Firewall - By Henning Mankell & Ebba Segerberg Page 0,13

no remorse at all."

They were silent for a while and Wallander felt utterly empty inside. Martinsson was the one who finally spoke.

"Do you understand now why I think so often of quitting?"

Wallander roused himself. "And do you understand why it is so important you don't?" He got up and walked over to the window. "How is Lundberg?"

"Still critical."

"We have to get to the bottom of this, whether he dies or not. They didn't attack him like that just to get some cash. Either they needed the money for a particular purpose or the attack was about something else entirely."

"Such as?"

"I don't know. It's just a feeling that I have that there's a deeper layer to all this."

"Isn't the most probable scenario that they were a bit drunk and concocted this lunatic plan to get some money? Without thinking of the consequences?"

"Why do you think that?"

"I'm just sure it wasn't a random act, as you said."

Wallander nodded. "Well, we agree on that. But I want to know what their reasons were. Tomorrow I'll talk to Persson, as well as her parents. Do either of them have a boyfriend?"

"Persson said she had someone."

"Not Hökberg?"

"No."

"Then she's lying. She has someone and we'll find him."

Martinsson made a note. "Who will take that on? You or me?"

Wallander's response was immediate. "I'll do it. I want to know what's going on in this country."

"Suits me."

"You're not completely off the hook, though. Not you, not Hansson, not Höglund. We have to get to the bottom of this attack. I feel sure it was an attempted homicide and if Lundberg does die, then it's murder."

Wallander returned to his office. It was 5.30 p.m. and already it was dark outside. He thought about Sonja Hökberg and why the two girls had needed money so badly. Had there been another reason entirely? Then he thought of Anette Fredman.

He still had work to do, but he couldn't bear to stay in his office. He grabbed his coat and left. The sharp autumn wind burned his face. He heard the strange engine noise when he started the car. As he turned out of the parking area he decided to go shopping. His fridge was almost empty except for the bottle of champagne that he had won in a bet with Hansson. He could no longer remember what the bet had been. On an impulse he decided to drive past the cash machine, where the man had died the night before. He could do his shopping in one of the supermarkets near there.

After parking the car he walked up to the cash machine and waited while a woman with a pushchair withdrew some money. The concrete of the pavement was rough and uneven. Wallander looked around. There seemed to be no residential buildings nearby. In the middle of the night the square would be quite deserted. Even under the powerful street lamps, a man could cry out and collapse to the ground without anyone hearing or seeing him.

Wallander went into the nearest department store and found the food section. As usual he was plagued by boredom and indecision as he inspected the shelves. He quickly filled up his basket with an assortment of items, paid and left. Back in the car the mystery engine noise seemed to increase. He took off his dark suit as soon as he was back in his flat. He showered and noted that he was almost out of soap. He made some vegetable soup for dinner which tasted surprisingly good. He made some coffee and took a cup with him into the living room. He was tired. He flipped the channels without finding anything interesting, then reached for the phone and called Linda in Stockholm. She was sharing a flat in Kungsholmen with two women he only knew by name. To make ends meet she sometimes worked as a waitress in a nearby restaurant. Wallander had eaten dinner there last time he was in town and had enjoyed the food. But he was surprised she could stand the music, which was oppressively loud.

Linda was 26 years old now. They had a good relationship, but he missed being able to see her regularly.

An answering machine came on. Neither Linda nor her flatmates were at home. The message was repeated in English. Wallander said who he was and that it wasn't important. He put the phone down and stared at his coffee. It was cold. I can't keep living like this, he thought, irritatedly. I'm only 50 years old, but