“That wasn’t started with a match,” said the fireman. “I wouldn’t be surprised if a hundred kilos of dynamite went off.”
Wallander drove back towards Ystad. He called Ebba in reception and asked her to tell Bjork he was on his way.
Then he suddenly remembered what it was he’d forgotten. The previous evening one of the patrol car crews reported they’d nearly been hit by a Mercedes speeding down one of the dirt roads. Wallander was pretty sure it was the very track where the house had exploded.
Too many coincidences, he thought. Soon we’ll have to find something that makes it all start to add up.
Bjork was pacing up and down restlessly in the reception area at the police station when Wallander got there.
“I’ll never get used to press conferences,” he said. “What’s all this about a fire that Svedberg called to inform me about? He expressed himself very oddly, I must say. He said the house and barn had exploded. What did he mean by that? What house was he talking about?”
“Svedberg’s description was probably accurate,” said Wallander. “It can hardly have anything to do with the press conference on the disappearance of Louise Akerblom, though, so I suggest we talk about it later. The guys out there might have more information by then, anyway.”
Bjork nodded.
“Let’s keep this simple,” he said. “A brief and straightforward reference to her being missing, hand out the photos, appeal to the general public. You can deal with questions about how the investigation is going.”
“The investigation isn’t really going at all,” said Wallander. “If only we’d traced her car. But we’ve got nothing.”
“You’d better make something up,” said Bjork. “Police who claim they have nothing to tell reporters are fair game. Never forget that.”
The press conference took just over half an hour. In addition to the local papers and local radio, the local reps for the Express and Today had shown up. Nobody from the Stockholm papers, though. They won’t arrive until we’ve found her, thought Wallander. Assuming she’s dead.
Bjork opened the press conference and announced that a woman was missing in circumstances the police considered to be serious. He described the woman and her car, and distributed photographs. Then he invited questions, nodded towards Wallander, and sat down. Wallander mounted the little dais and waited.
“What do you think has happened?” asked the reporter from the local radio station. Wallander had never seen him before. The local radio station always seemed to be changing personnel.
“We don’t think anything,” answered Wallander. “But the circumstances suggest we should be taking the disappearance of Louise Akerblom seriously.”
“Tell us about the circumstances, then,” suggested the local reporter.
Wallander waded in.
“We must be clear about the fact that most people in this country who go missing in one way or another turn up again sooner or later. Two times out of three there is a totally natural explanation. One of the most common is forgetfulness. Just occasionally there are signs to suggest there could be another explanation. Then we treat the disappearance very seriously.”
Bjork raised his hand.
“Which is not to say, of course, that the police don’t take all cases of missing persons very seriously,” he explained.
Oh my God, thought Wallander.
The man from the Express, a young guy with a red beard, raised his hand and spoke up.
“Can’t you be a bit more precise?” he said. “You’re not excluding the possibility that a crime may have been committed. Why aren’t you? I also think it’s not clear where she disappeared, and who was the last to see her.”
Wallander nodded. The journalist was right. Bjork had been vague on several important counts.
“She left the Savings Bank in Skurup just after three last Friday afternoon,” he said. “An employee at the bank saw her start her car and drive off around a quarter past three. We can be quite sure about the time. Nobody saw her after that. Moreover we are quite sure she took one of two possible routes. Either the E14 towards Ystad, or she might have driven past Slimminge and Rogla towards the Krageholm district. As you heard, Louise Akerblom is a real estate agent. She might have gone to see a house that was being put up for sale. Or she might have driven straight home. We’re not sure what she decided to do.”
“Which house?” asked one of the local press reporters.
“I can’t answer that question for reasons connected with the investigation,” replied Wallander.
The press conference died out of its own accord. The local radio reporter interviewed Bjork. Wallander talked to one of the local press reporters in the corridor outside. When he was alone, he fixed himself a cup of coffee, went into his office and called the scene of the fire. He got hold of Svedberg, who told him that Martinson had already diverted a group of searchers to concentrate on the area around the burning house.
“I’ve never seen a fire like this one,” said Svedberg. “There won’t be a single roof beam left when it’s over.”
“I’ll be out there this afternoon,” said Wallander. “I’m going out to Robert Akerblom’s place again. Call me there if anything develops.”
“We’ll call you,” said Svedberg. “What did the press have to say?”
“Nothing worth commenting on,” said Wallander, putting the phone down.
That moment Bjork knocked on his door.
“That went pretty well,” he said. “No dirty tricks, just reasonable questions. Let’s just hope they write what we want them to.”
“We’ll have to detail a few extra people to man the phones tomorrow,” said Wallander, not bothering to comment on his assessment of the press conference. “When a religious mother of two disappears, I’m afraid lots of folk who’ve seen nothing at all will be calling in. Giving the police the benefit of their blessing and prayers. Quite apart from those we hope might really have something useful to tell us.”
“Assuming we don’t find her during the course of today,” said Bjork.
“I don’t believe that, and neither do you,” said Wallander.
Then he told the story of the remarkable fire. The explosion. Bjork listened with a worried look on his face.
“What does all this mean?” he asked.
Wallander stretched out his arms.
“I don’t know. I’m going back to see Robert Akerblom now, though. Find out what else he’s got to say.”
Bjork stood in the door.
“We’ll have a debriefing in my office at five o’clock,” he said.
Just as Wallander was about to leave his office, he remembered he’d forgotten to ask Svedberg to do something for him. He called the scene of the fire once more.
“Do you remember how a police car nearly crashed into a Mercedes last night?” he asked.
“I have a vague memory,” said Svedberg.
“Find out all you can about the incident,” Wallander went on. “I have a strong suspicion that Mercedes has something to do with the fire. I’m not quite so sure whether it has anything to do with Louise Akerblom.”
“Roger,” said Svedberg. “Anything else?”
“We have a meeting here at five o’clock,” said Wallander, replacing the receiver.
A quarter of an hour later he was back in Robert Akerblom’s kitchen. He sat down on the same chair he’d occupied a few hours earlier, and had another cup of tea.
“Sometimes you get called out on some sudden emergency,” said Wallander. “There’s been a major fire incident. But it’s under control now.”
“I understand,” said Robert Akerblom politely. “I’m sure it’s not easy, being a cop.”
Wallander observed the man opposite him at the table. At the same time, he could feel the handcuffs in his trouser pocket. He wasn’t looking forward to the interrogation he was about to launch.
“I have a few questions,” he said. “We can talk just as easily here as anywhere else.”
“Of course,” said Robert Akerblom. “Ask as many questions as you like.”
