'Let's go in,' he said.
The house was not like anything Wallander had ever seen before. From the outside it looked like a typical Scanian farmhouse. But the world that Wallander entered was completely unexpected. There were no walls left on the inside of the house - it was simply one big room that stretched all the way to the rafters. Here and there were little tower-like structures with spiral staircases made out of wrought iron and wood. There was almost no furniture and the walls were bare. One of the walls at the end of the house was entirely taken up by a large aquarium. Sture Bjorklund led him to a huge wooden table flanked by a church pew and a wooden stool.
'I've always thought that chairs should be hard,' Bjorklund said. 'Uncomfortable chairs force you to finish what you have to do more quickly, whether it's eating, thinking, or talking to a policeman.'
Wallander sat down in the pew. It really was very uncomfortable.
'If my notes are correct, you're a professor at Copenhagen University,' he said.
'I teach sociology, but I try to keep my course load down to an absolute minimum. My own research is what interests me, and I can do that from home.'
'This is probably not relevant, but what is it you do your research on?'
'Man's relationship to monsters.'
Wallander wondered if Sture Bjorklund was joking. He waited for him to continue.
'Monsters in the Middle Ages were not the same as they were in the 18th century. My ideas are not the same as those of future generations will be. It's a complicated and fascinating world: hell, the home of all terror, is constantly changing. Above all, this kind of work gives me a chance to make extra money, a factor which is not insignificant.'
'In what way?'
'I work as a consultant for American film companies that make horror movies. Without boasting, I think I can claim to be one of the most sought-after consultants in the world when it comes to commercial terror. There's some Japanese man in Hawaii, but other than that it's just me.'
Just as Wallander was starting to wonder if the man sitting across from him on the little stool was insane, he handed him a drawing that had been lying on the table.
'I've interviewed seven-year-olds in Ystad about monsters. I've tried to incorporate their ideas into my own work and have come up with this figure. The Americans love him. He's going to get the starring role in a cartoon series aimed at frightening seven- and eight-year-olds.'
Wallander looked at the picture. It was extremely unpleasant. He put it down.
'What do you think, Inspector?'
'You can call me Kurt.'
'What do you think?'
'It's unpleasant.'
'We live in an unpleasant world.'
He laid the straw hat on the table and Wallander smelt a strong odour of sweat.
'I've just decided to cancel my telephone service,' he said. 'Five years ago I got rid of the TV. Now I'm getting rid of the phone.'
'Isn't that a little impractical?'
Bjorklund looked at him seriously. 'I'm going to exercise my right to decide when I want to have contact with the outside world. I'll keep the computer, of course. But the phone is going.'
Wallander nodded and took the opportunity to change the subject.
'Your cousin, Karl Evert Svedberg, has been killed. Apart from Ylva Brink, you are the only remaining relative. When was the last time you saw him?'
'About three weeks ago.'
'Can you be more precise?'
'Friday, 19 July, at 4.30 p.m.'
The answer came so quickly that Wallander was surprised. 'How can you remember the time of day so well?'
'We had decided to meet at that time. I was going to Scotland to see some friends, and Kalle was going to house-sit, like he always did. That was really the only time we saw each other, when I was going away and when I came back.'
'What was involved in house-sitting?'
'He lived here.'
The answer came as a surprise to Wallander, but he had no reason to doubt Bjorklund.
'This happened regularly?'
'For the last ten years at least. It was a wonderful arrangement.'
Wallander thought for a moment. 'When did you come back?'
'27 July. Kalle picked me up at the airport and drove me home. We chatted for a bit and then he went back to Ystad.'
'Did you have the feeling that he was overworked?'
Bjorklund threw his head back and laughed his shrill laugh again.
'I take it you meant that as a joke, but isn't it disrespectful to joke about the dead?'
'I meant the question seriously.'
Bjorklund smiled. 'I suppose we can all seem a bit overworked if we indulge in passionate relationships with women, can't we?'
Wallander stared at Bjorklund.
'What do you mean?'
'Kalle met his woman here while I was gone. That was part of the arrangement. They lived here whenever I went to Scotland or anywhere else.'
Wallander gasped.
'You seem surprised,' Bjorklund said.
'Was it always the same woman? What was her name?'
'Louise.'
'What was her last name?'
'I don't know. I never met her. Kalle was quite secretive about her, or perhaps one should say 'discreet'.'
Wallander was caught completely by surprise. He had never heard of Svedberg having any relationship with a woman, let alone a long-term one.
'What else do you know about her?' he asked.
'Nothing.'
'But Kalle must have said something?'
'Never. And I never asked. Our family is not one for idle curiosity.'
Wallander had nothing more to ask. What he needed now was time to digest this latest piece of information. He got up, and Bjorklund raised his eyebrows.
'Was that it?'
'For now. But you'll hear from me again.'
Bjorklund followed him out. It was warm and there was almost no breeze.
'Do you have any idea who might have killed him?' Wallander asked when they reached his car.
'Wasn't there a break-in? Who knows what criminal is lurking just around the corner?'
They shook hands and Wallander got into the car. He had just started the engine when Bjorklund leaned down to the window.
'There's just one more thing,' he said. 'Louise changed her hair colour pretty often.'
'How do you know?'
'The hairs left in the bathroom. One year it was red, then black, then blond. It was always different.'
'But you think it was the same woman?'
'I actually think Kalle was very much in love with her.'
Wallander nodded. Then he drove away. It was 3 p.m. One thing was certain, Wallander thought. Svedberg, our friend and colleague, may have been dead for just a couple of days, but we already know more about him than
