'I'll talk to her,' he said. 'I am still on duty, after all.'

Hemberg nodded.

'Merry Christmas,' he added. 'I'll see you New Year's Eve.'

'I hope things are calm tonight,' Wallander replied.

'The conflicts start at night,' Hemberg said gloomily. 'We can only hope they don't turn too violent. And that not too many excited children are disappointed.'

They parted in the hallway. Wallander hurried down to his car, which he had parked in front of the building today. It was raining hard now. He pushed a cassette into the car stereo and turned up the volume. The city around him glittered with illuminated signs and street decorations. Jussi Björling's voice filled the car. He relished the thought of all the time off that awaited him.

He had almost forgotten what Hemberg had asked of him when he approached the last roundabout before the exit towards Ystad. He was abruptly forced to brake and change lanes. Then he turned by the furniture warehouse, which was closed. But the lights were on in the grocery shop just past the workshop. Wallander pulled up and got out. He left the keys in the car. He closed the door so carelessly that the interior light stayed on. But he let it be. His business here would be over and done with in a couple of minutes.

The rain was still very intense. He looked around quickly. No one could be seen. The roar of traffic that reached him was faint. He wondered briefly how a grocery shop of the old kind could survive in an area that consisted almost exclusively of warehouses and small industry. Without finding an answer he hurried through the rain and opened the door.

As soon as he came into the shop he knew that something was not as it should be.

Something was wrong, seriously wrong.

What it was that caused this immediate reaction, he could not say. He remained standing just inside the door. The shop was empty. Not a single person. And it was quiet.

Too quiet, he thought.

Too quiet and peaceful. And where was Elma Hagman?

He walked carefully towards the counter. Leaned over it and checked the floor. Nothing. The cash register was closed. The silence around him was deafening. It occurred to him that he really should leave the shop. Since he didn't have a radio in the car, he needed a telephone. He should call for reinforcements. There should be at least two policemen here: one was not enough for an emergency response.

But he dismissed the idea that something was wrong. He could not be controlled forever by his feelings.

'Is anyone here?' he called out. 'Mrs Hagman?'

No answer.

He walked round the counter. There was a door behind it that was closed. He knocked. Still no answer. He slowly depressed the handle. It was unlocked. He gently pushed the door open.

Then everything happened at once, very quickly. A woman was lying face down in the inner room. He registered that a chair was knocked over and that blood had run out from her face, which was turned away. He winced, although he had been prepared for something. The silence had been too substantial.

Even as he turned round he also knew there was someone behind him. As he completed his turn, he steeled himself, catching sight of a shadow that was coming towards his face at great speed. Then everything went dark.

When he opened his eyes he knew at once where he was. His head ached and he felt nauseous. He was sitting on the floor, behind the counter. He could not have been unconscious for long. Something dark had come towards him, a shadow that had struck him hard in the head. That was the last image in his memory. And it was very clear. He tried to get up but realised that he was tied up. A rope around his legs and arms bound him to something behind him that he couldn't see.

There was also something familiar about the rope. Then he realised that it was his own tow rope, which he always kept in the boot of his car.

At once his memory flooded back. He had discovered a dead woman in the office. A woman who could hardly be anyone other than Elma Hagman. Someone had subsequently hit him on the back of the head. And now he was bound with his own rope. He looked around, listening. There had to be someone nearby. Someone he had every reason to fear. The nausea came in waves. He tried to stretch the rope. Could he free himself? He strained his ears the whole time. It was still as quiet as before, but the silence had a different quality. It was not the one he had encountered when he entered the shop. He pulled on the rope. His arms and legs were not bound so tightly, but they were twisted in a way that did not allow him to make full use of his strength.

Now he also realised how afraid he was. Someone had murdered Elma Hagman and then struck him over the head and bound him. What was it Hemberg had said? An Elma Hagman has called and reported that a strange individual has been hanging around outside the shop. It turned out she had been right. Wallander tried to think calmly. Mona knew that he was on his way home. When he did not show up she would get worried and call the Malmö office. Hemberg would then immediately think of the fact that he had been on his way to Elma Hagman's shop. Then it would not take many minutes for the patrol cars to show up.

Wallander listened. Everything was quiet. He stretched to see if the cash register had now been opened. This could hardly be anything other than a robbery-homicide. If the cash register was open there would be every likelihood that the robber had taken off. He stretched as much as he could, but it was still impossible to see if the drawer was pulled out or not. Nonetheless, he was growing convinced of the fact that he was now alone in the shop with the dead owner.

The man who had murdered her and struck Wallander must have fled. The chances were also great that his car was gone, since he had left the keys in the ignition.

Wallander continued to struggle with the rope. After stretching out his arms and legs as far as they would go, he started to sense that he should concentrate on his left leg. If he kept pushing with his leg, he could stretch out the line and perhaps free himself. This would in turn mean that he would be able to twist his body and examine the manner in which he was attached to the wall.

He had broken out in a sweat. If it was due to his exertions or the crawling fear, he did not know. Six years earlier, when he had still been a very young and gullible police officer, he had been stabbed. Everything had happened so fast that he had not had time to react, to protect himself. The blade of the knife had entered his chest right next to his heart. That time the fear had come afterwards. But now it was here from the beginning. He tried to convince himself that nothing more would happen. Sooner or later he would be able to free himself. Sooner or later they would start looking for him.

He rested from his efforts for a moment. The whole situation suddenly came over him with full force. An old woman had been murdered on Christmas Eve in her own shop, shortly before closing. There was something frighteningly surreal about this act of brutality.

These things simply didn't happen in Sweden. Least of all on Christmas Eve.

He started to tug on the rope again. It went slowly but he thought it was already chafing less. He managed to turn his arm with great difficulty so he could read his watch. Nine minutes past six. It would not be long now before Mona would start to wonder. A half-hour more and she would start to worry. By seven thirty at the latest she would be calling Malmö.

Wallander was interrupted in his thoughts. He had picked up a sound somewhere close by. He held his breath and listened. Then he heard it again. A scraping sound. He had heard it before. It was the outer door. The same sound that he had heard when he himself walked into the store. Someone was on his way in, someone who was walking very quietly.