to the bathroom, washed his face with cold water, and then changed his shirt. While he waited for the coffee to brew, he called Hansson at home. It took a long time before he answered. Wallander knew that he had woken him up.
“I’m not done with the Ostersund papers,” Hansson said. “I was up until 2 a.m. I have about four kilos left.”
“We’ll talk about that later,” Wallander interrupted him. “I need you to go to the hospital and talk to a man named Ake Davidsson. He was assaulted somewhere near Lodinge last night and left lying by the side of the road, by people who are probably part of a citizen militia. I want you to look after it.”
“What should I do about the Ostersund papers?”
“You’ll have to deal with those at the same time. Svedberg and I are going to Lund. I’ll tell you more later.”
He hung up before Hansson could ask any questions. He didn’t have the energy to answer them.
At 6 a.m. Svedberg was parked outside. Wallander stood at the kitchen window with his coffee cup and watched him pull up.
“I talked to Martinsson,” Svedberg said when Wallander got into the car. “He was going to ask Nyberg to start work on the plastic holder.”
“Did Martinsson understand what we came up with?”
“I think so.”
“Then let’s go.”
Wallander leaned back and closed his eyes. The best thing he could do on the way to Lund was sleep.
Katarina Taxell lived in a block of flats on a square that Wallander wasn’t familiar with.
“It might be best if we call Birch,” Wallander said. “So there won’t be any trouble later on.”
Svedberg reached him at home. He handed the phone to Wallander, who explained what had developed. Birch said he’d be there within 20 minutes. They sat in the car and waited. The sky was grey, and the wind had picked up. Birch drew up behind them and they went inside.
“I’ll stay in the background,” Birch said. “You can conduct the conversation.”
Svedberg rang the bell of a flat on the third floor. The door opened almost at once. A woman wearing a dressing gown stood in front of them. She had dark circles under her eyes. She reminded Wallander of Ann-Britt.
Wallander tried to sound as friendly as possible. But he noted her reaction when he said that he was a police officer from Ystad. They went into the flat, which was small and cramped. Everywhere were signs that she had just had a baby. It reminded Wallander of how his own home had looked when Linda was just born. They went into a living room with light-coloured, wooden furniture. On the table lay a brochure that caught Wallander’s attention. “Taxell’s Hair Products”.
“I apologise for coming so early in the morning,” he said as they sat down. “But this can’t wait.”
He wasn’t sure how to continue. She sat across from him and didn’t
take her eyes off his face.
“You’ve just had a child at Ystad’s maternity ward,” he said.
“A boy,” she replied. “He was born on 15 October.”
“My congratulations,” Wallander said. Svedberg and Birch murmured something similar.
“About two weeks before that,” Wallander continued, “or to be precise, on the night of 30 September, I wonder if you had a visitor sometime after midnight?”
She gave him a look of incomprehension. “Who would that have been?”
“A nurse who you might not have seen before?”
“I knew all of the nurses who worked at night.”
“This woman came back two weeks later,” he continued. “And we think she was there to visit you.”
“At night?”
“Yes. Sometime after 2 a.m.”
“No-one visited me. And besides, I’m a sound sleeper.”
Wallander nodded slowly. Birch was standing behind the sofa. Svedberg was sitting on a chair against the wall. All of a sudden it was quiet. They were waiting for Wallander to go on, and he planned to do so in a moment. But first he wanted to collect himself. He was still tired. He really should ask her why she was in the maternity ward for so long. Were there complications with her pregnancy? But he didn’t ask her this. Something else was more important.
She wasn’t telling the truth, he knew it. He was convinced that she’d had a visitor, and that she knew the woman who’d been to see her.
CHAPTER 28
Suddenly a child started to cry.
Katarina Taxell got up and left the room. At that moment Wallander decided how he would proceed with the interview. He had sensed that she was being evasive. His years as a policeman had taught him to tell when someone was lying. He stood up and went over to the window where Birch was standing. Svedberg followed. Wallander spoke in a low voice, keeping his eye on the door.
“She’s not telling the truth,” he said.
The others didn’t seem to have noticed anything, or weren’t as convinced as he was, but they made no objections.
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