Wallander looked at him in surprise.
“It was Louise who took the call from the lady who wanted to sell the house,” explained Robert Akerblom. “She drew a map for herself, and took it with her. She wouldn’t be putting all the details into a file until today. If we’d taken on the house either she or I would have gone back there to take a photograph.”
Wallander thought for a moment.
“In other words, at the moment Louise is the only one who knows where the house is,” he said.
Robert Akerblom nodded.
“When would the lady who called get in touch again?” Wallander went on.
“Some time today,” said Robert Akerblom. “That’s why Louise wanted to try and see the house on Friday.”
“It’s important that you’re here when she calls,” said Wallander. “Say that your wife has taken a look at the house, but unfortunately she’s sick today. Ask for a description of how to get there again, and take her telephone number. As soon as she’s been in touch, give me a call.”
Robert Akerblom nodded to show he’d understood. Then he sat down to write out the details Wallander wanted.
Wallander opened the desk drawers one at a time. He found nothing that seemed significant. None of the drawers appeared to be recently emptied. He lifted the green blotting pad, and found a recipe for hamburgers, torn from a magazine. Then he contemplated the photo of the two daughters.
He got up and went out into the kitchen. Hanging on one of the walls was a calendar and a sampler with a quotation from the Bible. A small jar of coffee was on one of the shelves, unopened. On another were several kinds of tea. He opened the refrigerator. A liter of milk and some margarine.
He thought about her voice, and what she’d said on the telephone. He was sure the car had been stationary when she made the call. Her voice was steady. It would not have been if she had been concentrating on driving at the same time. Later, when they amplified the sound at the station, he was proven right. Besides, Louise Akerblom was sure to be a careful, law-abiding citizen who would not risk her life nor anybody else’s by using the car phone while driving.
If the times she mentioned are right, she’ll be in Skurup, thought Wallander. She’ll have concluded her business at the bank and be about to set off for Krageholm. But she wants to call her husband first. She’s pleased that everything went well at the bank. Moreover it’s Friday afternoon, and she’s finished work for the day. It’s nice weather. She has every reason to feel happy.
Wallander went back and sat down at her desk once more, leafing through the desk diary. Robert Akerblom handed him a sheet of paper with the details Wallander had asked for.
“I have just one more question for the moment,” said Wallander. “It isn’t really a question. But it is important. What kind of a person is Louise?”
He was very careful to use the present tense, as if nothing had happened. In his own mind, however, Louise Akerblom was already someone who no longer existed.
“Everybody likes her,” said Robert Akerblom straightforwardly. “She’s even-tempered, laughs a lot, finds it easy to talk to people. Actually, she finds it hard to do business. Anything to do with money or complicated negotiations, she hands over to me. She’s easily moved. And upset. She’s troubled by other people’s suffering.”
“Does she have any special idiosyncrasies?” asked Wallander.
“Idiosyncrasies?”
“We all have our peculiarities,” said Wallander.
Robert Akerblom thought for a moment.
“I can’t think of anything,” he said eventually.
Wallander nodded and got to his feet. It was already a quarter to twelve. He wanted to have a word with Bjork before his boss went home for lunch.
“I’ll be in touch later this afternoon,” he said. “Try not to worry too much. See if you can think of anything you’ve forgotten. Something I ought to know about.”
“What happened, do you think?” asked Robert Akerblom as they shook hands.
“Probably nothing at all,” said Wallander. “There’s bound to be a natural explanation.”
Wallander got hold of Bjork just as he was about to leave. He was looking harassed, as usual. Wallander imagined a chief constable’s job wasn’t something to feel envious about.
“Sorry to hear about the burglary,” said Bjork, trying to look sympathetic. “Let’s hope the newspapers don’t get hold of this one. It wouldn’t look good, a detective inspector’s home being broken into. We have a high percentage of unsolved cases. The Swedish police force is pretty low on the international league tables.”
“That’s the way it goes,” said Wallander. “I need to talk to you about something.”
They were standing in the corridor outside Bjork’s office.
“It can’t wait till after lunch,” he added.
Bjork nodded, and they went back into the office.
Wallander put his cards on the table. He reported in detail his meeting with Robert Akerblom.
“A mother of two, religious,” said Bjork when Wallander had finished. “Missing since Friday. Doesn’t sound good.”
“No,” said Wallander. “It doesn’t sound good at all.”
Bjork eyed him shrewdly.
“You think there’s been a crime?”
Wallander shrugged.
“I don’t really know what I think,” he said. “But this isn’t a straightforward missing persons case. I’m sure about that. That’s why we ought to mobilize the right resources from the start. Not just the usual wait-and-see tactics.”
Bjork nodded.
“I agree,” he said. “Who do you want? Don’t forget we’re understaffed as long as Hanson’s away. He managed to pick just the wrong moment to break his leg.”
“Martinson and Svedberg,” replied Wallander. “By the way, did Svedberg find that young bull that was careening around the E14?”
“A farmer got it with a lasso in the end,” said Bjork glumly. “Svedberg twisted his ankle when he tumbled into a ditch. But he’s still at work.”
Wallander stood up.
“I’ll drive out to Skurup now,” he said. “Let’s get together at half past four and sort out what we know. We’d better start looking for her car right away.”
He put a piece of paper on Bjork’s desk.
“Toyota Corolla,” said Bjork. “I’ll see to that.”
Wallander drove from Ystad to Skurup. He needed some time to think, and chose the coastal route.
A wind was picking up. Jagged clouds were racing across the sky. He could see a ferry from Poland on its way into the harbor.
When he got as far as Mossby Beach, he drove down to the deserted parking lot and stopped by the boarded-up hamburger stand. He stayed in the car, thinking about the previous year when a rubber dinghy had drifted into land just here, with two dead men in it. He thought about Baiba Liepa, the woman he’d met in Riga. Interesting that he hadn’t managed to forget her, despite his best efforts.
A year ago, and he was still thinking about her all the time.
A murdered woman was the last thing he needed right now.
What he needed was peace and quiet.
He thought about his father getting married. About the burglary and all the music he’d lost. It felt as if someone had robbed him of an important part of his life.
He thought about his daughter, Linda, at college in Stockholm. He had the feeling he was losing touch with her.
It was too much, all at once.
He got out of the car, zipped up his jacket and walked down to the beach. The air was chilly, and he felt cold.
