Firewall - By Henning Mankell & Ebba Segerberg Page 0,32

vulnerable points in Skåne's power distribution system.

He reached for Martinsson's list. Five people, five sets of keys: Andersson, line repairman; Lars Moberg, line repairman; Hilding Olofsson, power manager; Artur Wahlund, safety manager; Stefan Molin, technical director.

The names still told him as little as when he had first looked at them. He called Martinsson, who answered immediately.

"These key people," he said. "You haven't by any chance looked them up in the police register, have you?"

"Should I have?"

"Not necessarily, but I know you're very thorough."

"I can do it now, if you like."

"Perhaps it's not a priority. There's nothing from the pathologist?"

"I don't think they'll be able to give us anything until tomorrow at the earliest."

"Then plug in the names. If you have time."

In contrast to Wallander, Martinsson loved his computer. If anyone at the station was having a problem they always turned to him for help.

Wallander turned back to the Lundberg murder case. At 3 p.m. he went for some coffee. He was starting to feel better; his throat was almost back to normal. Hansson told him that Höglund was talking to Persson. Everything is flowing nicely, he thought. For once we have time for everything we need to do.

He had just sat down with his paperwork when Holgersson appeared at his door. She had one of the evening papers in her hand. Wallander could see from her face that something had happened.

"Have you seen this?" she asked and handed him the newspaper.

Wallander stared at the photograph. It was a picture of Eva Persson sprawled on the floor of the interrogation room. It looked as if she had fallen.

He felt a knot form in his stomach as he read the caption: WELL-KNOWN POLICEMAN ASSAULTS TEENAGE GIRL. WE HAVE THE PICTURES.

"Who took this picture?" Wallander said, in disbelief. "There were no journalists there, were there?"

"There must have been."

Wallander had a vague recollection of the door being slightly open to the corridor and there might have been a shadow of a person there.

"It was before the press conference," Holgersson said. "Maybe one of the reporters came early and was hanging around the hallway."

Wallander was paralysed. He had often been involved in scuffles and fist fights in his 30-year career, but that had always been during a difficult arrest. He had never jumped anyone in the middle of an interrogation, however irritated he had become.

It had only happened once, and that once there had been a photographer present.

"There's going to be trouble here," Holgersson said. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"She was attacking her mother. I slapped her to keep her from hurting her mother."

"That's not the story the picture tells."

"That's how it was."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Wallander had no answer.

"I hope you understand I'm forced to order an investigation into this."

Wallander heard the disappointment in her voice. It angered him. She doesn't believe me, he thought.

"Am I suspended?"

"No, but I want to hear exactly what happened."

"I've told you already."

"Persson gave a different version to Ann-Britt. She said your assault came out of the blue."

"Then she's lying. Ask her mother."

Holgersson hesitated before answering. "We did," she said. "She says her daughter never hit her."

Wallander was quiet. I'm going to resign, he thought. I'm going to resign from the force and leave this place. And I'm never coming back. Holgersson waited for an answer, but Wallander said nothing. Finally she left the room.

CHAPTER NINE

Wallander left the station immediately. He wasn't sure if he was running away or just going out for air. He knew he was right about what happened, but Holgersson didn't believe him and that upset him. It was only when he was outside that he remembered he didn't have a car. He swore. When he was upset he liked to drive around until he had calmed down again.

He went down to the off-licence and bought a bottle of whisky. Then he went straight home, unplugged the phone and sat at the kitchen table. He opened the bottle and took a couple of deep draughts. It tasted awful. But he felt he needed it. If there was one thing that made him feel helpless it was being accused of something he hadn't done. Holgersson hadn't spelled it out for him, but he wasn't wrong about her doubts. Maybe Hansson had been right all along, he thought angrily. Never have a woman for a boss. He took another swig. He was beginning to feel better, and was even starting to regret the fact that he had come straight home. That could be interpreted as a sign