He wondered briefly where to begin. Then he looked up Gustaf Torstensson's home address in the file for the car accident. Timmermansgatan 12. That was in one of Ystad's oldest and most affluent residential districts, beyond the army barracks, near Sandskogen. He telephoned the solicitors' and spoke to Sonia Lundin, who told him that the house keys were in the office. He left the station and noted that the rain clouds had dispersed, the sky was clear. He had the feeling he was breathing in the first of the cold winter air that was slowly advancing. As he drew up outside the solicitors' offices, Lundin came out and handed him the keys.
He took two wrong turnings before he reached the correct address. The big, brown-painted wooden house was a long way back in a large garden. He swung open the creaking gate and started along the gravel drive. It was quiet, and the town seemed a long way away. A world inside a world, he thought. The Torstensson firm of solicitors must have been a very profitable business. He doubted if there were many more expensive houses in Ystad than this one. The garden was well tended but strangely lifeless. A few deciduous trees, some neatly clipped bushes, some dull flower beds. Perhaps an elderly lawyer needed to surround himself with straight lines, a traditional garden with no surprises or improvisations. Someone had told him that as a solicitor Torstensson had the reputation of dragging out court proceedings to an unprecedented level of boredom. One spiteful opponent claimed that Torstensson could get a client off by driving the prosecutor to distraction with his plodding, colourless presentation of the case for the defence. He should ask Per Akeson what he thought of Gustaf Torstensson. They must have dealt with each other many times over the years.
He went up the steps to the front door and found the right key. It was an advanced Chubb lock of a type he had not come across before. He let himself into a large hall with a broad staircase at the back leading to the upper floor. Heavy curtains were drawn across the windows. He opened one set and saw that the window was barred. An elderly man living alone, experiencing the fear that inevitably goes with age. Was there something here he needed to protect, apart from himself? Or was his fear something that originated beyond these walls? He made his way round the house, starting on the ground floor with its library lined with sombre portraits of family ancestors, and the large open-plan living room and dining room. Everything, from furniture to wallpaper, was dark, giving him a feeling of melancholy and silence. Nowhere even a small patch of light colour, no trace of a light touch that could raise a smile.
He went upstairs. Guest rooms with neatly made beds, deserted like a hotel closed for the winter. The door to Torstensson's own bedroom had a barred inner door. He went back downstairs, oppressed by the gloom. He sat at the kitchen table and rested his chin on his hands. All he could hear was a clock ticking.
Torstensson was 69 when he died. He had been living alone for the last 15 years, since his wife died. Sten was their only child. Judging by one of the portraits in the library, the family was descended from Field Marshal Lennart Torstensson. Wallander's vague memory from his schooldays was that during the Thirty Years' War the man had a reputation for exceptional brutality towards the peasants wherever his army had set foot.
Wallander stood up and went down the stairs to the basement. Here, too, everything was pedantically neat. Right at the back, behind the boiler room, Wallander discovered a steel door that was locked. He tried the various keys until he found the right one. Wallander had to feel his way until he located the light switch.
The room was surprisingly big. The walls were lined with shelves laden with icons from Eastern Europe. Without touching them, Wallander scrutinised them from close up. He was no expert, nor had he ever been particularly interested in antiques, but he reckoned that this collection was extremely valuable. That would explain the barred windows and the lock, if not the wrought-iron safety door to the bedroom. Wallander's uneasiness grew. He felt he was intruding on the privacy of a rich old man whom happiness had abandoned, who had barricaded his house, and who was watched over by greed in the shape of all these Madonna figures.
He pricked up his ears. There were footsteps upstairs, then a dog barking. He hurried out of the room, up the steps and into the kitchen.
He was astonished to be confronted by Peters, his colleague, who had drawn his pistol and was pointing it at him. Behind him was a security guard with a growling dog tugging at a lead. Peters lowered his gun. Wallander could feel his heart racing. The sight of the gun had momentarily revived the memories he had spent so long trying to banish.
Then he was furious. 'What the hell's going on here?' he snarled.
'The alarm went off at the security company, and they called the police,' Peters said, clearly worried. 'So we came rushing here in a hurry. I had no idea it was you.'
Peters' partner Noren entered on cue, also wielding a pistol.
'There's a police investigation going on here,' Wallander said, noting that his anger had subsided as quickly as it had broken out. 'Torstensson, the solicitor who died in the car accident, lived here.'
'If the alarm goes off, we turn out,' the man from the security company said, bluntly.
'Turn it off,' Wallander said. 'You can turn it on again in a few hours' time. But let's all work our way through the house first.'
'This is Chief Inspector Wallander,' Peters explained. 'I expect you recognise him.'
The security man was very young. He nodded, but Wallander could tell that he had not recognised him.
'We don't need you any more. And get that dog out of here,' Wallander said.
The guard withdrew, taking the reluctant Alsatian with him. Wallander shook Peters and Noren by the hand.
'I'd heard you were back,' Noren said. 'It's good to see you again.'
'Thank you.'
'Things haven't been the same since you were on sick leave,' Peters said.
'Well, I'm in harness again now,' Wallander said, hoping to steer the conversation back to the investigation.
'The information we get isn't exactly reliable,' Noren said. 'We'd been told you were going to retire. After that we didn't expect to find you in a house when the alarm went off.'
'Life is full of surprises,' Wallander said.
'Anyway, welcome back,' Peters said.
Wallander had the feeling for the first time that the friendliness was genuine. There was nothing artificial about Peters: his words were straightforward and clear.
'It's been a difficult time,' Wallander said. 'But it's over now. I think so, at least.'
He walked down to the car with them and waved as they drove off. He wandered around the garden, trying to sort out his thoughts. His personal feelings were intertwined with thoughts about what had happened to the two lawyers. In the end he decided to go and talk again to Mrs Duner. Now he had a few questions to put to her which needed answering.
It was almost noon when he rang her doorbell and was let in. This time he accepted her offer of a cup of tea.
'I'm sorry to disturb you again so soon,' he began, 'but I do need help in building up a picture of both of them, father and son. Who were they? You worked with the older man for 30 years.'
'And 19 years with Sten Torstensson,' she said.
'That's a long time,' Wallander said. 'You get to know people as time goes by. Let's start with the father. Tell me what he was like.'
'I can't,' she said.
'And why not?'
'I didn't know him.'
Her reply astonished him, but it sounded genuine. Wallander decided to feel his way forward, to take all the time his impatience told him he did not have.
'You will not mind my saying that your response is a bit odd,' Wallander said. 'I mean, you worked with him for a very long time.'
'Not
Wallander nodded. 'Even if you didn't know the man, you must know a lot about him. Please, tell me what you can. If you don't I'm afraid we may never be able to solve the murder of his son.'
'You're not being honest with me, Inspector Wallander,' she said. 'You haven't told me what really happened when he died in that car crash.'
She was evidently going to go on surprising him. He made his mind up on the spot to be straight with
