![]() ![]() He was a man who was never bothered by uncertainty. Wallander had heard only favorable things about him. He saw that the fire captain on duty was Peter Edler, a thirty-five-year-old man who flew kites in his spare time. At that moment the first fire truck arrived, followed closely by an ambulance. His head was pounding and his thigh hurt, and he felt sick from the smoke he had inhaled into his lungs. But those who had been asleep inside were already out. Wallander threw open doors and saw that people were living in these barracks. The fire had now ignited two more of the low buildings. From far off he could hear sirens, and as he stumbled away from the fire he saw crowds of half-dressed people milling around outside the barracks. At the same moment his jacket caught fire and he threw himself headfirst out the window. Then he realized that what he had taken for a person was merely a rolled-up mattress. At first he thought he was touching a lifeless body. He was almost suffocating from the smoke as he fumbled his way toward the bed. Then he heaved himself through the window, hitting his head on the edge of a table as he landed on the floor. Wallander yelled again but got no response. In a few days Björk would be back from his winter vacation. If conflicts arose within the police force, it was the duty of the chief of police to intervene. When he unlocked his front door, he had decided to find out who on the police force had leaked the confidential information. He turned off the lights in his office, walked down the silent corridor, and drove straight home. Then he had slammed down the receiver, called the switchboard, and had all incoming calls held. For a moment Wallander had tried to listen to what the anonymous man was saying. He had proposed that the police join forces with the domestic nationalist movements and chase all the foreigners out of the country once and for all. The last person to call him had been a man who refused to give his name. ![]() It had been almost twelve thirty by the time he got away from the police station that night. Oddly enough, he did not feel in the least tired. The glow-in-the-dark hands on his wristwatch were pointing at ten minutes to three. ![]() Still, things get complicated when he has to deal with an eruption of violent antiforeigner sentiment, as well as a tough-minded - and very attractive - female district attorney, as he searches for the killers. he and his colleagues must contend with a wave of violent xenophobia as they search for the killers. His family is falling apart, he’s gaining weight, and he’s drinking too much, but he is tenacious and levelheaded in his sleuthing. The only clue is the single word she utters before she dies: “foreign.” In charge of the investigation is Inspector Kurt Wallander, a local cop whose personal life is in a shambles. An old man has been bludgeoned to death, and his tortured wife lies dying before the farmer’s eyes. Early one morning, a small-town farmer discovers that his neighbors have been victims of a brutal attack during the night. ![]()
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