same. No address was given this time either.
'Good,' said Wallander to Britta-Lena Boden, who was standing in the bank manager's office, shaking. 'What did you say when you left to call me?'
'That I had to go and get a stamp.' 'Do you think they suspected anything?' She shook her head.
'Good,' Wallander repeated. 'You did exactly the right thing.''Do you think you'll catch them now?' she asked.'Yes,' said Wallander. 'This time we're going to get them.'
The video tape from the camera showed two men who did not look particularly Mediterranean. One of them had short blond hair, the other was balding. The first was at once dubbed Lucia and the other Skinhead.
Britta-Lena Boden listened to samples of recorded languages and finally decided that the men had spoken to each other in Czech or Bulgarian. The $50 note they had exchanged was immediately sent to the laboratory for examination.Bjork called a meeting in his office.
'After six months they turn up again,' said Wallander. 'Why did they go back to the same small bank? First, because they live somewhere in the region. Second they made a lucky catch after their earlier visit. This time they weren't so lucky. The man ahead of them in line was depositing money, not making a withdrawal. But he was an old man like Johannes Lovgren. Maybe they think that old men who look like farmers always make large cash withdrawals.''Czechs?' asked Bjork. 'Or Bulgarians?'
'That's not positively confirmed,' said Wallander. 'The girl could have been mistaken. But it fits with their appearance.'
They watched the video four times and decided which pictures to copy and enlarge.'Every Eastern European who lives in town and the surrounding area will have to be investigated,' said Bjork. 'It's not going to be pleasant. It will be regarded as discrimination, but we'll have to say to hell with that. They've got to be here somewhere. I'll talk to the police chiefs in Malmo and Kristianstad and see what they think we should do on the county level.'
'Show the video to every police officer,' said Hansson. 'They might turn up on the streets.'
Wallander had a vision of the slaughterhouse that had been the Lovgren's farm.
'After what they did in Lunnarp,' he said, 'we have to treat them as dangerous.'
'If they were the ones,' said Bjork. 'We don't know that yet.''That's true,' said Wallander. 'But even so.'
'We're going to move into high gear now,' said Bjork. 'Kurt is in charge and will divide up the work as he sees fit. Anything that doesn't have to be done straight away should be put aside. I'll call the prosecutor; she'll be glad to hear that something's happening.'
But nothing did happen. In spite of massive police effort and the relatively small size of the town, the men had vanished.
The next few days passed without result. The two county police chiefs gave the go-ahead to implement special measures in their districts. The video tape was distributed. Wallander had doubts as to whether the pictures should be released to the press. He was afraid that the men would make themselves even scarcer. He asked for Rydberg's advice.
'You have to drive foxes out into the open,' he said. 'Wait a few days. But then publish the pictures.'
For a long time he sat staring at the copies that Wallander had brought along.
'There's no such thing as a murderer's face,' he said. 'You imagine something: a profile, a hairline, a set of the jaw. But it never matches up.'
On Tuesday, 31 July, ragged clouds raced across the sky, and the wind was gusting up to gale force. After waking at dawn, Wallander lay in bed for a long time and listened to the wind. When he stood on the scales in the bathroom, he saw that he had lost another kilo. This cheered him up so much that when he drove into the car park at the station he had shed the gloom he'd felt of late.
This investigation is turning into a personal defeat, he had been thinking. I'm driving my colleagues hard, we've fetched up in a dead end again. But those two men are out there, he thought angrily as he slammed the car door. Somewhere.
In the reception he stopped to chat to Ebba. There was an old-fashioned music box next to the switchboard.
'I haven't seen one of those in ages,' he said. 'Where did you get it?'
'I bought it at a stall in the Sjobo market,' she replied. 'Sometimes you can actually find something wonderful amongst all the junk.'
Wallander smiled and moved on. On the way to his office he stopped to see Hansson and Martinsson and asked them to come along with him. Still no trace of Skinhead or Lucia.
'Two more days,' said Wallander. 'If we don't come up with something by Thursday, we'll call a press conference and release the pictures.''We should have done that right away,' said Hansson.Wallander said nothing.They went over the chart again. Martinsson would go on organising the search of camping grounds where the two men might be hiding out.
'Check the youth hostels,' said Wallander. 'And all the rooms rented in private homes for the summer.'
'It was easier in the old days,' said Martinsson. 'People used to stay put in the summer. Now they scatter all over the place.'
Hansson would go on to looking into a number of smaller, less particular building firms that were known to hire workers from various Eastern European countries without work permits. Wallander would go out to the strawberry fields. The two men might be hiding at one of the big fruit farms.
But their searches were in vain. When they gathered again late in the afternoon, they had drawn only blanks.
'I found one Algerian pipefitter,' said Hansson, 'two Kurdish bricklayers and a huge number of Polish manual labourers. I feel like writing a note to Bjork. If we hadn't had this damned double murder to solve, we could have cleaned up that shit. They're making the same wages as kids with summer jobs. They have no insurance. If there's an accident, the companies will say that the workers were living without permission at the sites.'Martinsson had no good news either.
'I found a bald Bulgarian,' he said. 'With a little luck he could have been Skinhead. But he's a doctor at the clinic in Mariestad and would have no trouble producing an alibi.'
It was stuffy in the room. Wallander got up and opened the window. For some reason he thought of Ebba's music box. Though he hadn't heard its tune, the music box had been playing in his subconscious all day.
'The markets,' he said, turning around. 'We should look there. Which market is open next?'
Both Hansson and Martinsson knew the answer. The one in Kivik.'It's open today and tomorrow,' said Hansson.'I'll go there tomorrow,' said Wallander.
'It's a big one,' said Hansson. 'You should take somebody with you.'I can go,' said Martinsson.
Hansson looked relieved to be spared the assignment. Wallander thought that there probably were races on Wednesday nights. The meeting over, they said goodbye to one another, and Hansson and Martinsson left. Wallander remained at his desk and sorted through a pile of phone messages. He arranged them in order of priority for the following day and got ready to leave. Then he caught sight of a note that had fallen under the desk. He bent to pick it up and saw that it was a message to call the director of a refugee camp.
He dialled the number. It rang ten times and he was about to hang up when someone answered.
'This is Wallander at the Ystad police. I want to speak to Mr Modin.''Speaking.''I'm returning your call.''I think I have something important to tell you.'Wallander held his breath.
'It's about the two men you're looking for. I came back from holiday today. The photographs the police sent were on my desk. I recognise those two men. They lived at this camp for a while.'
'I'm on my way,' said Wallander. 'Don't leave your office before I get there.'
The camp was outside Skurup, and Wallander was there in 19 minutes. It was housed in an old vicarage, and was only used as a temporary shelter when all the permanent camps were full.
Modin, the director, was a short man, maybe 60. He was in the drive when Wallander's car skidded to a stop.
'The camp is empty at the moment,' Modin said. 'But we're expecting a number of Romanians next
