The Troubled Man Read Online Free PDF

service pistol, and put it on the desk in front of him.
    “I take it you know what I’m talking about now?”
    Wallander stared at the revolver. A shudder ran down his spine, and almost succeeded in banishing his hangover. He recalled having cleaned his gun the previous evening—but then what happened? He groped around in his memory. The gun had migrated from his kitchen table to Martinsson’s desk. But how it had gotten there, what had happened in between, he had no idea. He had no explanations, no excuses.
    “You went to a restaurant last night,” said Martinsson. “Why did you take your gun with you?”
    Wallander shook his head incredulously. He still couldn’t remember. Had he put it in his jacket pocket when he drove into Ystad? No matter how unlikely that seemed, apparently he must have.
    “I don’t know,” Wallander admitted. “My mind’s a blank. Tell me.”
    “A waiter came here around midnight,” said Martinsson. “He was agitated because he had found the gun on the bench you had been sitting on.”
    Vague fragments of memory were racing around in Wallander’s mind. Maybe he had taken the gun out of his jacket when he’d used his cell phone? But how could he possibly have forgotten it?
    “I have no idea what happened,” he said. “But I suppose I must have put the gun in my pocket when I went out.”
    Martinsson stood up and opened the door.
    “Would you like a coffee?”
    Wallander shook his head. Martinsson disappeared into the hall. Wallander reached for the gun and saw that it was loaded. He broke into a sweat. The thought of shooting himself flashed through his mind. He moved the gun so that the barrel was pointing at the window. Martinsson came back.
    “Can you help me?” Wallander asked.
    “I’m afraid not this time. The waiter recognized you. You’ll have to go from here straight to the boss.”
    “Have you already spoken to him?”
    “It would have been dereliction of duty if I hadn’t.”
    Wallander had nothing more to say. They sat there in silence. Wallander tried to find an escape route that he knew didn’t exist.
    “What will happen now?” he asked eventually.
    “I’ve been trying to read up on it in the rule book. There will be an internal investigation, of course. There’s also a risk that the waiter—Ture Saage is his name, incidentally, if you didn’t know that already—might leak information to the press. Nowadays you can earn a few kronor if you have the right kind of information to sell. Careless, drunken policemen could well sell a few extra copies.”
    “I hope you told him to keep his mouth shut?”
    “Of course I did! I even told him he could be arrested if he leaked any details of a police investigation. But I think he saw through me.”
    “Should I talk to him?”
    Martinsson leaned over his desk. Wallander could see that he was both tired and depressed. That made him feel sad.
    “How many years have we been working together? Twenty? More? At first you were the one who told me what to do. You told me off, but you also gave credit when it was due. Now it’s my turn to tell you what to do. Nothing. You could only make things worse. Don’t speak to the waiter; don’t speak to anyone. Except for Lennart. And you need to see him now. He’s expecting you.”
    Wallander nodded and stood up.
    “We’ll try to make the best of this,” said Martinsson.
    Wallander could tell from his tone of voice that he was not particularly hopeful.
    Wallander reached out for his gun, but Martinsson shook his head.
    “That had better stay here,” he said.
    Wallander went out into the hallway. Kristina Magnusson was passing, a mug of coffee between her hands. She nodded to him. Wallander could tell that she knew. He didn’t turn around to check her out as he usually did. Instead he went into a bathroom and locked the door. The mirror over the sink was cracked. Just like me, Wallander thought. He rinsed his face, dried it, and contemplated his bloodshot eyes. The