abrasions she could easily have suffered in the well. I couldn’t find any sign of her having had handcuffs on either her wrists or her ankles. All that happened to her is that she was shot.”
“I need the bullet as soon as possible,” said Wallander.
“You’ll get it this morning,” said Hogberg. “But it will be some time before you get the comprehensive report, of course.”
“Thank you for your efforts,” said Wallander.
He hung up and turned to Martinson.
“Louise Akerblom was not raped,” he said. “We can exclude any sexual motives.”
“So now we know,” said Martinson. “In addition, we also know the black finger is the index finger of a black man’s left hand. The man is probably about thirty. It’s all here in this fax we just got from Stockholm. I wonder how they do things when they’re as precise as this.”
“No idea,” said Wallander. “But the more we know, the better. If Svedberg is around, I thing we’d better have a meeting right away. I’m going to Stockholm this afternoon. I’ve also promised to hold a press conference at two o’clock. You and Svedberg had better take care of that. If anything else important happens, give me a call in Stockholm.”
“Svedberg will be pleased when he hears that,” said Martinson. “Are you sure you can’t travel a little later?”
“Absolutely certain,” said Wallander, getting to his feet.
“I hear our colleagues in Malmo have brought Morell in,” said Martinson when they were out in the corridor.
Wallander stared at him uncomprehendingly.
“Who?” he asked.
“Morell. That fence in Malmo. The one with the water pumps.”
“Oh, him,” said Wallander absentmindedly. “You mean him.”
He went out into reception and asked Ebba to book him a flight at about three that afternoon. He also asked her to reserve a room at the Central Hotel on Vasagatan in Stockholm, which wasn’t too expensive. Then he went back to his office and reached the receiver, intending to call his father. But he had second thoughts. He did not dare risk getting into a bad mood. He would need all his powers of concentration today. Then he had a brainstorm. He would ask Martinson to call Loderup later in the day, pass on greetings to his father, and explain that Wallander had been forced to go off to Stockholm at short notice. That might convince the old man that Wallander was up to his neck in important business.
The thought cheered him up. It could be a useful ploy for the future.
At five minutes to four Wallander landed at Arlanda, where it was drizzling slightly. He passed through the hangar-like terminal and saw Loven waiting outside the swinging doors.
Wallander noticed he had a headache. It had been a very intense day. He had spent nearly two hours with the prosecutor. Per Akeson had many questions and critical observations. Wallander wondered how to explain to a prosecutor that cops were occasionally forced to rely on instinct when priorities had to be set. Akeson criticized the reports he had received so far. Wallander defended the investigation, and by the end of the meeting the atmosphere was tense between them. Before Peters drove Wallander to Sturup Airport, he managed to stop by at home and throw a few clothes into a bag. That was when he finally managed to get hold of his daughter on the telephone. She was pleased to hear he was coming, he could hear that. They agreed he would call her that night, no matter how late it was.
Only when Wallander was in his seat and the plane had taken off did he realize how hungry he was. The SAS sandwiches were the first food to pass his lips that day.
As they drove to the police station at Kungsholmen, Wallander was filled in about the hunt for Tengblad’s murderer. Loven and his colleagues obviously had no real clues to follow up, and he could see their search was characterized by frustration. Loven also managed to give him a summary of what had happened at the discotheque where the tear gas attack took place. It all seemed to point to either a heavy-handed prank or an act of revenge. There were no definite clues here, either. In the end Wallander asked about the contract. As far as he was concerned, this was something new and frightening. Something that had only come into the mix in the last few years, and then only in the three largest cities in the country. But he had no illusions. Before long it would be happening in his own back yard. Contracts were made between a customer and a professional killer, with the aim of murdering people. The whole affair was a business deal. It seemed to Wallander this must be the ultimate proof that the brutalization of society had reached incomprehensible proportions.
“We have people out there trying to find out what’s actually going on,” said Loven as they passed the Northern Cemetery on the way into Stockholm.
“I can’t figure it all out,” said Wallander. “It’s like it was last year, when that raft drifted ashore. Nothing added up then, either.”
“We’ll have to hope our technical guys can come up with something,” said Loven. “They might be able to make something of the bullets.”
Wallander tapped his jacket pocket. He had with him the bullet that had killed Louise Akerblom.
They drove into the underground garage and then took the elevator straight up to headquarters, where the hunt for Tengblad’s killer was being organized.
As Wallander entered the room, he was struck by the number of cops present. Fifteen or more were staring at him, and he thought about how different it was from Ystad.
Loven introduced him, and Wallander took the chorus of mumbles as a greeting. A short, balding man in his fifties introduced himself as Stenberg, the officer in charge of the investigation.
Wallander suddenly felt nervous and badly prepared. He was also a little worried that they might not understand his Scanian dialect. Nevertheless, he sat down at the table and filled them in on everything that had happened. He had to field a lot of questions, and it was obvious he was dealing with experienced detectives who were very quick to get to the heart of an investigation, locate the weak points, and formulate the right questions.
The meeting dragged on and on, and lasted for more than two hours. In the end, when everyone was obviously beginning to feel washed out and Wallander was forced to ask for some aspirin, Stenberg gave a summary.
“We need a rapid response regarding the results of the ammunition analysis,” he said by way of conclusion. “If we can establish a link between the weapons used, then if nothing else, we’ve succeeded in muddying the waters a bit more.”
One or two of the cops managed a smile, but most of them just sat staring into space.
It was nearly eight by the time Wallander left the Kungsholmen police station. Loven drove him to his hotel on Vasagatan.
“Will you be OK?” asked Loven as he dropped Wallander off.
“I have a daughter here in town,” Wallander replied. “By the way, what’s the name of that disco where they threw the tear gas canisters?”
“Aurora,” said Loven. “But I hardly think it’s the sort of place for you.”
“I’m sure it isn’t,” said Wallander.
Loven nodded, and drove off. Wallander picked up his key and resisted the temptation to look for a bar close to the hotel. The memory of Saturday night in Ystad was still all too vivid. He took the elevator to his room, showered, and changed his shirt. After a catnap for an hour on top of the bed, he looked up the address of the Aurora in the telephone book. He left the hotel at a quarter to nine. He wondered whether he should call his daughter before going out. In the end, he decided to wait. His excursion to the Aurora should not take too long. Besides, Linda was a night owl. He crossed over toward Central Station, found a cab and gave an address in the Soder district. Wallander gazed thoughtfully at the city as they drove through it. Somewhere out there was his daughter Linda, and somewhere else his sister Kristina. Hidden among all those houses and people was presumably also an African missing the index finger of his left hand.
He suddenly felt uneasy. It was like he expected something to happen any minute. Something he’d better start worrying about even now.
Louise Akerblom’s smiling face flashed across his mind’s eye.
What had she stumbled upon? he wondered. Had she realized she was going to die?
