Firewall - By Henning Mankell & Ebba Segerberg Page 0,5

man, who hit her and terrified his children, but he had been her husband and the father of her children. He was murdered by his own son. Then her oldest child, Louise, had died. And now here she is, about to bury her son. What's left for her? Half a life? As much as that?

Someone entered the church behind them. Fru Fredman did not seem to hear anything, or else she was trying so hard to stay in control of herself that she couldn't focus on anything else. A woman was walking up the aisle. She was about Wallander's age. Anette Fredman finally looked up and nodded to her. The woman sat down a few rows behind them.

"She's a doctor," she said. "Her name is Agneta Malmström. She helped Jens a while back when he wasn't doing so well."

Wallander recognised the name, but it took him a moment to remember that it was Agneta Malmström and her husband who had provided him with the most important clues in the Stefan Fredman case. He had spoken to her late one night with the help of Stockholm Radio. She had been on a yacht far out at sea, beyond Landsort.

Wallander heard organ music although he had not seen an organist. The minister had turned on a tape recorder. Wallander wondered why he had not heard any church bells. Didn't funerals always start with the ringing of church bells? This thought was pushed aside when Anette Fredman's grip on his arm tightened. He cast a glance at the boy by her side. Should a child his age be attending a funeral? Wallander didn't think so. But the boy looked fairly collected.

The music died away and the minister began to speak. He started by reminding them of Christ's words, "Let the little ones come unto me." Wallander concentrated on the wreath that lay on the coffin, counting the blossoms to keep the lump in his throat from growing.

The service was short. Afterwards, they approached the coffin. Fru Fredman was breathing hard, as if she were in the final few yards of a race. Dr Malmström stood right behind them. Wallander turned to the minister, who seemed impatient.

"Bells," Wallander said to him. "Why were there no bells? There should be bells ringing as we walk out, and not a recording either."

The minister nodded hesitantly. Wallander wondered what would have happened if he had pulled out his police badge. They started walking out. Jens and his mother went ahead. Wallander said hello to Agneta Malmström.

"I recognised you," she said. "We've never met, but I've seen your face in the papers."

"She asked me to come. Did she call you too?"

"No, I came of my own accord."

"What's going to happen now?"

Dr Malmström shook her head slowly. "I don't know. She's started drinking heavily. I have no idea how Jens is going to get on."

At this point they reached the vestibule where Fru Fredman and Jens were waiting for them. The church bells rang out. Wallander opened the doors, throwing one last look at the coffin. Some men were already carrying it through a side door.

Suddenly a flash went off in his face. There had been a press photographer waiting outside. Anette Fredman held up her hands to shield her face. The photographer turned from her and tried to get a picture of the boy. Wallander put out his arm to stop him, but the photographer was too quick. He got his picture.

"Why can't you leave us alone?" Fru Fredman cried.

The boy started to cry. Wallander grabbed the photographer and pulled him aside. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he hissed.

"None of your fucking business," the photographer said. He had bad breath. "I shoot whatever sells. Pictures of a serial killer's funeral sell. Too bad I didn't get here earlier."

Wallander reached for his police badge, then changed his mind and snatched the camera. The photographer tried to pull it out of his hands, but Wallander was stronger. He opened the camera and pulled out the film.

"There have to be limits," Wallander said, and handed the camera back to him.

The photographer stared at him, then took his mobile from his jacket pocket. "I'm calling the police," he said. "That was assault."

"Do it," Wallander said. "I'm a detective with the CID in Ystad. Inspector Kurt Wallander. Call my colleagues in Malmö and tell them whatever you want."

Wallander let the roll of film fall to the ground and broke open the casing under his shoe. The church bells stopped ringing.