The Fifth Woman

CHAPTER 30

At 7.35 a.m. her shift ended. She was in a hurry, driven by a sudden restlessness. It was a cold, wet morning in Malmo. She hurried towards the car park. Normally she would have driven straight home and gone to bed. Now she knew that she had to go to Lund. She tossed the bag in the back and got in. When she took the steering wheel she could feel that her hands were sweating.

She never had been able to trust Katarina Taxell. The woman was too weak. There had always been the risk that she would cave in. Taxell was the sort of person who bruised easily. So far, she had judged her control over Taxell to be sufficient. Now she was less sure.

I have to get her out of there, she had thought all night long. At least until she begins to put some distance between herself and what happened. It shouldn’t be difficult to persuade her to leave her flat for the time being. There was nothing unusual in a woman developing psychological problems in connection with the birth of a child.

It was raining when she arrived in Lund. Her uneasiness persisted. She parked in a side street and started walking towards the square where Katarina Taxell’s building was. Suddenly she stopped. She took a few wary steps back, as if a predator had abruptly appeared in front of her. She stood next to the wall of a building and observed the front door of Taxell’s block of flats.

There was a car parked outside with a man, or maybe two, sitting in it. She was instantly sure they were policemen. Katarina Taxell was being watched.

The panic came out of nowhere. She couldn’t see it, but she knew that her face was flaming red. She was having palpitations. The thoughts swirled in her head like confused nocturnal animals in a room when a light is turned on. What had Katarina said? Why were they sitting outside her front door?

Or was it only her imagination? She stood motionless and tried to think calmly. She could be certain that Katarina hadn’t told them anything. Otherwise they wouldn’t be watching her. They would have taken her down to the station. So it wasn’t too late after all. But she probably didn’t have much time. Not that she needed much. She knew what she had to do.

She lit a cigarette that she had rolled during the night. According to her timetable, it was at least an hour too early. Now she broke with routine. This day was going to be special. There was no getting around it.

She stood there for several minutes more and watched the car by the front door. Then she put out the cigarette and walked quickly away.

When Wallander woke up just after 6 a.m. on Wednesday morning, he was still tired. His sleep deprivation was huge. The powerlessness was like a lead weight deep in his consciousness. He lay in bed with his eyes open. A human being is an animal who lives to endure, he thought. But right now, it seems I can’t handle it any more.

He sat up on the edge of his bed. The floor was cold beneath his feet. He looked at his toenails. They needed cutting. His whole body needed an overhaul. A month earlier he had been in Rome, storing up new energy. It was all used up. He forced himself to stand up. He went into the bathroom. The cold water was like a slap in the face. Someday he’d have to quit doing this — using cold water to get himself going. He dried off, put on his dressing gown, and went to the kitchen. Always the same routine. The coffee, then the window, the thermometer. It was raining and it was 4 °C. Autumn, and the cold already had a firm grip. Someone at the police station had predicted a long winter. That was what he feared.

When the coffee was ready, he sat at the kitchen table, after having picked up the morning paper from outside his door. On the front page was a photograph taken at Lodinge. He took a few sips of coffee. Already he had moved beyond the first and highest threshold of fatigue. His mornings were sometimes like an obstacle course. It was time for him to call Baiba.

She answered on the second ring. It was the way he’d imagined it during the night. Things were different now.

“I’m exhausted,” he excused himself.

“I know,” she replied. “But my question still stands.”

“Whether I want you to come?”

“Yes.”

“There’s nothing that I want more.”

She believed him. Maybe she could come in early November. She would start looking into the possibility that day.

They didn’t need to talk long. Neither of them liked the telephone. Afterwards, when Wallander returned to his cup of coffee, he thought that this time he’d have to have a serious talk with her about whether she would move to Sweden. About the new house. Maybe he’d even tell her about the dog.

He sat there a long time without even opening the newspaper. He didn’t get dressed until almost 7.30 a.m. He had to search for a long time before he found a clean shirt. It was his last. He had to sign up to use the laundry room today. As he was on his way out, the phone rang. It was the garage in Almhult. He flinched when he heard the total bill for the repairs, but he said nothing. The mechanic promised that the car would be in Ystad later in the day. He had a brother who could drive it down and then take the train home. All he’d be charged for was the price of the train ticket.

When Wallander reached the street, he saw it was raining harder than it had looked. He went back inside and called the police station. Ebba said she would send a squad car to pick him up. Five minutes later it pulled up outside. By 8 a.m. he was in his office.

He had barely managed to take off his jacket when everything seemed to start to happen at once. Hoglund was standing in his door. She was pale.

“Did you hear?”

Wallander gave a start. Again? Another man murdered?

“I just got in. What is it?”

“Martinsson’s daughter has been attacked.”

“Terese?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“She was attacked outside her school. Martinsson’s just left. If I understood Svedberg correctly, it had to do with Martinsson being a police officer.”

Wallander was thunderstruck. “Is she seriously hurt?”

“She was pushed and punched in the head, and kicked too, apparently. She wasn’t badly injured, but she’s certainly had a shock.”

“Who did it?”

“Other students. Older than her.”

Wallander sat down in his chair. “That’s outrageous! But why?”

“I don’t know everything that happened. The students have been talking about the citizen militia too, saying that the police aren’t doing anything. That we’ve given up.”

“So they jump on Martinsson’s daughter?”

“Right.”

Wallander felt a lump in his throat. Terese was 13 years old, and Martinsson talked about her constantly.

“Why would they attack an innocent girl?”

“Did you see the paper?” she asked.

“No, why?”

“You ought to. People are talking about Eskil Bengtsson and the others. The arrests are being described as scandalous. They’re claiming that Ake Davidsson fought back. There’s a big story about it with pictures, and placards at the newsstands that say: ‘Whose side are the police on, anyway?’”

“I don’t need to read that crap,” Wallander said in disgust. “What’s happening at the school?”

“Hansson drove over there. Martinsson took his daughter home.”

“So it was some boys at the school who did this?”

“As far as I know.”

“Go over there,” Wallander decided quickly. “Find out everything you can. Talk to the boys. I think it’s best if I stay out of it. I might fly off the handle.”

“Hansson’s already there. They don’t need anybody else.”

“I don’t agree,” Wallander said “I’d really like you to go. I’m sure Hansson can handle it himself, but I still want you to find out, in your own way, what actually happened and why. If more of us show up, it will prove we’re taking it seriously. I think I’ll drive over to Martinsson’s house. Everything else can wait till later. The worst thing you can do in this country, like everywhere else, is to kill a policeman. The next-worst thing is to attack a policeman’s child.”

“I heard that other students stood around laughing,” she said.

Wallander threw up his hands. He didn’t want to hear any more. He got up from his chair and grabbed his jacket.

“Eskil Bengtsson and the others are going to be released today,” she said as they walked down the hall. “But Akeson is going to prosecute.”

“What will they get?”

“People in the area are already talking about taking up a collection, in case there are fines. We can always hope for jail terms. At least for some of them.”

“How is Ake Davidsson?”

“He’s back home in Malmo. On sick leave.”

Wallander stopped and looked at her.

“What would have happened if they’d killed him? Would they have been given fines then too?”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

A police car drove Wallander to Martinsson’s house, in a development on the eastern side of town. Wallander had only been there a few times before. The house was plain, but Martinsson and his wife had put a lot of love into their garden. He rang the bell. Martinsson’s wife Maria opened the door. Wallander saw that she had been crying. Terese was their oldest child and only daughter. One of their two sons, Rikard, stood behind her. Wallander smiled and patted him on the head.

“How’s it going?” he asked. “I just heard about it and rushed right over.”

“She’s sitting on her bed crying. She won’t speak to anyone but her father.”

Wallander went inside and took off his jacket and shoes. One of his socks had a hole in it. Maria asked if he wanted some coffee. He gratefully accepted. At the same moment Martinsson came down the stairs. Usually he was a cheerful man. Now Wallander saw a grey mask of bitterness. And fear too.

“I heard what happened,” Wallander said. “I came at once.”

They sat down in the living room.

“How is she?” Wallander asked.

Martinsson just shook his head. Wallander thought he was going to burst into tears. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“I’m quitting,” Martinsson said. “I’m going to talk to the chief today.”

Wallander didn’t know what to say. Martinsson had good reason to be upset. He could easily imagine reacting the same way if it had been Linda who was attacked. Even so, he would have to play the devil’s advocate. The last thing he wanted was for Martinsson to quit. He also realised that Martinsson would have to make up his own mind. But it was still too soon. He could see how shocked Martinsson was.

Maria came in with coffee. Martinsson shook his head. He didn’t want any.

“It’s not worth it,” he said, “when it starts to affect your family.”

“No,” Wallander said, “it’s not worth it.”

Martinsson didn’t say any more. Nor did Wallander. Martinsson got up and went back upstairs. Wallander knew there was nothing he could do just then.

Martinsson’s wife followed him to the door.

“Say hello to her from me,” Wallander said.

“Are they going to come after us again?”

“No. I know that what I’m going to tell you may sound odd. As if I were trying to make light of this situation. But that’s not my intention at all. It’s just that we can’t lose our sense of proportion and start drawing the wrong conclusions. These boys were probably only a couple of years older than Terese. They’re not bad children. They probably didn’t know what they were doing. This has happened because men like Eskil Bengtsson and those others out in Lodinge are starting to organise citizen militias and incite people against the police.”

“I know,” she said. “I’ve heard that people are talking about it in this area too.”

“I know it’s hard to think clearly when your own child is the target of something like this, but we have to try and hold on to our common sense.”

“All this violence,” she said. “Where does it come from?”

“There aren’t many people who are truly evil,” Wallander replied. “At least I think they’re few and far between. On the other hand, there are evil circumstances, which trigger all this violence. It’s those circumstances that we have to tackle.”

“Won’t it just get worse and worse?”

“Maybe,” Wallander said hesitantly. “If that happens then it’s because the circumstances are changing. Not because there are more evil people.”

“This country has turned so cold-hearted.”

“You’re right,” he said.

He shook hands with her and walked towards the waiting police car.

“How’s Terese doing?” asked the officer who had driven him.

“She’s upset. And her parents are, too.”

“Doesn’t it make you furious?”

“Yes,” Wallander said. “It does.”

Wallander returned to the police station. Hansson and Hoglund were still at the school where Terese had been attacked. Wallander discovered that Chief Holgersson was in Stockholm. For a moment it made him angry. But she had been informed about what happened, and she was coming back to Ystad that afternoon. Wallander got hold of Svedberg and Hamren. Nyberg was out at Eriksson’s farm searching for fingerprints. The detectives from Malmo had gone off in different directions. Wallander sat down with Svedberg and Hamren in the conference room. They were all upset about what had happened to Martinsson’s daughter. They had a brief conversation, and then went back to work. They had divided up all the assignments the night before. Wallander called Nyberg on his mobile phone.

“How’s it going?” he asked.

“It’s tough,” Nyberg said. “But we think we may have found an indistinct print on the bottom of the railing of Eriksson’s tower that might not be his. We’ll keep looking.”

Wallander thought for a moment.

“You mean the killer might have been up in the tower?”

“Why not?”

“You may be right. In that case, there might be cigarette butts too.”

“If there were any, we would have found them on our first pass. Now it’s definitely too late.”

Wallander changed the subject and told him about his visit to see Ylva Brink at the hospital.

“The name tag is in a plastic bag,” Nyberg said. “If she has a good nose maybe she will recognise the scent.”

“I want that tried out as soon as possible. You can call her yourself. Svedberg has her number.”

Nyberg said that he’d arrange for it. Wallander found a letter from the Registry Office on his desk. It reported that no-one had officially changed his name to or from Harald Berggren. Wallander put it aside. It was 10 a.m. and still raining. He thought about the meeting the night before. Again he felt uneasy. Were they really on the right track? Or were they going down a path that would lead them straight into a vacuum? He went to stand by the window. His eyes fell on the water tower. Katarina Taxell is our main lead. She has met the woman. Why else would someone be in a maternity ward in the middle of the night?

He went back to his desk and called Birch in Lund. It took almost ten minutes before they managed to locate him.

“Everything’s quiet outside her building,” Birch said. “No visits except a woman we can positively identify — her mother. Katarina went out shopping for groceries once. That was when her mother was there watching her baby. There’s a supermarket nearby. The only thing of interest was that she bought a lot of newspapers.”

“She probably wanted to read about the murder. Do you think she knows we’re in the vicinity?”

“I don’t think so. She seems tense. But she never looks around. I don’t think she suspects we’ve got her under surveillance.”

“It’s important that she doesn’t discover it.”

“We keep changing officers.”

Wallander leaned over his desk and opened his notebook.

“How is the profile of her coming along? Who is she?”

“She’s 33 years old,” Birch said. “That makes an age difference of 18 years to Blomberg.”

“It’s her first child,” Wallander said. “She started late. Women in a hurry might not be so particular about age differences.”

“According to her, Blomberg isn’t the child’s father anyway.”

“That’s a lie,” Wallander said, wondering how he really dared to be so certain. “What else have you got?”

“Katarina Taxell was born in Arlov,” Birch continued. “Her father was an engineer at the sugar refinery. He died when she was little. His car was hit by a train, outside Landskrona. She has no siblings. She and her mother moved to Lund after the father died. The mother worked part-time at the city library. Katarina Taxell got good grades in school and went on to study geography and foreign languages at the university. A somewhat unusual combination. Then she went to teacher training college, and she’s been a teacher ever since. At the same time she has built up a small business selling hair products. She’s said to be quite industrious. Of course she’s not in any of our records.”

“Well, that was certainly fast work,” Wallander said, impressed.

“I did what you said,” Birch replied. “I put a lot of people on the case.”

“Obviously she doesn’t know about it yet. She’d be looking over her shoulder if she knew we were profiling her.”

“We’ll have to see how long that lasts. The question is whether we shouldn’t lean on her a little.”

“I’ve been thinking the same thing,” Wallander said.

“Should we bring her in?”

“No. But I think I’ll drive over to Lund. Then you and I can start by talking to her one more time.”

“What about? If you don’t ask any meaningful questions she’ll get suspicious.”

“I’ll think of something on the way there. Shall we say we’ll meet outside her building at midday?”

Wallander signed out a car and drove out of Ystad. He stopped at Sturup Airport and had a sandwich. As usual he was shocked at the price. While he ate he tried to come up with some questions to ask Katarina Taxell. He couldn’t show up and ask the same things as last time.

He decided to start with Eugen Blomberg. He was the one who was murdered, after all. They needed all the information they could get on him. Taxell was only one of the people they were questioning, he would tell her.

Just before midday, Wallander finally managed to find a parking place in the centre of Lund. The rain had stopped, and he walked through the city. After a while he saw Birch in the distance.

“I heard the news about Martinsson and his daughter,” he said. “It’s awful.”

“What isn’t awful these days?” Wallander said.

“How’s the girl handling it?”

“Let’s just hope she can forget all about it. But Martinsson told me that he’s quitting the force. I have to try and prevent that.”

“If he really means it, deep down, nobody will be able to stop him.”

“I don’t think he’ll do it.”

“I took a rock on my head once,” Birch said. “I got so angry I tore after the man who threw it. It turned out that I’d arrested his brother once and so he thought he was completely justified in throwing a rock at me.”

“A policeman is always a policeman,” Wallander said. “At least if you believe the rock throwers.”

Birch changed the subject.

“What are you going to ask her about?”

“Eugen Blomberg. How they met. I have to make her think I’m asking her the same questions I ask everyone else. Routine matters, more or less.”

“What do you hope to achieve?”

“I don’t know. But I still think it’s necessary.”

They went into the building. Wallander suddenly had a premonition that something was wrong. He stopped on the stairs. Birch looked at him.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe nothing.”

They continued up to the third floor. Birch rang the bell. They waited. He rang again. The bell echoed inside the flat. They looked at each other. Wallander bent down and opened the letter slot. Everything was silent. Birch rang again. Long, repetitive rings. No-one came to the door.

“She’s got to be home,” he said. “No-one reported that she went out.”

“Then she went up the chimney,” Wallander said. “Because she’s not here.”

They ran down the stairs. Birch tore open the door to the police car. The man at the wheel sat reading a magazine.

“Did she go out?” he asked.

“She’s inside.”

“Guess again.”

“Is there a back door?” Wallander asked.

“Not that I know of.”

“That’s no answer,” Birch said angrily. “Either there’s a back door or there isn’t.”

They went back inside the building and down a flight of stairs. The door to the basement level was locked.

“Is there a caretaker?” Wallander asked.

“We don’t have time for that,” Birch said.

He examined the hinges on the door. They were rusty.

“We can try,” Birch muttered to himself.

He took a running start and threw himself against the door. It was ripped off its hinges.

“You know what it means to break the regulations,” Wallander said without irony.

They went inside. The hall between a row of locked storage rooms led to a door at the end. Birch opened it. They were at the bottom of some stairs leading up to the street.

“So she got out the back way,” he said. “And nobody even took the trouble to see if there was one.”

“She might still be in the flat,” Wallander said.

Birch understood.

“Suicide?”

“I doubt it. But we have to go in. And we don’t have time to wait for a locksmith.”

“I’m pretty good at picking locks,” Birch said. “I’ll just have to get some tools.”

When he came back he was out of breath. In the meantime Wallander had gone back to Katarina Taxell’s door and was ringing the bell. An elderly man next door came out and asked what was going on. Wallander got angry. He took out his badge and held it right up to the man’s face.

“We’d appreciate it if you’d shut your door,” he said. “Now. And keep it shut until we tell you.”

The man retreated. Wallander heard him putting on the safety chain.

Birch picked the lock in less than five minutes. They went in. The flat was empty. Taxell had taken her baby with her. Birch shook his head.

“Somebody’s going to answer for this,” he said.

They went through the flat. Wallander got the feeling that she had left in a big hurry. He stopped in front of a baby buggy in the kitchen.

“She must have been picked up by car,” he said. “There’s a petrol station across the street. Maybe someone there saw a woman with a baby leave the building.”

Birch left to find out. Wallander went through the flat one more time. He tried to imagine what had happened. Why does a woman leave her flat with a newborn baby? Taking the back way meant that she wanted to leave in secret. It also meant that she knew the building was being watched.

She or someone else, Wallander thought. Someone might have seen the surveillance from outside and then called her to arrange her escape. He sat down on a chair in the kitchen. There was one more question he needed to consider. Were Katarina Taxell and her baby in danger? Or had their flight from the flat been voluntary? Someone would have noticed if she had put up a struggle, he thought. So she must have left of her own volition. There was only one reason for that. She didn’t want to answer questions from the police.

He stood up and went over to the window. Birch was talking with one of the attendants at the petrol station. Then the phone rang. Wallander gave a start. He went into the living room. It rang again. He picked up the receiver.

“Katarina?” asked a woman’s voice.

“She’s not here,” he said. “Who’s calling?”

“Who are you?” asked the woman. “I’m Katarina’s mother.”

“My name is Kurt Wallander. I’m a police officer. Nothing has happened. But Katarina isn’t here. And her baby is gone too.”

“That’s impossible.”

“It seems strange, but she isn’t here. Maybe you have some idea where she might have gone.”

“She wouldn’t have left without telling me.”

Wallander made a quick decision.

“It would be good if you could come over here. I understand you don’t live far away.”

“It’ll take me less than ten minutes,” she replied. “What’s happened?”

He could hear the fear in her voice.

“I’m sure there’s an explanation. We can talk about it when you get here.”

He heard Birch coming in the door as he hung up.

“We’re in luck,” Birch said. “I talked to a man who works at the petrol station. A man who keeps his eyes opened.”

He had made some notes on a piece of paper spotted with oil.

“A red Golf stopped here this morning, sometime between 9 a.m. and 10 a.m. A woman came out the back door of the building. She was carrying a baby. They got into the car.”

Wallander felt the tension rising. “Did he notice who was driving?”

“The driver didn’t get out of the car.”

“So he doesn’t know whether it was a man or woman?”

“I asked him. He gave an interesting answer. He said the car drove off as if a man was behind the wheel.”

Wallander was surprised. “How did he figure that out?”

“Because the car started with a roar and tore off. Women seldom drive that way.”

“Did he notice anything else?”

“No. But maybe he can remember more with a little help. As I said, he seemed very observant.”

Wallander told him that Taxell’s mother was on her way over. Then they stood in silence.

“What do you think has happened here?” Birch asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Do you think she’s in danger?”

“I don’t think so, but I could be wrong.”

They went into the living room. There was a baby’s sock on the floor. Wallander looked around the room. Birch followed his gaze.

“There’s a solution somewhere here,” Wallander said. “There’s something in this flat that will lead us to the woman we’re looking for. When we find her, we’ll also find Katarina Taxell. There’s something here that will tell us which way to turn. We’re going to find it if we have to tear up the floorboards.”

Birch said nothing.

They heard the door lock click. So she had her own key. Katarina Taxell’s mother walked into the room.