The Fifth Woman Read Online Free PDF Page B

Wallander knew, this hope had gradually faded as the party’s popularity had dwindled. He decided not to mention their showing in the election the week before.
    Martinsson left. Wallander sat down and read the paper. After reading it twice he was furious. He went out to the hall and strode into Svedberg’s office.
    “Have you seen this?” he asked, waving Martinsson’s sheet of paper.
    Svedberg shook his head.
    “What is it?”
    “It’s from a new organisation that wants to know whether the police would have any objections to its name.”
    “Which is?”
    “They were thinking of calling themselves ‘Friends of the Axe’.”
    Svedberg gave Wallander a baffled look.
    “Friends of the Axe?”
    “That’s right. And now they’re wondering – in light of what happened here this summer – if the name might possibly be misconstrued. This organisation has no intention of going out and scalping people.”
    “What are they going to do?”
    “If I understand correctly, it’s some sort of home crafts association that wants to establish a museum for old-fashioned hand tools.”
    “That sounds all right, doesn’t it? Why are you so worked up?”
    “Because they think the police have time to make pronouncements about such things,” Wallander said. “Personally, I think Friends of the Axe is a pretty strange name for a home crafts association. But I can’t waste time on stuff like this.”
    “So tell the chief.”
    “I’m going to.”
    “Though she probably won’t agree with you, since we’re all supposed to become local police officers again.”
    Wallander knew that Svedberg was right. During the years he had been a policeman, the force had undergone endless and sweeping changes because of the complex relationship between the police and that vague and threatening entity known as “the public”. This public, which hung like a nightmare over the national police board as well as over the individual officers, was characterised by one thing: fickleness. The latest attempt to satisfy the public was to change the entire Swedish police force to “local police”. Just how this was supposed to be done, no-one knew. The national commissioner had proclaimed how important it was for the police to be seen. But since nobody had ever thought the police were invisible, they couldn’t see how this strategy was to be implemented. They already had policemen walking the beat, officers were also riding bicycles around in small, swift mini-squads. The national commissioner seemed to be talking about some other kind of visibility, something less tangible. “Local police” sounded cosy, like a soft pillow under your head. But how it was actually going to be combined with the fact that crime in Sweden was growing more brutal and violent all the time, no-one could see. In all probability, this new regime would require them to spend time making decisions as to whether it was proper for a home crafts organisation to call itself “Friends of the Axe”.
    Wallander went back to his office with a cup of coffee, closing his door behind him. He tried again to make some headway with the huge amount of material. At first he found it hard to concentrate. His conversation with Baiba kept intruding. But he forced himself to act like a policeman again, and after a few hours he had reviewed the investigation and reached the point where he had left off before he went to Italy. He telephoned a detective in Göteborg with whom he was collaborating, and they discussed some of the issues. By the time he hung up it was midday, and Wallander was hungry. It was still raining. He went out to his car, drove to the centre of town, and ate lunch. He was back at the station within the hour. Just as he sat down, the telephone rang. It was Ebba in reception.
    “You have a visitor,” she said.
    “Who is it?”
    “A man named Tyrén. He wants to talk to you.”
    “What about?”
    “Somebody who might be missing.”
    “Isn’t there someone else who can