The Man Who Smiled (1994)

answer.

When Torstensson left Farnholm Castle, the container had not been empty. There had been something in it. Which meant that this was not the same container. It had been exchanged for the other one. On the road in the fog. When Torstensson stopped and got out of his car. And was killed.

Wallander checked his watch. After midnight. He waited for a quarter of an hour, then he phoned Nyberg at home.

'What the hell do you want now?' Nyberg said as soon as he recognised Wallander's voice.

'Get yourself over here,' Wallander said. 'Now, right away.'

He expected Nyberg to explode in fury, but he said nothing, just put down the receiver.

At 12.40 a.m., Nyberg was back in Wallander's office once more.

Chapter 11

That conversation with Nyberg in the middle of the night was crucial. It seemed to Wallander that yet again he had confirmation of the fact that criminal investigations achieve a breakthrough when it is least expected. Many of Wallander's colleagues thought this proved that even police officers needed a bit of luck now and again to find their way out of a cul-de-sac. Wallander said nothing, but he thought that what it really proved was that Rydberg was right to maintain that a good police officer must always listen to what his intuition tells him - without discarding his critical faculties, of course. He had known - without knowing why he knew - that the plastic container in Torstensson's wrecked car was important. And although he was exhausted, he also knew that he could not wait until the next day to have his suspicions confirmed. That's why he had phoned Nyberg, who had just walked into his office. He had anticipated an angry outburst from his temperamental colleague, but none had been forthcoming. Nyberg had simply sat down in the visitor's chair, and Wallander noted to his surprise that he was wearing pyjamas under his overcoat. He had Wellingtons on as well.

'You must have gone straight to bed,' Wallander said. 'If I'd known that I wouldn't have phoned.'

'Are you telling me you've called me out for nothing?'

Wallander shook his head. 'It's the plastic container,' he said. 'Tell me more about it.'

'I've no more to say than I have already,' Nyberg said.

Wallander sat down at his desk and looked hard at Nyberg. He knew that Nyberg was not only a good forensic officer, but that he had imagination too, and was blessed with an exceptional memory.

'You said you'd seen a similar container before,' he said.

'Not a similar one,' Nyberg said. 'An identical one.'

'That means it must be special,' Wallander said. 'Can you describe it for me?'

'Wouldn't it be better if I fetched it?'

'Let's go and look at it together,' Wallander said, getting up.

The police station was deserted as they walked down the corridor. A radio could be heard in the distance. Nyberg unlocked the room where the police kept objects material to ongoing investigations. The container was on a shelf. Nyberg took it down and handed it to Wallander. It was rectangular, and reminded Wallander of a cool box. He put it on a table and tried to open the lid.

'It's screwed down,' Nyberg said. 'Notice also that it's perfectly airtight. There's a window on this side. I don't know what it's for, but I suspect there ought to be a thermometer mounted on the inside.'

'You saw a similar one at the hospital in Lund,' Wallander said, scrutinising the container. 'Can you remember where? Which ward?'

'It was moving around,' Nyberg said. 'It was in a corridor outside the operating theatres. A nurse came with it. I seem to remember she was in a hurry.'

'Anything else?'

'No, nothing.'

'It reminds me of a cool box,' Wallander said.

'I think that's what it is,' Nyberg said. 'For blood, possibly.'

'I need you to find out,' Wallander said. 'I also want to know what that container was doing in Torstensson's car the night he died.'

When they were back in Wallander's office, he remembered something Nyberg had said earlier in the evening.

'You said you thought it was made in France.'

'It said 'Made in France' on the handle.'

'I didn't notice that.'

'The text on the one I saw in Lund was more obvious,' Nyberg said. 'I think we can excuse you.'

'I may be wrong,' Wallander said, 'but I reckon the fact that this container was in Torstensson's car is remarkable. What was it doing there? Are you sure it was unused?'

'When I unscrewed the lid I could see that it was the first time it had been opened since it left the factory. Do you want me to explain how I knew?'

'It's enough to know that you're sure,' Wallander said. 'I wouldn't understand anyway.'

'I can see you believe this container is important,' Nyberg said, 'but it's not unusual to find unexpected items in crashed cars.'

'In this case we can't overlook a single detail,' Wallander said.

'But we've never done that.'

Wallander stood up. 'Thank you for coming back,' he said. 'I'd like to know what the plastic container was used for sometime tomorrow.'

They said goodnight outside the station. Wallander drove home and had a couple of sandwiches before going to bed. He couldn't sleep, and after tossing and turning for some time he got up again and went into the kitchen. He sat at the table without switching on the light. He felt uneasy and impatient. This investigation had too many loose ends. Even though they had decided on a way forward, he was still not convinced it was the right way. Had they overlooked something vital? He thought back to the day when Sten Torstensson came to see him on the Jutland coast. He could recall their conversation word for word. Even so, he wondered if he had missed the real message, whether there had been some other significance behind Sten's words.

It was gone 4.00 by the time he went back to bed. A wind had got up outside, and the temperature had plummeted. He shivered when he slid between the sheets. He did not think he had got anywhere. Nor had he succeeded in convincing himself that he would have to be patient. What he demanded of his colleagues was something he could not manage himself on this occasion.

When Wallander arrived at the station just before 8 a.m. there was a gale blowing. They told him in reception there were forecasts of hurricane-strength gusts before lunch. As he walked to his office he wondered if his father's house in Loderup would survive the winds. His conscience had been nagging him for some time over his failure to have the roof repaired, and there was a real risk that one violent storm would blow it right off. He sat at his desk thinking that he had better phone his father - he hadn't spoken to him since the fight at the off-licence. He was about to pick up the receiver when the phone rang.

'There's a call for you,' Ebba said. 'And have you noticed how strong the wind is?'

'I can console you with the news that it's going to get worse,' Wallander said. 'Who is it?'

'Farnholm Castle.'

Wallander stretched out in his chair.

'Put them on,' he said.

'It's a lady with a remarkable name,' Ebba said. 'She introduced herself as Jenny Lind.'

'It sounds normal enough to me.'

'I didn't say it was abnormal, I said it was remarkable. You must have heard of the Swedish Nightingale, the great singer Jenny Lind?'

'Put her through,' Wallander said.

The voice he heard was that of a young woman. One more of all those secretaries, Wallander thought.

'Inspector Wallander?'

'Speaking.'