floor. Behind him stood Stefan Fredman. He had lines painted on his face. He threw himself furiously at Wallander, an axe lifted high. Wallander raised his revolver to shoot, but too late. Instinctively he ducked and a rug slipped under him. The axe grazed his shoulder. He fired a shot and an oil painting jumped on one of the walls. At the same instant Höglund, appeared in the doorway. She stood crouched and ready to fire. Fredman saw her just as he was raising the axe to slam it into Wallander’s head. He leapt to the left. Wallander was in the line of fire.
Fredman vanished towards the open terrace door. Wallander thought of Svedberg. Slow Svedberg. He yelled to Höglund to shoot. But he was gone. Svedberg, who had heard the first shot, didn’t know what to do. He yelled at the girl sitting on the boat to take cover, but she didn’t move. He ran towards the garden gate. It hit him in the head as it flew open. He saw a face he would never forget. He dropped his revolver. The man had an axe in his hand. Svedberg did the only thing he could do, he ran yelling for help. Fredman got his sister, motionless still on the boat, and dragged her to his moped. They rode off just as Wallander and Höglund came running out.
“Call for back-up!” Wallander shouted. “Where the hell is Svedberg? I’ll try and follow them in the car.”
Heavy rain begain to fall. Wallander ran to his car, trying to work out which way they would have gone. Visibility was poor even with the windscreen wipers on full. He thought he had lost them but suddenly caught sight of the moped again. They were going down the road towards the Saltsjöbad Hotel. Wallander kept a safe distance behind. He didn’t want to frighten them. The moped was going very fast. Wallander frantically tried to think how to put an end to the chase. He was just about to call in his location when the moped wobbled. He braked. The moped was heading straight for a tree. The girl was thrown off, right into the tree. Stefan Fredman landed somewhere off to the side.
“Damn!” said Wallander. He stopped the car in the middle of the road and ran towards the moped.
Louise Fredman was dead, he could see that at once. Her white dress seemed strangely bright against the blood streaming from her face. Stefan appeared uninjured. Wallander watched the boy fall to his knees beside his sister. The rain poured down. The boy started to cry. It sounded as if he was howling. Wallander knelt next to him.
“She’s dead,” he said.
Stefan looked at him, his face distorted. Wallander quickly got up, afraid that the boy would jump on him. But he didn’t. He kept howling.
Somewhere behind him in the rain he heard a siren. It wasn’t until Hansson was standing next to him that he realised he was crying himself. Wallander left all the work to the others. He told Höglund briefly what had happened. When he saw Åkeson, he took him to his car. The rain was drumming on the roof.
“It’s over,” Wallander said.
“Yes,” said Åkeson, “it’s over.”
“I’m going on holiday,” said Wallander. “I realise there’s a pile of reports that have to be written. But I thought I’d go anyway.”
Åkeson’s reply came without hesitation.
“Do that,” he said. “Go.”
Åkeson got out of the car. Wallander thought he should have asked him about his trip to the Sudan. Or was it Uganda?
He drove home. Linda wasn’t there. He took a bath and was drying himself off when he heard her close the front door. That evening he told her what had really happened. And how he felt.
Then he called Baiba.
“I thought you were never going to call,” she said, keeping her anger in check.
“Please forgive me,” Wallander said. “I’ve had so much to do lately.”
“I think that’s a pretty poor excuse.”
“It is, I know. But it’s the only one I’ve got.”
Neither of them said anything else. The silence travelled back and forth between Ystad and Riga.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Wallander finally said.
“All right,” she said. “I guess so.”
They hung up. Wallander felt a knot in his stomach. Maybe she wouldn’t come. After supper he and Linda packed their bags. The rain stopped just after midnight. The air smelled fresh as they stood out on the balcony.
“The summer is so beautiful,” she said.
“Yes,” Wallander said. “It is beautiful.”
The next day they took the train together