Wallander found it upsetting. Sten Widén had left already and he had not even bothered to say goodbye.
Wallander drove away from the stables as fast as he could.
The following day, he did not go into the office. He drove in circles on the small roads around Ystad all afternoon. From time to time he got out and stared over the barren fields. At dusk he started driving back. He stopped at the grocer's on the way back and paid his bill. That evening he listened to the whole score of Verdi's La Traviata twice in a row. He also spoke to Gertrud over the phone and they arranged that he would stop by in the morning.
The phone rang shortly before midnight. Wallander jumped. Oh God, not again, he thought. Don't let anything have happened. Not now, not yet. None of us can handle it.
It was Baiba calling from Riga. It had been about a year since they had spoken last. "I just wanted to see how you were doing," she said.
"I'm fine. How about you?"
"Fine."
The silence bounced from Ystad to Riga and back again.
"Do you ever think about me?" he asked.
"Of course. Why would I have called otherwise?"
"I was just wondering."
"And you?"
"I think about you all the time."
Wallander knew she would see through him. He was lying, or at least exaggerating. He didn't know why exactly. Baiba was something that was over, that was fading. But he could not altogether let go of the thought of her, or of the memories of their time together.
They talked for a while on other topics, then the conversation ended. Wallander put the phone down slowly. Did he miss her? He didn't know. It was as if firewalls were not a phenomenon relegated to the world of computers. He had a firewall himself, and he didn't always know how to get past it.
The next day, Thursday, November 13, the gusty winds had died down. Wallander woke early even though he had the day off. He couldn't remember the last time he had had a day off in the middle of the week. He had decided to use some of his flexitime since Linda was coming to visit. He was to meet her plane at 1 p.m. at Sturup. He was going to use the morning to trade in his car and to visit Gertrud.
At 8 a.m. he got up, made his coffee and read the paper. He cleaned the flat, changed the sheets in Linda's old room and put the vacuum cleaner away. The sun was shining and that cheered him up. He drove to the car showroom on Industrigatan. He settled for another Peugeot, a 306 this time, 1996 registration. It had few miles on it and Tyrén, the dealer, gave him a good price on his old car. He was finished by 10.30 a.m. It gave him a good feeling to get a new car, as if he had scrubbed himself clean.
He drove to the house in Svarte where Gertrud lived with her sister. He had a cup of coffee and listened somewhat absent-mindedly to their chatter.
He left their house at 11.45 a.m. When he got to Sturup there was still half an hour to wait. As usual, he felt nervous about seeing Linda. Was it always the case that parents eventually became afraid of their own children? He had no answer. He had another cup of coffee in the airport café. He noticed Höglund's ex-husband sitting a few tables away. Wallander assumed he was leaving on another business trip. A woman that Wallander hadn't seen before was with him. Wallander felt hurt for Ann-Britt. Wallander moved to another table and sat with his back to the man so as not to be recognised. He wondered why he was reacting so strongly.
The plane landed on time. Linda was one of the last to get off. When they saw each other, Wallander's nervousness disappeared. She was just as open and cheerful as before. Her easygoing nature was the opposite of his own. She was also not as outrageously dressed as she had been on some previous occasions. They collected her case from the baggage claim and Wallander walked her to the new car. He wasn't sure that she would have noticed the difference if he hadn't said anything.
They drove towards Ystad.
"How are things?" he said. "What are you doing these days? You've been a bit secretive this past while."
"It's such a nice day," she said. "Can we drive down to the beach?"
"I asked you a question."
"You'll get an answer."
"When?"
"Not just yet."
Wallander took the next exit and drove down to Mossbystrand. The car park was empty, the burger bar closed for the year. She opened her case and took out a thick sweater, then they walked to the shoreline.
"I remember coming here when I was little," she said. "It's one of my earliest memories."
"Often it was just you and me. When Mona needed time to herself."
There was a ship on the horizon. The sea was very calm.
"What about that picture in the paper?" she said, suddenly.
Wallander felt his stomach tighten. "It's over now," he said. "The girl and her mother recanted. It's over."
"I saw another picture," she said. "In a magazine. Something happened outside a church in Malmö. It said you threatened a photographer."
Wallander thought back to Stefan Fredman's funeral and the film he had taken from the man's camera. The photographer must have had an extra roll. He told her what had happened.
"I hope I would have done the same thing," she said.
"Luckily you're not going to find yourself in these situations," Wallander said. "You're not a police officer."
"Not yet."
Wallander stopped short and looked at her. "What did you say?"
She kept walking and didn't answer immediately. Some seagulls flew overhead, screeching.
"You think I've been secretive," she said. "And you want to know what I've been up to. I didn't want to tell you about it until I had made up my mind."
"Do you mean what you just said?"
"Yes, I want to be a police officer. I've already applied to Police Training College, and I think I'm going to get in."
Wallander still couldn't believe it. "Is this true?"
"Yes."
"But you've never talked about it before."
"I've been thinking about it for a long time."
"Why didn't you say something?"
"I didn't want to."
"But I thought you were going to go into the antique business and restore old furniture?"
"For a while I thought so too, but now I know what I really want to do. And that's why I came down here, to tell you. Ask you what you think. Get your blessing."
They started walking again.
"This comes right out of the blue," Wallander said.
"You told me about what it was like when you told Grandad that you were going to be a policeman. If I remember correctly his answer came pretty quickly."
"He said no before I had finished talking."
"And what do you say?"
"Give me a minute and I'll let you know."
She went and sat down on a tree trunk half buried in the sand. Wallander walked down to the water. He had never imagined that Linda would want to follow in his footsteps, and it was hard for him to come to terms with what he had heard.
He looked at the sunlight reflected in the water.
She shouted to him that his minute was up. He walked back.
"I think it's a good thing," he said. "I think you'll be just the kind of police officer we're going to need in the future."
"Do you mean that?"
"Every word of it."
"I was worried about how you would react."
"You didn't have to worry."
She got up from the log. "We have a lot to talk about," she said. "And I'm hungry."
They went back to the car and on to Ystad. Wallander tried to digest the news as he drove. He didn't doubt that Linda would make a good policewoman. But did she realise what she was in for? The fatigue and the burn-out?
But he also felt something else. Her decision somehow justified the one he had made so long ago in life. This feeling was buried underneath the others. But it was there and it was strong.
They sat up talking for a long time that evening. Wallander told her about the extremely challenging c
ase that had started and ended by the same run-of-the-mill cash machine.
"Everyone talks about power," she said when Wallander had finished. "But no-one really questions institutions like the World Bank, or the enormous influence they wield. How much human suffering have they caused?"
"Are you sympathetic to Carter and Falk and their cause?"
"No," she said. "At least not to the means they chose to fight back."
Wallander became steadily convinced that her decision was a long time in the making, not an impulse that she would come to regret.
"I'm sure I'm going to need to ask you for advice," she said, before going to bed.
"Don't be too sure I have any advice to give."
Wallander stayed up for a while after she had gone to bed. It was 2.30 a.m. He had a glass of wine in his hand and had put on one of Puccini's operas. The volume was low. Wallander shut his eyes. In his mind he saw in front of him a burning wall. He readied himself. Then he ran straight through the wall. He only singed his hair and his skin. He opened his eyes and smiled. Something was behind him. Something else was only just beginning.
The following day, Friday, November 14, the stock markets in Asia unexpectedly began to fall. Many explanations were offered, not a few of them contradictory. But no-one managed to answer the most important question: what was it that had set the process in motion?
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