'That's right.'
'Then let me put it this way,' he said. 'It was lucky you found her when you did.'
Wallander understood. He was about to hang up when another question came to him.
'Has anyone been to see her?'
'She's not allowed visitors yet.'
'I understand. But has anyone asked to see her?'
'I'll find out for you.'
While Wallander waited, he hunted out the piece of paper with Isa's parents' telephone numbers that Lundberg had given him. The doctor returned.
'No one has been here and no one has called,' he said. 'Who is going to get in touch with her parents?'
'We'll take care of that.'
Wallander hung up and tried dialling the first number without knowing whether he was calling France or Spain. He counted 15 rings, then hung up and tried the other number. This time a woman answered almost immediately. Wallander introduced himself and she said she was Berit Edengren. Wallander told her what had happened. She listened without interrupting. Wallander thought about her son Jorgen, Isa's brother. He tried to keep his details to a minimum, but it was a suicide attempt and he couldn't cover that up.
She sounded calm when she replied. 'I'll tell my husband,' she said. 'We'll have to talk about whether we should return home immediately.'
She loves her daughter, Wallander reminded himself, but he couldn't help feeling angry at her response. 'I hope you understand that it could have ended badly.'
'Thankfully it didn't.'
Wallander gave her the number of the hospital and the name of the doctor. He decided against asking any questions about Svedberg yet. What he did ask was for information about the Midsummer's Eve celebration that Isa was to have attended.
'Isa doesn't tell us very much,' she answered. 'I didn't know anything about a Midsummer's Eve party.'
'Would she have told her father?'
'I doubt it.'
'Martin Boge, Lena Norman, and Astrid Hillstrom,' Wallander recited. 'Do you recognise these names?'
'They're friends of Isa's,' she said.
'But Isa hadn't told you about any special plans for Midsummer?'
'No.'
'This is a very important question and I need you to think carefully. Could she have mentioned a place where they were to meet?'
'There's nothing wrong with my memory. I know she didn't say anything to us.'
'Do you know if she had any fancy dress costumes at home?'
'Is this really important?'
'Yes. Please answer the question.'
'I don't go through her cupboards.'
'Is there a spare key to the house?'
'We keep a spare hidden key in a drainpipe on the right wing. Isa doesn't know about it.'
'And she won't find out about it in the next couple of days.'
Wallander had only one more question for her. 'Did Isa say anything about going on a trip after Midsummer?'
'No.'
'Would she have told you if she was thinking about it?'
'Only if she had needed the money, which she always did.'
Wallander had trouble controlling his temper.
'You'll hear from us again,' he said.
He slammed down the phone, realising as he did so that he still didn't know whether they were in France or Spain.
He went out to the canteen and got a cup of coffee. On his way back to his office he remembered that he had one more call to make. He found the phone number and dialled it. This time someone answered.
'Bror Sundelius?'
'Speaking.'
Wallander introduced himself and was about to explain why he was calling when Sundelius interrupted him.
'I've been waiting for the police to give me a call. It seems to me you've taken a long time.'
He was an elderly man with a direct way of speaking.
'I've already called a couple of times and got no answer. Why did you think we would be in touch?'
Sundelius answered without hesitation. 'Karl Evert did not have many close friends. I was one of the few. That's why I assumed that you would contact me.'
'What do you think we wanted to talk to you about?'
'You should know that better than I do.'
True, Wallander thought. At least he isn't going senile.
'I'd like to meet with you,' Wallander said. 'Here or at your place, preferably tomorrow morning.'
'I used to go to work every day. Now I climb the walls,' Sundelius said. 'I have an endless amount of time that simply goes to waste. You can come tomorrow any time after 4.30 a.m. I live on Vadergrand. My legs aren't so good. How old are you, Inspector?'
'I'll be 50 soon.'
'Then your legs are better than mine. At your age it's important to keep moving. Otherwise you'll develop heart problems or diabetes.'
Wallander listened to him with surprise.
'Are you still there, Inspector?'
'Yes,' said Wallander. 'I'm here. How about 9 a.m.?'
They crowded into the conference room at 7.30 p.m. Lisa Holgersson had arrived early with the chief prosecutor filling in for Per Akeson, who was in Uganda. Akeson had taken a leave of absence and was working for the International Refugee Commission. He had been gone almost eight months and sent Wallander letters every now and then, describing his daily life, and the dramatic ways in which the new environment and work were changing him. Wallander missed him, even though they had never been close. He also sometimes felt a stab of envy when he thought about the decision Akeson had made. Would he ever be anything other than a policeman? He would soon turn 50. The chances of starting something new were shrinking rapidly.
The acting chief prosecutor, Thurnberg, had come down from Orebro. Wallander had not had a lot to do with him up until now, as Thurnberg had only started in Ystad in the middle of May. He was a couple of years younger than Wallander, fit and quick-witted. Wallander had not yet decided what he thought about him. On a previous encounter, he had appeared rather arrogant.
Wallander knocked on the table with his pencil and looked around the room. Svedberg's chair was still empty. He wondered when someone was going to start using it. Wallander began by telling them about his find at Bjorklund's house, since he was expecting him to be back from Copenhagen later that evening.
'Before this meeting we were talking about something else that strikes us as odd,' Martinsson said. 'There are no diaries. I've asked the others, but none of the three seem to have kept a diary or a pocket calendar.'
'There are no letters either,' Hansson said.
'These people seem to have erased all traces of themselves,' Hoglund said.
'Is that the case with the others, too? The ones who were in Svedberg's photograph?'
'Yes,' Martinsson said. 'But we should probably probe further.'
Martinsson flipped through his notes and was about to add something when there was a knock on the door. An officer came in and nodded in Wallander's direction.
'Bjorklund has just got home.'
Wallander got up. 'I'll go out there alone. It won't be an arrest, after all. We'll continue when I get back.'
