'They met through an icons club or society.'
'I knew about the club, but I did not know that the man who wrote those letters was a member.'
Wallander put down his coffee cup. 'I won't disturb you any longer,' he said, rising to his feet.
She remained seated, staring at him. 'Haven't you any news at all to tell me?' she said.
'We don't know yet who committed the murders,' Wallander said. 'Nor do we know why they did it. When we know that, we'll know why somebody planted a mine in your garden.'
She stood up and took hold of his arm. 'You
'Yes,' Wallander said. 'But it could take time.'
'I have to know what happened before I die.'
'As soon as there is anything to tell you, I'll be in touch straight away,' he said, knowing that this could not have sounded very satisfactory to her ears.
Wallander drove to the police station and was told that Bjork was in Malmo. So he went to Svedberg and asked him to find out why there was no proper protection at Mrs Duner's house.
'Do you really think she's at risk?' Svedberg said.
'I don't think anything,' Wallander said. 'But more than enough has happened already.'
Svedberg handed him a note. 'There was a call from somebody called Lisbeth Norin,' he said. 'You can get her on this number. She'll be there until 5.00.'
It was a number in Malmo, not Gothenburg. Wallander went to his office and dialled the number. An old man's voice answered. After a pause Lisbeth Norin came to the phone, and Wallander introduced himself.
'I happen to be in Malmo for a few days,' she said. 'I'm visiting my father, he's broken his femur. I checked my answering machine and heard you'd been trying to reach me.'
'Yes, I'd be grateful for a word with you,' Wallander said. 'Preferably not over the phone.'
'What's it about?'
'I have some questions in connection with a case we're investigating at the moment,' Wallander said. 'I heard about you from a Dr Stromberg in Lund.'
'I have some free time tomorrow,' she said. 'But it will have to be here in Malmo.'
'I'll drive over,' Wallander said. 'Would 10 a.m. suit you?'
'That will do fine.'
She gave him the address in central Malmo.
Wallander wondered how an old man with a broken femur could get to answer the phone. Then he realised he was extremely hungry. It was already late afternoon. He decided to work at home. He had a lot of material on Harderberg's business empire that he had not yet read. He found a plastic carrier bag in a drawer and filled it with files. He told Ebba that he would be working at home for the rest of the day.
He stopped at a grocer's and bought some food, and went into a tobacconist's to buy five lottery scratch cards. When he got home he cooked himself some blood pudding and had a beer with it. He looked in vain for the jar of lingonberry jam he thought he had. Then he washed up and checked his lottery cards. No luck. He decided he had had enough coffee for one day and lay on his unmade bed for a little rest before starting to go through the files.
He was woken up by the telephone ringing. He looked at the clock by his bed. It was 9.10 p.m.
He picked up the phone and recognised Widen's voice.
'I'm ringing from a phone box,' he said. 'I thought you'd like to know that Sofia got the job. She starts tomorrow.'
Wallander was wide awake immediately.
'Good,' he said. 'Who gave her the job?'
'A woman called Karlen.'
Wallander recalled his first visit to Farnholm Castle. 'Anita Karlen,' he said.
'A couple of cobs,' Widen said. 'Very valuable. That's what she'll be looking after. Nothing wrong with the wages either. The stables are small, but there's a one-room flat attached. I think Sofia has a much higher opinion of you now that she's had this opportunity.'
'That's good,' Wallander said.
'She's going to phone me in a few days' time. Just one problem: I can't remember your name.'
Wallander also had to think hard before remembering. 'Roger Lundin,' he said.
'I'll write it down.'
'I'd better do the same. Incidentally, better if she doesn't phone from the castle, tell her to use a call box the same as you're doing.'
'There's a telephone in her flat. Why shouldn't she use that?'
'It could be bugged.'
Wallander could hear Widen taking a deep breath at the other end of the line.
'I think you're out of your mind.'
'I ought to be careful with my own phone, in fact,' Wallander said. 'But we keep a regular check on our police lines.'
'Who is this Harderberg? A monster?'
'He's a friendly, suntanned man who's always smiling,' Wallander said. 'He's also elegantly dressed. There are lots of ways a monster can look.'
Pips were sounding at the other end of the line. 'I'll call you,' Widen said, then he was cut off.
Wallander wondered if he ought to phone Hoglund and tell her what had happened, but decided not to. It was getting late. He spent the rest of the evening poring over the contents of the plastic carrier bag. At midnight he took out his old school atlas and looked up some of the exotic places to which the tentacles of Harderberg's empire reached. It was clear that it was a huge operation. Wallander also had a nagging worry that he was pointing the investigation and his colleagues in the wrong direction. Perhaps there was another solution to the deaths of the two solicitors after all.
It was 1 a.m. by the time he went to bed. It struck him that it was a long time since Linda had been in touch. On the other hand, he should have phoned her ages ago.
Tuesday, November 23 was a fine, clear autumn day.
He had taken the liberty of lying in that morning. He had phoned the station a little before 8.00 and told them he was going to Malmo. He had made coffee and stayed in bed for another hour. Then he had had a quick shower and set off. The address Norin had given him was near the Triangle in the centre of the city. He left his car in the multi-storey car park behind the Sheraton Hotel, and rang the doorbell at dead on 10.00. A woman of about his own age answered. She was wearing a brightly coloured tracksuit, and he wondered if he had got the wrong address. She did not fit the image he had of her after hearing her voice on the telephone, nor did it correspond to the general and no doubt prejudiced idea he had of journalists.
'So you're the police officer,' she said cheerfully. 'I'd expected a man in uniform.'
'Sorry to disappoint you,' Wallander said.
She invited him in. It was an old flat with high ceilings. She introduced him to her father, who was sitting in a chair with his leg in plaster. Wallander noticed the cordless telephone on his knee.
'I recognise you,' the man said. 'There was quite a bit about you in the newspapers a year or so ago. Or am I mixing you up with somebody else?'
'No, that was probably me,' Wallander said.
'And something to do with a car that burned out on Oland Bridge,' the man said. 'I remember it because I used to be a sailor before the bridge was built, getting in the way of the ships.'
'Newspapers exaggerate things,' Wallander said.
'I remember you were described as an exceptionally successful police officer.'
'That's right,' the daughter said. 'Now you mention it, I recognise Inspector Wallander from the photos in the papers. Weren't you on some television discussion programme too?'
'You must be mixing me up with somebody else.'
'Let's go and sit in the kitchen,' she said.
The autumn sun was shining through the high window. A cat was curled up asleep among the plant pots. He accepted the offer of a cup of coffee, and sat down.
'My questions are not going to be very precise,' Wallander said. 'Your answers are likely to be far more
