The rain started drumming against the car windows and roof.
“Hell,” said Wallander.
“Yes,” said Martinson. “Exactly.”
Shortly before midnight the policemen, tired and drenched, reassembled on the gravel in front of the house Louise Akerblom had probably never seen. They’d found no trace of the dark blue car, still less of Louise Akerblom. The most remarkable thing they found was two elk carcasses. And a police car almost crashed with a Mercedes racing along one of the dirt roads at high speed as they were on their way to the meeting.
Bjork thanked everybody for their efforts. He had already agreed with Wallander that the weary cops could be sent home and told the search would begin again at six the next morning.
Wallander was the last to leave and head for Ystad. He had called Robert Akerblom on his car telephone, and told him they regretted they had nothing new to report. Although it was late, Robert Akerblom expressed the wish that Wallander should come and see him at their house, where he was alone with the daughters.
Before Wallander started the engine he called his sister in Stockholm. He knew she stayed up late at night. He told her their father was planning to marry his home aide. To Wallander’s astonishment, she burst out laughing. But to his relief, she promised to come down to Skane at the beginning of May.
Wallander replaced the telephone in its holder and set off for Ystad. Rain squalls hammered against the windshield.
He found his way to Robert Akerblom’s home. It was a row house like a thousand other houses. The light was still on downstairs.
Before getting out of the car he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.
She never got that far, he thought.
What happened on the way?
There’s something about this disappearance that doesn’t add up. I don’t get it.
Chapter Four
The clock beside Kurt Wallander’s bed rang at a quarter to five. He groaned, and put the pillow over his face.
He groaned, and put the pillow over his face.
I get far too little sleep, he thought dejectedly. Why can’t I be one of those cops who put everything to do with work aside as soon as they get home?
He stayed in bed, and turned his mind back to his short visit at Robert Akerblom’s house the night before. It had been pure torture to look into his distraught eyes and tell him they hadn’t managed to find his wife. Kurt Wallander had gotten out of the house just as quickly as he could, and he felt ill as he drove back home. Then he’d lain awake until a quarter to three, despite feeling tired out, more or less exhausted.
We’ve got to find her, he thought. Now. Soon. Dead or alive. We’ve just got to find her.
He had arranged with Robert Akerblom to get back in touch the next morning, as soon as the search had begun again. Wallander realized he would have to go through Louise Akerblom’s personal belongings, in order to find out what she was really like. Somewhere in the back of Wallander’s mind was the nagging thought that there was something highly peculiar about her disappearance. There were peculiar circumstances every time a person went missing; but there was something in this case that was different from anything he had experienced before. He wanted to know what it was.
Wallander forced himself to get out of bed, switched on the coffee machine, and went to turn on the radio. He cursed when he remembered the burglary, and it occurred to him that nobody would have time to worry about that investigation, given the new circumstances.
He took a shower, got dressed, and had his coffee. The weather did not exactly improve his temper. It was pouring, and the wind was up. It was the worst weather imaginable for a line search. All day long the fields and coppices around Krageholm would be full of exhausted, irritable cops, dogs with their tails between their legs, and angry conscripts from the local regiment. Still, that was Bjork’s problem. His job was to go through Louise Akerblom’s belongings.
He got into his car and drove out to the shattered oak. Bjork was pacing impatiently up and down the verge.
“What awful weather,” he said “Why does it always have to rain when we’re out looking for somebody?”
“Hmm,” said Wallander. “It’s odd.”
“I’ve talked to the Lieutenant-Colonel: his name’s Hernberg,” said Bjork. “He’s sending two busloads of conscripts, at seven o’clock. I think we might as well start right away. Martinson’s done all the spadework.”
Wallander nodded appreciatively. Martinson was good when it came to line searches.
“I thought we’d call a press conference for ten o’clock,” said Bjork. “It would help if you could be there. We’ll have to have a photo of her by then.”
Wallander gave him the one he had in his inside pocket. Bjork contemplated Louise Akerblom’s picture.
“Nice girl,” he said. “I hope we find her alive. Is it a good likeness?”
“Her husband thinks it is.”
Bjork put the photo into a plastic wallet he carried in one of his raincoat pockets.
“I’m going to their house,” said Wallander. “I think I can be of more use there.”
Bjork nodded. As Wallander made to walk over to his car, Bjork grabbed him by the shoulder.
“What do you think?” he asked. “Is she dead? Is there some crime behind all this?”
“It can hardly be anything else,” said Wallander. “Unless she’s been hurt and is lying in agony somewhere or other. But I don’t think so.”
“It doesn’t look good,” said Bjork. “Not good at all.”
Wallander drove back to Ystad. The gray sea was looking very choppy.
When he entered the house in Akarvagen, two little girls stood staring at him, wide-eyed.
“I’ve told them you’re a cop,” said Robert Akerblom. “They know Mom’s lost, and you’re looking for her.”
Wallander nodded and tried to smile, despite the lump that came into his throat.
“My name’s Kurt,” he said. “What’s yours?”
“Maria and Magdalena,” answered the girls, one after another.
“Those are lovely names,” said Wallander. “I’ve got a daughter named Linda.”
“They’re going to be at my sister’s today,” said Robert Akerblom. “She’ll be here shortly to pick them up. Can I offer you a cup of tea?”
“Yes, please,” said Wallander.
He hung up his overcoat, removed his shoes, and went into the kitchen. The two girls were standing in the doorway, watching him.
Where shall I start? wondered Wallander. Will he understand that I have to open every drawer, and go through every one of her papers?
The two girls were picked up, and Wallander finished his tea.
“We have a press conference at ten o’clock,” he said. “That means we shall have to make your wife’s name public, and ask for anybody who might have seen her to come forward. As you will realize, that implies something else. We can no longer exclude the possibility that a crime might have been committed.”
Wallander had foreseen the risk that Robert Akerblom might go to pieces and start weeping. But the pale, hollow-eyed man, immaculately dressed in suit and tie, seemed to be in control of himself this morning.
“We have to go on believing there’s a natural explanation in spite of everything,” said Wallander. “But we can no longer exclude anything at all.”
“I understand,” said Robert Akerblom. “I’ve been clear about that all the time.”
Wallander pushed his teacup to one side, said thank you, and got to his feet.
“Have you thought of anything else we ought to know about?” he asked.
“No,” said Robert Akerblom. “It’s a complete mystery.”
“Let’s go through the house together,” said Wallander. “Then I hope you will understand I have to look through all her clothes, drawers, everything that could give us a clue.”
