are here to identify one or more murderers. The brown envelope is going with me.'
'We cannot allow any documents to be removed from these premises until we have discussed the matter with the prosecutor in charge of the investigation,' Wrede said.
'Phone Per Akeson,' Wallander said, 'and send him my regards.'
Then he picked up the envelope and marched out of the room. Martinsson and Svedberg hastened after him.
'Now there'll be trouble,' Martinsson said as they left the building. Wallander could tell that Martinsson was not altogether displeased at the prospect.
Wallander felt cold. The wind was gusting and seemed to be getting stronger.
'What now?' he said. 'What's Hoglund up to?'
'Looking after her sick child,' Svedberg said. 'Hanson would be pleased to know that. He has always said women police officers are no good when it comes to investigations.'
'Hanson has always said all kinds of things,' Martinsson said. 'Police officers who are forever absent on further-education courses are not much good at investigations either.'
'The letters are a year old,' Wallander said. 'We have a name, Lars Borman. He threatens the lives of Gustaf and Sten Torstensson. And Mrs Duner. He writes a letter, and then another one two months later. One was posted in some form of company envelope. Nyberg is good. I think he'll be able to tell us what it says under the ink on that envelope. And where they were postmarked, of course. In fact, I don't know what we're waiting for.'
They returned to the police station. While Martinsson phoned Nyberg, who was still at Mrs Duner's house, Wallander sat down and tried to puzzle out the postmarks.
Svedberg had gone to look for the name Lars Borman in various police registers. When Nyberg came to Wallander's office a quarter of an hour later he was blue with cold and had dark grass stains on the knees of his overalls.
'How's it going?' Wallander said.
'Slowly,' Nyberg said. 'What did you expect? A mine exploded into millions of tiny particles.'
Wallander pointed to the two letters and the brown envelope on the desk in front of him.
'These have to be thoroughly examined,' he said. 'First of all I'd like to know where the letters were postmarked. And what it says under the ink stain on one of the envelopes. Everything else can wait.'
Nyberg put on his glasses, switched on Wallander's desk lamp, found a clean pair of plastic gloves and examined the letters.
'We'll be able to decipher the postmarks using a microscope,' he said. 'Whatever is written on the envelope has been painted over with Indian ink. I can try a bit of scraping. I think I should be able to sort that out without having to send it to Linkoping.'
'It's urgent.'
Nyberg took off his glasses in irritation. 'It's always urgent,' he said. 'I need an hour. Is that too much?'
'Take as long as you need,' Wallander said. 'I know you work as fast as you can.'
Nyberg picked up the letters and left. Martinsson and Svedberg appeared almost immediately.
'There is no Borman in any of the registers,' Svedberg said. 'I've found four Bromans and one Borrman. I thought maybe it could have been misspelled. Evert Borrman wandered around the Ostersund area at the end of the 1960s cashing false cheques. If he's still alive he must be about 85 by now.'
Wallander shook his head. 'We'd better wait for Nyberg,' he said. 'At the same time, I think we'd be wise not to expect too much of this. The threat is brutal alright. But vague. I'll give you a shout when Nyberg reports back.'
When Wallander was on his own he took out the leather file he had been given at Farnholm Castle. He spent almost an hour acquainting himself with the extent of Harderberg's business empire. He had still not finished when there was a knock on the door and Nyberg came in. Wallander noticed to his surprise that he was still in his dirty overalls.
'Here are the answers to your questions,' he said, flopping down on Wallander's visitor's chair. 'The letters are postmarked in Helsingborg, and on one of the envelopes it says 'The Linden Hotel'.'
Wallander pulled over a pad and made a note.
'Linden Hotel,' Nyberg said. 'Gjutargatan 12. It even gave the phone number.'
'Where?'
'I thought you'd grasped that,' Nyberg said. 'The letters were postmarked in Helsingborg. That's where the Linden Hotel is as well.'
'Well done,' Wallander said.
'I just do as I'm told,' Nyberg said. 'But as this went so quickly, I did something else as well. I think you're going to have problems.'
Wallander looked questioningly at him.
'I rang that number in Helsingborg,' Nyberg said. 'I got the 'number unobtainable' tone. It no longer exists. I asked Ebba to look into it. It took her ten minutes to establish that the Linden Hotel went out of business a year ago.'
Nyberg stood up and brushed down the seat of the chair. 'Now I'm off for lunch,' he said.
'Do that,' Wallander said. 'And thanks for your help.'
When Nyberg had left, Wallander thought over what he had heard. Then he summoned Svedberg and Martinsson. A few minutes later they had collected a cup of coffee and were in Wallander's office.
'There must be some kind of hotel register,' Wallander said. 'I mean, a hotel is a business enterprise. It has an owner. It can't go out of business without it being recorded somewhere.'
'What happens to old hotel ledgers?' Svedberg said. 'Are they discarded? Or are they kept?'
'That's something we'll have to find out,' Wallander said. 'Now, right away. Most important is to get hold of the Linden Hotel's owner. If we divide the task up between us, it shouldn't take us more than an hour or so. We'll meet again when we're ready.'
Wallander called Ebba and asked her to look for the name Borman in the directories for Skane and Halland first. He had only just put down the receiver when the phone rang. It was his father.
'Don't forget you're coming to see me this evening,' his father said.
'I'll be there,' Wallander said, thinking that in fact he was too tired to drive out to Loderup. But he knew he could not say no, he could not change the arrangement.
'I'll be there at about 7.00,' he said.
'We'll see,' his father said.
'What do you mean by that?' Wallander asked, and could hear the anger in his voice.
'I just mean we'll see if that is in fact when you come,' his father said.
Wallander forced himself not to start arguing.
'I'll be there,' he said, and put down the phone.
His office suddenly seemed stifling. He went out into the corridor, and kept going as far as reception.
'There is nobody called Borman in the directories,' Ebba said. 'Do you want me to keep looking?'
'Not yet,' Wallander said.
'I'd like to ask you round for dinner,' Ebba said. 'You must tell me how you are.'
Wallander nodded, but he said nothing.
He went back to his office and opened the window. The wind was getting stronger still, and he felt very cold. He closed the window and sat at his desk. The file from Farnholm Castle was lying open, but he pushed it aside. He thought about Baiba Liepa in Riga.
Twenty minutes later he was still there, thinking, when Svedberg knocked on the door and came in.
'Now I know all there is to know about Swedish hotels,' he said. 'Martinsson will be here in a minute.'
When Martinsson had closed the door behind him, Svedberg sat at one corner of the desk and started reading from a pad in which he had made his notes.
'The Linden Hotel was owned and run by a man called Bertil Forsdahl,' he began. 'I got that information from the County Offices. It was a little family hotel that was no longer viable. And Forsdahl is getting on a bit, he's 70. I've got his number here. He lives in Helsingborg.'
Wallander dialled the number as Svedberg read out the digits. The telephone rang for a considerable time
