Read Online Firewall by Henning Mankell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Henning Mankell
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them?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"For reasons linked to the progress of the investigation. Next question."
"Have the police nationwide been alerted?"
"At this point there is only regional involvement. And that's all we have to tell you for the time being."
Wallander's closing words were met with a storm of protest. He knew there were many more or less important questions left, but he got up and pulled Chief Holgersson up with him.
"That will have to do for now," he said.
"Shouldn't we stay longer?"
"Then you'll have to take over. They've got the information they need. They'll fill in the rest better than we could have done."
Reporters from television and radio stations wanted interviews. Wallander had to wade through a throng of microphones and camera lenses.
"You'll have to deal with this yourself" he said to Holgersson. "Or Martinsson. I need to go home."
They had reached the corridor. She looked at him with surprise.
"You're going home?"
"I give you permission to lay your hand on my brow, should you so wish. I'm sick. I am running a temperature. There are officers here more than capable of finding Hökberg, and of answering all these damned questions from the media."
He left without waiting for a response. What I'm doing is wrong, he thought. I should stay and try to sort out this chaotic situation. But I just don't have the energy.
He reached his office and put on his coat. A note left on the desk caught his attention. It was Martinsson's handwriting. According to pathologist's report, Tynnes Falk died from natural causes. No crime. Shelve it for now.
It took Wallander a couple of seconds to remember that this was in reference to the man found dead by the cash machine. One less thing to worry about, he thought.
He slipped out through the garage to avoid reporters. The wind was very strong now. He had to hunch over and run directly into it to get to his car. When he turned the key nothing happened. He tried again, several times, but the engine was completely dead.
He undid his seat belt and left the car without bothering to lock the door. On his way back to Mariagatan he remembered the book he was supposed to pick up. But it would have to wait. Everything would have to wait. Right now all he wanted to do was to sleep.
When he woke, it was as if he had come running out of a dream at full tilt. He had been in the middle of a press conference, but this one had been held at Hökberg's house. Wallander had not been able to answer a single question. Then he had suddenly spotted his father at the very back of the room. He seemed undisturbed by the television cameras and was calmly painting his favourite autumn landscape.
That was the point at which Wallander woke up. He lay in bed, listening for sounds. The wind blew against the window. He turned his head. The clock on his bedside table read 9.30 p.m. He had been sleeping for almost seven hours. He tried to swallow. His throat was still swollen and sore. But his temperature had gone down. He felt sure that Hökberg was still on the run. Someone would have called him. He got up and went into the kitchen. There was the reminder to buy soap. He added to the list the book he had to pick up. Then he made some tea. He looked in vain for a lemon. There were some old tomatoes and a half-rotten cucumber in the vegetable bin, which he threw out. When the tea was ready, he carried the cup into the living room.
He reached for the phone and called the station. The only person he managed to reach was Hansson.
"How is it going?"
Hansson sounded tired when he answered.
"She's disappeared without a trace."
"Not a single sighting?"
"No-one, nothing. The national chief of police has called and expressed his displeasure."
"I don't doubt it. But I suggest we ignore him for the moment."
"I heard you're sick."
"I'll be fine tomorrow."
Hansson told him how the investigation was proceeding. Wallander had no objections to the way things were being handled. They had declared a regional search for Hökberg and had
"No."
"Why not?"
"For reasons linked to the progress of the investigation. Next question."
"Have the police nationwide been alerted?"
"At this point there is only regional involvement. And that's all we have to tell you for the time being."
Wallander's closing words were met with a storm of protest. He knew there were many more or less important questions left, but he got up and pulled Chief Holgersson up with him.
"That will have to do for now," he said.
"Shouldn't we stay longer?"
"Then you'll have to take over. They've got the information they need. They'll fill in the rest better than we could have done."
Reporters from television and radio stations wanted interviews. Wallander had to wade through a throng of microphones and camera lenses.
"You'll have to deal with this yourself" he said to Holgersson. "Or Martinsson. I need to go home."
They had reached the corridor. She looked at him with surprise.
"You're going home?"
"I give you permission to lay your hand on my brow, should you so wish. I'm sick. I am running a temperature. There are officers here more than capable of finding Hökberg, and of answering all these damned questions from the media."
He left without waiting for a response. What I'm doing is wrong, he thought. I should stay and try to sort out this chaotic situation. But I just don't have the energy.
He reached his office and put on his coat. A note left on the desk caught his attention. It was Martinsson's handwriting. According to pathologist's report, Tynnes Falk died from natural causes. No crime. Shelve it for now.
It took Wallander a couple of seconds to remember that this was in reference to the man found dead by the cash machine. One less thing to worry about, he thought.
He slipped out through the garage to avoid reporters. The wind was very strong now. He had to hunch over and run directly into it to get to his car. When he turned the key nothing happened. He tried again, several times, but the engine was completely dead.
He undid his seat belt and left the car without bothering to lock the door. On his way back to Mariagatan he remembered the book he was supposed to pick up. But it would have to wait. Everything would have to wait. Right now all he wanted to do was to sleep.
When he woke, it was as if he had come running out of a dream at full tilt. He had been in the middle of a press conference, but this one had been held at Hökberg's house. Wallander had not been able to answer a single question. Then he had suddenly spotted his father at the very back of the room. He seemed undisturbed by the television cameras and was calmly painting his favourite autumn landscape.
That was the point at which Wallander woke up. He lay in bed, listening for sounds. The wind blew against the window. He turned his head. The clock on his bedside table read 9.30 p.m. He had been sleeping for almost seven hours. He tried to swallow. His throat was still swollen and sore. But his temperature had gone down. He felt sure that Hökberg was still on the run. Someone would have called him. He got up and went into the kitchen. There was the reminder to buy soap. He added to the list the book he had to pick up. Then he made some tea. He looked in vain for a lemon. There were some old tomatoes and a half-rotten cucumber in the vegetable bin, which he threw out. When the tea was ready, he carried the cup into the living room.
He reached for the phone and called the station. The only person he managed to reach was Hansson.
"How is it going?"
Hansson sounded tired when he answered.
"She's disappeared without a trace."
"Not a single sighting?"
"No-one, nothing. The national chief of police has called and expressed his displeasure."
"I don't doubt it. But I suggest we ignore him for the moment."
"I heard you're sick."
"I'll be fine tomorrow."
Hansson told him how the investigation was proceeding. Wallander had no objections to the way things were being handled. They had declared a regional search for Hökberg and had
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