had the desire to turn the volume right up. Instead he turned it off.
At that moment the telephone rang. It was Mona.
'I'm in Helsingborg,' she said. 'I'm in a telephone kiosk down by the harbour.'
'I'm so sorry I came home too late,' Wallander said.
'You were called back on duty, I presume?'
'They did actually call for me. From the crime squad. Even though
I don't work there yet they called me in.'
He was hoping she would be a little impressed but heard that she did not believe him. Silence wandered back and forth between them.
'Can't you come here?' he said.
'I think it's best if we take a break,' she said. 'At least for a week or so.'
Wallander felt himself go cold. Was Mona moving away from him?
'I think it's best,' she repeated.
'I thought we were going on holiday together?'
'I thought so too. If you haven't changed your mind.'
'Of course I haven't changed my mind.'
'You don't need to raise your voice. You can call me in a week. But not before.'
He tried to keep her on, but she had already hung up.
Wallander spent the rest of the evening with a sense of panic growing inside. There was nothing he feared as much as abandonment. It was only with the utmost effort that he managed to stop himself from calling Mona when it was past midnight. He lay down only to get back up again. The light summer sky was suddenly threatening. He fried a couple of eggs that he didn't eat.
Only when it was approaching five o'clock did he manage to doze off. But almost immediately he was up again.
A thought in his mind.
The betting form.
Hålén must have turned these in somewhere. Probably at the same place every week. Since he mostly kept to the neighbourhood, it must be in one of the little newsagents that were close by.
Exactly what finding the right shop would yield, he wasn't sure. In all likelihood, nothing.
Nonetheless he decided to pursue his thought. It at least had the benefit that it kept his panic about Mona at bay.
He fell into a restless slumber for several hours.
The next day was Sunday. Wallander spent that day doing nothing much at all.
On Monday, 9 June, he did something he had not done before. He called in sick, citing stomach flu as the cause. Mona had been sick the week before. To his surprise, he felt no guilt.
It was overcast but there was no precipitation when he left his building shortly after nine in the morning. It was windy and had become colder. Summer had still not arrived in earnest.
There were two small newsagents nearby that handled bets. One was very close by, on a side street. As Wallander walked through the door it occurred to him that he should have brought a picture of Hålén with him. The man behind the counter was Hungarian. Even though he had lived here since 1956 he spoke Swedish very badly. But he recognised
Wallander, who often bought cigarettes from him. He did so now as well, two packs.
'Do you take bets?' Wallander asked.
'I thought you only bought lottery tickets?'
'Did Artur Hålén place his bets with you?'
'Who is that?'
'The man who died in the fire recently.'
'Has there been a fire?'
Wallander explained. But the man behind the counter shook his head when Wallander described Hålén.
'He did not come here. He must have gone to someone else.'
Wallander paid and thanked him. It had started to rain lightly. He hurried his pace. The whole time he was thinking about Mona. The next newsagent had not had anything to do with Hålén either. Wallander went and stood under the cover of an overhanging balcony and asked himself what he was doing. Hemberg would think I was crazy, he thought.
Then he walked on. The next newsagent was almost a kilometre away. Wallander regretted not having worn a raincoat. When he reached the newsagent, which was right next to a grocery, he had to wait behind someone else. The person behind the counter was a woman about
Wallander's age. She was beautiful. Wallander did not take his eyes off her as she searched for an old issue of a
At that moment the telephone rang. It was Mona.
'I'm in Helsingborg,' she said. 'I'm in a telephone kiosk down by the harbour.'
'I'm so sorry I came home too late,' Wallander said.
'You were called back on duty, I presume?'
'They did actually call for me. From the crime squad. Even though
I don't work there yet they called me in.'
He was hoping she would be a little impressed but heard that she did not believe him. Silence wandered back and forth between them.
'Can't you come here?' he said.
'I think it's best if we take a break,' she said. 'At least for a week or so.'
Wallander felt himself go cold. Was Mona moving away from him?
'I think it's best,' she repeated.
'I thought we were going on holiday together?'
'I thought so too. If you haven't changed your mind.'
'Of course I haven't changed my mind.'
'You don't need to raise your voice. You can call me in a week. But not before.'
He tried to keep her on, but she had already hung up.
Wallander spent the rest of the evening with a sense of panic growing inside. There was nothing he feared as much as abandonment. It was only with the utmost effort that he managed to stop himself from calling Mona when it was past midnight. He lay down only to get back up again. The light summer sky was suddenly threatening. He fried a couple of eggs that he didn't eat.
Only when it was approaching five o'clock did he manage to doze off. But almost immediately he was up again.
A thought in his mind.
The betting form.
Hålén must have turned these in somewhere. Probably at the same place every week. Since he mostly kept to the neighbourhood, it must be in one of the little newsagents that were close by.
Exactly what finding the right shop would yield, he wasn't sure. In all likelihood, nothing.
Nonetheless he decided to pursue his thought. It at least had the benefit that it kept his panic about Mona at bay.
He fell into a restless slumber for several hours.
The next day was Sunday. Wallander spent that day doing nothing much at all.
On Monday, 9 June, he did something he had not done before. He called in sick, citing stomach flu as the cause. Mona had been sick the week before. To his surprise, he felt no guilt.
It was overcast but there was no precipitation when he left his building shortly after nine in the morning. It was windy and had become colder. Summer had still not arrived in earnest.
There were two small newsagents nearby that handled bets. One was very close by, on a side street. As Wallander walked through the door it occurred to him that he should have brought a picture of Hålén with him. The man behind the counter was Hungarian. Even though he had lived here since 1956 he spoke Swedish very badly. But he recognised
Wallander, who often bought cigarettes from him. He did so now as well, two packs.
'Do you take bets?' Wallander asked.
'I thought you only bought lottery tickets?'
'Did Artur Hålén place his bets with you?'
'Who is that?'
'The man who died in the fire recently.'
'Has there been a fire?'
Wallander explained. But the man behind the counter shook his head when Wallander described Hålén.
'He did not come here. He must have gone to someone else.'
Wallander paid and thanked him. It had started to rain lightly. He hurried his pace. The whole time he was thinking about Mona. The next newsagent had not had anything to do with Hålén either. Wallander went and stood under the cover of an overhanging balcony and asked himself what he was doing. Hemberg would think I was crazy, he thought.
Then he walked on. The next newsagent was almost a kilometre away. Wallander regretted not having worn a raincoat. When he reached the newsagent, which was right next to a grocery, he had to wait behind someone else. The person behind the counter was a woman about
Wallander's age. She was beautiful. Wallander did not take his eyes off her as she searched for an old issue of a
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