made up his mind to return to work, but even so, it seemed like a long time. As if he were on his way somewhere while his memories went dashing off at an enormous pace in an entirely different direction.
Just after the turning into the main highway there was a dead hare lying on the road. He drove round it, and thought how he was still no nearer to finding out what had happened to Gustaf Torstensson or his son. It seemed to him highly unlikely that he would find any connection between the dead solicitors and the people in the castle behind that double fence. Nevertheless, he would go through that leather file before the day was out, and try to get some idea of Alfred Harderberg's business empire.
His car phone started ringing. He picked it up and heard Svedberg's voice.
'Svedberg here,' he shouted. 'Where are you?'
'Forty minutes from Ystad.'
'Martinsson said you were going to Farnholm Castle.'
'I've been there. Drew a blank.'
The conversation was cut off by interference for a few seconds. Then Svedberg's voice returned.
'Berta Duner phoned and asked for you,' he said. 'She was keen for you to get in touch with her right away.'
'Why?'
'She didn't say.'
'If you give me her number I'll give her a call.'
'It would be better if you drove round there. She seemed very insistent.'
Wallander glanced at the clock. It was 8.45 already.
'What happened at the meeting this morning?'
'Nothing special.'
'I'll drive straight to her place when I get back to Ystad,' Wallander said.
'Do that,' Svedberg said.
Wallander wondered what Mrs Duner wanted that was so urgent. He could feel himself growing tense, and increased his speed.
At 9.25 he parked any old how opposite the pink house. He hurried across the street and rang her bell. The moment she opened the door he could see something was amiss. She looked to be in shock.
'You've been asking for me,' he said.
She nodded and ushered him in. He was about to take off his shoes when she grasped his arm and dragged him into the living room that overlooked her little garden. She pointed.
'Somebody's been there during the night,' she said.
She looked really frightened. Something of her anxiety rubbed off on Wallander. He stood at the French windows and examined the lawn: the flower beds, dug over ready for winter, the climbers on the whitewashed wall between Mrs Duner's garden and her neighbour's.
'I can't see anything,' he said.
She had been hovering in the background, as if she did not dare go up to the window. Wallander began to wonder if she was suffering from some temporary mental aberration as a result of the violent events that had shaken her life to its foundations.
She came to his side, and pointed. 'There,' she said. 'There. Somebody's been there during the night, digging.'
'Did you see anybody?'
'No.'
'Did you hear anything?'
'No. But I know somebody's been there during the night.'
Wallander tried to follow where she was pointing. He had the vague impression he could see that a tiny piece of lawn had been trodden down.
'It could be a cat,' he said. 'Or a mole. Even a mouse.'
She shook her head. 'No, somebody's been there during the night,' she said.
Wallander opened the French windows and stepped out into the garden. He walked on to the lawn. From close up it looked as if a square of turf had been lifted and then put back. He squatted down and ran his hand over the grass. His fingers touched something hard, something plastic or iron, a little spike sticking up out of the turf. Very carefully, he bent back the blades of grass. A greyish-brown object was buried just under the surface.
Wallander stiffened. He pulled his hand back and rose gingerly to his feet. For a moment he thought he had gone mad - it could not possibly be what he thought it was. That was too unlikely, too far-fetched even to be considered.
He walked backwards to the French windows, placing his feet exactly where they had been before. When he got to the house he turned round. He still could not believe it was true.
'What is it?' she said.
'Please go and fetch the telephone directory,' Wallander said, and he could hear his voice was tense.
'What do you want the directory for?'
'Do as I say,' he said.
She went out into the hall and returned with the directory for Ystad and District. Wallander took it and weighed it in his hand.
'Please go into the kitchen and stay there,' he said.
She did as she was told.
Wallander tried to tell himself that this was all in his imagination. If there'd been the slightest possibility that the improbability was in fact true, he ought to have reacted quite differently. He went in through the French windows and positioned himself as far back in the room as he could. Then he aimed the phone book and threw it at the spike sticking up out of the grass.
The explosion deafened him.
Afterwards, he was amazed to find the windows hadn't shattered.
He eyed the crater that had formed in the lawn. Then he hurried into the kitchen where he'd heard Mrs Duner scream. She was standing as if petrified in the middle of the floor, her hands over her ears. He took hold of her and sat her down on one of the kitchen chairs.
'There's no danger,' he said. 'I'll be back in a second. I must just make a phone call.'
He dialled the number to the police station. To his relief it was Ebba who answered.
'Kurt here,' he said. 'I have to speak to Martinsson or Svedberg. Failing that, anybody will do.'
Ebba recognised his voice, he could tell. That's why she asked no questions, just did as he had asked. She had grasped how serious he was.
Martinsson answered.
'It's Kurt,' Wallander said. 'Any minute now the police are going to get an emergency call about a violent explosion behind the Continental Hotel. Make sure there's no emergency call-out. I don't want fire engines and ambulances rushing here. Get here quick and bring somebody with you. I'm with Mrs Duner, Torstensson's secretary. The address is Stickgatan 26. A pink house.'
'What's happened?' Martinsson said.
'You'll see when you get here,' Wallander said. 'You wouldn't believe me if I tried to explain.'
'Try me,' Martinsson said.
'If I told you that somebody had planted a landmine in Mrs Duner's back garden, would you believe me?'
'No,' Martinsson said.
'I thought not.'
Wallander hung up and went back to the French windows.
The crater was still there.
Chapter 6
Kurt Wallander would remember Wednesday, November 3 as a day that he was never entirely convinced had
