'But I don't have anything else to tell you!' She seemed more and more upset.'We have some more questions.'
Ten minutes later she was back. She was holding some notes that she stuffed into her purse, which was hanging on the back of a chair. She now seemed composed and ready for an argument.'I don't know anyone called Lovgren,' she said.
'And you insist that you don't know who was the father of your son, born in 1958?'
'That's correct.'
'Do you realise that you may have to answer these questions under oath?' 'I'm telling the truth.' 'Where can we find Nils?' 'He travels a lot.'
'According to our records, his place of residence is in Solvesborg.''So go out there then!' 'That's what we plan to do.' 'I have nothing more to say.'
Wallander hesitated for a moment. Then he pointed at the photograph pinned on the wall.'Is that Nils's father?' he asked.
She had just lit a cigarette. When she exhaled, it sounded like a hiss.
'I don't know any Lovgren. I don't know what you're talking about.'
'All right then,' said Boman. 'We'll be off now. But you may be hearing from us again.'
'I have nothing more to say. Why can't you leave me alone?'
'Nobody gets left alone when the police are looking for a murderer,' said Boman. 'That's the way it goes.'
When they came outdoors, the sun was shining. They stood next to the car for a moment.'What do you think?' asked Boman.'I don't know. But there's something there.'
'Shall we try to find the son before we move on to the third woman?''I think so.'
They drove over to Solvesborg and with great difficulty located what appeared to be the right address: a dilapidated wooden house outside the centre of the town, surrounded by wrecked cars and pieces of machinery. A ferocious German shepherd was barking and pulling on its iron chain. The house looked deserted. Boman leaned forwards and looked at a sign with sloppy lettering that was nailed to the door.'Nils Velander,' he said. 'This is the place.'
He knocked several times, but no-one answered. They walked all the way around the house.'What a bloody rat hole,' said Boman.
When they got back to the door, Wallander tried the handle. The house wasn't locked. Wallander looked at Boman, who shrugged.'If it's open, it's open,' he said. 'Let's go in.'
They stepped into a musty hallway and listened. Silence. They both jumped when a hissing cat leaped out of a dark corner and vanished up the stairs to the first floor. The room on the left seemed to be some sort of office. There were two battered filing cabinets and an exceedingly messy desk with a phone and an answering machine. Wallander lifted the top of a box sitting on the desk. Inside was a set of black leather underwear and a mailing label.
'Fredrik Aberg of Dragongatan in Alingsas ordered this stuff,' he said with a grimace. 'Plain brown wrapper, no doubt.'
They moved on to the next room, which was a storeroom for Nils Velander's novelty underwear. There were also a number of whips and dog collars. Everything was jumbled up, with no appearance of organisation.
The next room was the kitchen, with dirty dishes stacked by the sink. A half-eaten chicken lay on the floor. The room stank of cat piss. Wallander threw open the door to the pantry. Inside was a home distillery and two large vats. Boman sniggered and shook his head.
They went upstairs and peeked into the bedroom. The sheets were dirty and clothes lay in heaps on the floor. The curtains were drawn, and together they counted seven cats scurrying off.
'What a pigsty,' repeated Boman. 'How can anybody live like this?'The house looked as if it had been abandoned in a hurry.
'Maybe we'd better leave,' said Wallander. 'We'll need a search warrant before we can give the place a thorough going-over.'
They went back downstairs. Boman stepped into the office and punched the button on the answering machine. A man they assumed was Nils Velander stated that no-one was in the Raff-Sets office at the moment, but you were welcome to leave your order on the answering machine.
The German shepherd jerked on its chain as they came out into the courtyard. At the corner, on the left-hand side of the house, Wallander discovered a basement door almost hidden behind the remains of an old mangle.
He opened the unlocked door and stepped into the darkness. He fumbled his way over to a fuse box. An old oil furnace stood in the corner. The rest of the basement room was filled with empty birdcages. He called to Boman, who joined him.
'Leather underpants and empty birdcages,' said Wallander. 'What exactly is this guy up to?''I think we'd better find out,' replied Boman.
As they were about to leave, Wallander noticed a small steel cabinet behind the furnace. He bent down and pressed on the handle. It was unlocked, like everything else in the house. He put his hand in and grabbed hold of a plastic bag. He pulled it out and opened it.
'Look at this,' he said to Boman.
The plastic bag contained a bundle of 1,000-krona notes. Wallander counted 23.
'I think we're going to have to have a talk with this chap,' said Boman.
They stuffed the money back and went outside. The German shepherd was still barking.
'We'll have to talk to our colleagues here in Solvesborg,' said Boman. 'They can check him out for us.'
At the Solvesborg police station they found an officer who was quite familiar with Velander.
'He's probably mixed up in all kinds of illegal activities,' said the policeman. 'But the only thing we have on him is suspicion of illegally importing caged birds from Thailand. And operating a distillery.'
'He was once sentenced for assault and battery,' said Boman.
'He doesn't usually get into fights,' replied the officer. 'But I'll try to check up on him for you. Do you really think he's graduated to murdering people?'
'We don't know,' said Wallander. 'But we need to find him.'
They set off for Kristianstad. It was raining again. They had formed a good impression of the police officer in Solvesborg and were counting on him to find Velander for them. But Wallander had doubts.
'We don't know anything,' he said. '1,000-krona notes in a plastic bag aren't proof of anything.''But something is going on there,' said Boman.
Wallander agreed. There was something about the owner of the beauty salon and her son.They stopped for lunch at a hotel restaurant. Wallander thought he ought to check in with the station in Ystad, but the pay phone he tried was broken.
It was 1.30 p.m. by the time they got back to Kristianstad. Before they went to find the third woman on their list, Boman wanted to check in at his office. The young woman at the reception desk flagged them down.
'There was a call from Ystad,' she said. 'They want Inspector Wallander to call back.''Let's go to my office,' said Boman.
Full of foreboding, Wallander dialled the number while Boman went to get some coffee. Without a word Ebba connected him to Rydberg.
'You'd better come back,' said Rydberg. 'Some idiot has shot a Somali refugee at Hageholm.''What the hell do you mean by that?'
'Exactly what I said. This Somali was out taking a stroll. Someone blasted him with a shotgun. I've had a hell
