Before the Frost (29 page)

Torgeir carried a small black bag in his hand. He knew what was in it and did not have to ask. Torgeir had long since proved himself to be reliable—except with regard to the woman in the forest, which had caused an unnecessary amount of publicity and activity. Newspapers and television stations were still broadcasting the news. The act they were planning now had already been postponed for two days, and he had felt it best that Torgeir use his Copenhagen hideout while they lay low and waited it out.

They walked up toward the center of town, turned a corner when they reached the post office, and continued on to the pet store. There were no customers inside. The woman behind the counter was young. She was busy putting cans of cat food on a shelf when they arrived. There were hamsters, kittens, and birds in the cages. Torgeir smiled but said nothing; there was no point in letting her hear his Norwegian accent. While Torgeir walked around the store and made a mental note of how he would carry out his actions, his savior selected and bought a packet of birdseed. Then they left the store and walked down past the theater and toward the harbor. It was a warm day, and a number of sailboats were still coming and going.

That was the second part of their preparations, to be close to the water. Once, they had met by the shores of Lake Erie, and from then on they always sought out a body of water when they had important preparations to make.

“The cages are close together,” Torgeir said. “I'll spray with both hands in either direction, light the lighter, and run. Everything will be on fire within a few seconds.”

“And then?”

“Then I say: ‘The Lord's will be done.' ”

“And then?”

“I go to the left, then right. Not too fast, not too slow. I stop on the main square and make sure no one is following me. Then I walk up to the newsstand by the hospital, where you'll be waiting.”

They paused their conversation and looked at a small boat on its way into the harbor. The engine was loud and hacking.

“These are the last animals. We have reached our first goal.”

Torgeir was about to kneel right then and there on the pier. He dragged him up by his arm.

“
Never
in public.”

“I forgot.”

“Are you calm?”

“Yes.”

“Who am I?”

“My father, my shepherd, my savior, my God.”

“Who are you?”

“The first disciple. Found on a street in Cleveland, saved and helped back into life. I am the first apostle.”

“What else?”

“The first priest.”

Once I made sandals for a living,
he thought.
I dreamed of greater things and had to run away to escape my shame, my sense of failure, my sense of having destroyed those dreams by my inability to live up to them. Now I make people in the same way I once cut out soles, insteps, and straps
.

 

It was four o'clock. They walked around the city and sat on various park benches, remaining silent the whole time. They were past words now. From time to time he looked over at Torgeir. He seemed calm and focused on the task at hand.

I've made him happy
, he thought.
A man who grew up spoiled but also stifled and desperately unhappy. Now I bring joy to his life by taking him seriously and giving him a purpose
.

They wandered from bench to bench until it was seven o'clock. The pet store closed at six. Many people were out in the streets in the warm evening. That was to their advantage.

They went their separate ways. He walked up to the main square and turned around. Their plans ticked like a timer in his head. Now Torgeir was breaking down the front door with the crowbar. Now he was inside, closing the broken door behind him, listening for signs of anyone in the store. Now he was dropping the bag, taking out the bottles of gasoline and the lighter.

He heard the boom and thought he saw a flash of light behind the buildings. A plume of smoke rose up into the sky. He turned and started walking away. He heard the first sirens even before he had made it to the appointed meeting place.

 

It's over,
he thought.
We are reviving the Christian faith, the Christian dictates of a righteous life. The long years in the desert have come to an end
.

The simple beast who feels pain but lacks comprehension is no longer our concern
.

Now we turn to the human being
.

31

When Linda got out of the car at Mariagatan, she smelled something that reminded her of a week-long vacation she had taken with Herman Mboya to Morocco. They had chosen the cheapest package deal and bunked in a cockroach hotel. It was during that week that she had begun to think they didn't have a future together. The following year they had gone their separate ways; Herman had returned to Africa and she had started down the path that finally led her to the police academy.

The smell was what triggered the memory. Mounds of garbage were burned at night in Morocco.
But no one burns their trash in Ystad,
she thought. Then she heard the fire trucks and police sirens. There was a fire in the center of town somewhere. She started to run.

The fire was still raging when she arrived, panting like a house-bound old woman. When had she gotten this out of shape? She saw tall flames leap up through the roof. The families that lived in the upper stories had been evacuated. A badly damaged baby carriage had been abandoned in front. Firefighters were busy securing the surrounding buildings. Linda made her way up to the police tape.

Her father was quarreling with Svartman about a witness who had not been interviewed thoroughly, and to top it off had been allowed to disappear.

“We'll never get this madman if we can't even follow the simplest of routines.”

“Martinsson was in charge of it.”

“And he's told me twice that he delegated it to you. Now you'll have to track down the witness somehow.”

Svartman left, clearly feeling wronged.
They're like angry bulls,
Linda thought.
All this time and energy spent marking their territory
.

A fire truck that was backing up toward the rescue operation knocked a hose loose, which started whipping around, spraying water. Wallander jumped to the side, and caught sight of Linda at the same time.

“What happened here?” she asked.

“One or more firebombs in the store. Torched animals, same as the swans and the calf.”

“Any clues?”

“One witness, but no one seems to know where the person went.”

Wallander was so furious he was shaking.
This is how he'll die,
Linda thought suddenly.
Exhausted, outraged by an oversight in a pressing criminal investigation.

“We have to get these bastards,” he said, interrupting her train of thought.

“I think this is different.”

“What is it?”

He looked at her as if she knew the answer.

“I don't know. It's as if it were really about something else.”

Höglund called out to Wallander.

Linda watched him walk away, a large man with his head pulled down into his shoulders, stepping carefully over the hoses and the smoking remains of what had once been a pet store. Linda's gaze fell on a teary-eyed young woman watching the blaze.
The owner,
she mused.
Or simply someone who loves animals.
There were a number of spectators, all silent.
Burning buildings always inspire dread,
she thought.
A house on fire is a reminder that our own home could one day burn to the ground.

“Why aren't they asking me questions? I don't get it.”

Linda turned around and saw a woman in her twenties pressed up against a nearby wall. She was talking to a friend. A waft of smoke made them both pull back even farther.

“Why don't you just go over and tell them what you saw?” her friend said.

“I'm not going to go out of my way for the police.”

The witness,
Linda thought and took a step closer.

“What did you see?” she asked.

The woman eyed her suspiciously and Linda saw that she was slightly walleyed.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Linda Wallander. I'm a police officer.”

Well, it's almost true,
she thought.

“How could someone kill all those animals? And I heard there was a horse in there too. Is that true?”

“No,” Linda said. “What did you see?”

“A man.”

“What was he doing?”

“He started the fire that burned all those animals. I was walking from the direction of the theater. I was going to mail some letters, which I do several times a week. When I was about halfway to the post office, about a block from the pet store, I noticed someone walking behind me. I was startled because he had been walking almost soundlessly. I let him pass me. Then I started following him, trying to walk as quietly as he did, I don't know why. But after a few feet I realized I had left a letter in the car so I turned around and went back for it.”

Linda lifted her hand.

“How long did it take you to go back and get the letter?”

“Three or four minutes. The car was parked by the delivery entrance to the theater.”

“What happened when you started back for the post office? Did you see the man again?”

“No.”

“And when you walked past the pet store, what did you do?”

“I glanced at the window—but I'm not so interested in hamsters and turtles.”

“What did you see?”

“A blue light inside the store. It's always on. It's some kind of heat lamp, I think.”

“Then what happened?”

“I mailed my letters and started walking back to the car. It took another three minutes or so.”

“And then?”

“Then the store exploded, or it felt that way. I had just walked past it. There was a sharp light all around me. I threw myself down onto the street. Then I saw that the store was in flames. An animal must have gotten loose, and it ran past me with its fur on fire. It was horrible.”

“What did you do then?”

“It all happened so fast. But I saw a man standing on the other side of the street. The light was so strong that I was positive; it was the man who had overtaken me on the street. He was carrying a bag in his hand.”

“Had he been carrying it before?”

“Yes. I forgot to mention it. A black bag, like an old-fashioned doctor's bag.”

Linda knew what they looked like.

“What did you do?”

“I called out to him to help me.”

“Were you hurt?”

“I thought so. It was such a loud bang and then that terrible light.”

“Did he help you?”

“No, he just looked at me and walked away.”

“In what direction?”

“Up toward the main square.”

“Had you ever seen him before?”

“Never.”

“How would you describe him?”

“He was tall and strong-looking. Maybe bald, or with very short hair. He had a dark blue coat, dark pants. His shoes I had looked at when he walked past and I wondered how he could walk so quietly. They were brown and had thick rubber soles, but they weren't running shoes.”

“Do you remember anything else?”

“He shouted something.”

“Who was he talking to?”

“I don't know.”

“Was there anyone else there?”

“Not that I could see.”

“What did he say?”

“It sounded like ‘The Lord's will be done.‘”

“‘The Lord's will be done'?”

“I'm sure of the word ‘Lord,' but the word ‘will' sounded like it was pronounced in a foreign language. Danish, maybe. Or Norwegian, more like it. Yes, that's it. The guy sounded like he was speaking Norwegian.”

Linda's heart beat a little faster.
It has to be the same guy,
she thought.
Unless there's a Norwegian conspiracy at work. But that seems a little far-fetched.

“Did he say anything else?”

“No.”

“What's your name?”

“Amy Lindberg.”

Linda fished a pen out of her pocket and wrote down Amy's phone number on her wrist.

They shook hands.

“Thanks for listening to me,” Amy Lindberg said, and she turned to rejoin her friend.

 

The mysterious Torgeir Langaas,
Linda mused.
He keeps cropping up in my life when I least expect it.

She could see that the firefighting operation had reached a new stage. Workers were moving more slowly, a sign that the blaze would soon be contained. She saw her dad talking to the fire chief. When his head turned in her direction she pulled herself back even farther, although it was impossible for him to see her in the shadows. Stefan Lindman walked by with the young woman she had seen earlier, who had cried as she watched the fire.
It suits him to comfort crying women,
she thought.
I, on the other hand, almost never cry. I stopped all that when I was still little.
She watched Lindman lead the woman over to a patrol car. They said a few words to each other, then he opened the door for her and she climbed in.