The Man Who Smiled Read Online Free PDF Page B

belief. And tragic. It's only a few weeks since his father was killed in a car accident. But maybe you didn't know that either?"
    "No," Wallander lied.
    "You've got to come back to work," Martinsson said. "We need you to sort this out. And much more besides."
    "No. My mind's made up. I'll explain when we meet. Ystad's a little town. You bump into everybody sooner or later."
    Then Wallander said goodbye and hung up.
    As he did so, he realised that what he had just said to Martinsson was no longer true. In just a few seconds, everything had changed.
    He stood by the phone for more than five minutes. Then he drank his coffee, dressed and went down to his car. At 7.30 he walked through the police-station door for the first time in 18 months. He nodded to the security guard in reception, made a beeline for Björk's office and knocked on the door. Björk stood up as he came in, and Wallander noticed that he was thinner. He could see, too, that Björk was uncertain as to how to deal with the situation.
    I'm going to make it easy for him, Wallander thought. He won't understand a thing at first, but then, neither do I.
    "Naturally we're pleased to hear you seem to be better," Björk began, hesitantly. "But, of course, we'd prefer you to be coming back to work rather than leaving us. We need you." He gestured towards his desk, piled high with papers. "Today I have to respond to important matters such as a proposed new design for police uniforms, and yet another incomprehensible draft for a change in the system involving relations between the county constabulary and the county police chiefs. Have you kept up with this?" Wallander shook his head.
    "I wonder where we're heading?" said Björk, glumly. "If the new uniform design goes through, it's my belief that in future police officers will look like something between a carpenter and a ticket collector."
    He looked at Wallander, inviting a comment, but Wallander said nothing.
    "The police were nationalised in the 1960s," Björk said. "Now they're going to do it all over again. Parliament wants to abolish local constabularies and create something entirely new and call it the National Police Force. But the police has always been a national force. What else could it be? The sovereign legal systems of independent provinces were lost in the Middle Ages. How do they think anybody can get on with a day's work when they're buried under an avalanche of woolly memoranda? To cap it all I have to prepare a lecture for a totally unnecessary conference on what they call 'refusal-of-entry techniques'. What they mean is what to do when aliens who can't get a visa have to be loaded on to buses and ferries and deported without too much kerfuffle and protest."
    "I realise you're very busy," Wallander said, thinking that Björk hadn't changed an atom. He'd never got his role as Chief of Police under control. The job controlled him.
    "I've got all the papers here," Björk went on. "All we need is your signature, and you're an ex-policeman. I have to accept your decision, even if I don't like it. By the way, I hope you don't mind, but I've called a press conference for 9 a.m. You've become a famous police officer in the last few years, Kurt. Even if you've acted a little strangely every now and again, there's no denying you've done a lot for our good name and reputation. They do say that there are police cadets who claim to have been inspired by you."
    "I'm sure that's not true," Wallander said. "And you can cancel the press conference."
    He could see that this annoyed Björk.
    "Out of the question," he said. "It's the least you can do for your colleagues. Besides, Swedish Police magazine is going to run a feature on you."
    Wallander walked up to Björk's desk.
    "I'm not packing it in," he said. "I've come here today to start work again."
    Björk stared at him in astonishment.
    "There won't be a press conference," Wallander said. "I'm starting work again as of now. I'm going to get the doctor to sign a