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know.’
    ‘If you’ve come here to interrogate me you might as well leave.’
    ‘I just want to know. You’re the last person I’d ever have expected to do something like this.’
    ‘Nobody died,’ said Wallander. ‘Nobody even got hurt. Besides, anyone can do anything. I’ve lived long enough to know that.’
    Then he told her the whole story, from the restlessness that had driven him out of the house in the first place, to not knowing why he had taken his gun with him. When he had finished she said nothing for a long time.
    ‘I believe you,’ she said eventually. ‘Everything you’re telling me comes down to one single fact, one single circumstance in your life. That you are far too lonely. You suddenly lose control, and there’s nobody around to calm you down, to stop you from rushing off. But there’s still something I wonder about.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Have you told me everything? Or is there something you’re not saying?’
    Wallander wondered for a moment if he should tell her about the strange feeling of a shadow closing in on him. But he shook his head; there was nothing more to tell her.
    ‘What do you think’s going to happen?’ she asked. ‘I can’t remember what the rule book says.’
    ‘There’ll be an internal investigation. After that, I have no idea.’
    ‘Is there a chance they’ll fire you?’
    ‘I reckon I’m too old to be fired. Besides, the offence isn’t all that serious. But they might force me into early retirement.’
    ‘Wouldn’t that appeal to you?’
    Wallander was chewing away at an apple when she asked him that question. He hurled the core at the wall with all his strength.
    ‘You’ve just said that my problem is loneliness!’ he roared. ‘What would it be like if I was forced to retire? I’d have nothing at all left.’
    Wallander’s bellowing woke the baby up.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
    ‘You’re scared,’ she said. ‘I can understand that. I would be too. I don’t think anybody should apologise for being scared.’
    Linda stayed until the evening, made him dinner, and they spoke no more about what had happened. Kurt escorted her to the car through the cold, gusting wind.
    ‘Will you manage?’ she asked.
    ‘I’ll always get by. But thank you for asking.’

    The following day Wallander had a call from Lennart Mattson, who wanted to see him without delay. When they met, he was introduced to an internal affairs officer from Malmo who had come to interrogate him.
    ‘Whenever it suits you,’ said the investigator, whose name was Holmgren and who was about the same age as Wallander.
    ‘Now,’ said Wallander. ‘Why put it off?’
    They shut themselves away in one of the police station’s smallest conference rooms. Wallander made an effort to be precise, not to make excuses, not to trivialise what had happened. Holmgren took notes, occasionally asked Wallander to take a step backwards, repeat an answer and then continue. It seemed to Wallander that if the roles had been reversed, the interrogation would doubtless have proceeded in exactly the same way. It took slightly more than an hour. Holmgren put down his pen and looked at Wallander - not in the way one would look at a criminal who had just confessed, but as somebody who had messed things up. He seemed to be feeling sorry for the trouble Wallander found himself in.
    ‘You didn’t fire a shot,’ said Holmgren. ‘You forgot your gun when you drank too much at a restaurant. That’s serious - there’s no getting away from that - but you haven’t actually committed a crime. You haven’t assaulted anyone; you haven’t taken bribes; you haven’t harassed anyone.’
    ‘So I’m not going to be fired, you don’t think?’
    ‘Hardly. But it’s not up to me.’
    ‘But your guess would be … ?’
    ‘I’m not going to guess. You’ll have to wait and see.’
    Holmgren began collecting his papers and placing them carefully in his briefcase. He suddenly paused.
    ‘It’s obviously an