'The national register is a blessing,' Nyberg continued. 'The gun that was used to kill Svedberg was stolen two years ago in Ludvika.'
'Ludvika?'
'The report was filed on the 19 February 1994 to the Ludvika police. It was handled by an officer called Wester. The man who reported the gun stolen was Hans-Ake Hammarlund. He was an avid hunter who kept all his weapons securely locked up in accordance with the law. On 18 February, he went into Falun on business. That night someone broke into his house. His wife, who was sleeping in an upstairs bedroom, didn't hear anything. When Hammarlund returned from Falun the next day, he discovered that a number of his guns were missing and filed the report the same day. The shotgun was a Lambert Baron, a Spanish make. The numbers match perfectly. None of the missing guns ever turned up, nor were they ever able to identify any suspects.'
'So other weapons were stolen as well?'
'The intruder left behind a very valuable shotgun designed for shooting elk, but took two revolvers, or rather one pistol and one revolver. It's not clear from the report how the intruder entered the property, but I take it you understand what this may mean?'
'That one of the other weapons might have been the one used in the nature reserve? Yes, we'll have to get that question answered as soon as possible.'
'Ludvika is in the Dalarna region,' Nyberg said. 'That's quite far away from here, but weapons have a way of turning up where you least expect them.'
'You don't think Svedberg stole the gun that was used to kill him?'
'When it comes to stolen weapons, the connections are rarely so straightforward,' Nyberg replied. 'Weapons are stolen, sold, used and resold. I think there may have been a very long chain of owners before this shotgun ended up in Svedberg's flat.'
'It's still important,' Wallander said. 'I feel as though I'm trying to navigate through thick fog.'
Nyberg promised to make the identification of the stolen guns a priority. Wallander was leaning over his notebook, trying to make an outline of recent events, when the phone rang again. This time it was Dr Goransson.
'You didn't come to your appointment this morning,' he said sternly.
'I'm sorry,' Wallander said. 'I don't have much of an excuse.'
'I know you're very busy. The papers are full of this terrible crime. I worked at a hospital in Dallas for a few years, and I think the headlines in the Ystad papers are getting frighteningly like those in Texas.'
'We're working around the clock,' Wallander said. 'It's just the way it is.'
'I still think you'll have to give your health a little of your time,' Goransson said. 'A mismanaged case of diabetes is no laughing matter.'
Wallander told him about the blood test he had had in the hospital.
'That just emphasises what I'm saying. We have to do a complete check-up on you to see how well your liver, kidneys and pancreas are functioning. I really don't think it can wait any longer.'
Wallander knew he'd have to go in. They decided that he would return the following morning at 8 a.m. He promised to come in on an empty stomach and to bring a urine sample.
Wallander hung up and pushed the notebook away. He saw clearly how badly he had been abusing his body these last few years. It had started when Mona told him she wanted a divorce, almost seven years ago. He was still tempted to blame her for it, but he knew deep down that it was his own doing.
He stared at the notebook for a moment longer, then started looking for the Edengrens. He checked the country codes in the phone book and saw that Isa Edengren's mother had been in Spain when he had talked to her last. He dialled the number again and waited. He was about to hang up when a man answered.
Wallander introduced himself. 'I heard that you had called. I'm Isa's father.'
He sounded as though he regretted this last fact, which enraged Wallander.
'I expect you're in the middle of making your arrangements to come home and take care of Isa,' he said.
'Actually, no. It doesn't sound as if there's any immediate danger.'
'How do you know that?'
'I spoke to the hospital.'
'Did you say that your name was Lundberg when you made this call?'
'Why would I have done that?'
'It was just a question.'
'Do you really have nothing better to do with your time than ask idiotic questions?'
'Oh, I do,'Wallander said and stopped trying to conceal his anger. 'For example, I may very well contact the Spanish police to enlist their aid in getting you on the next flight home.'
It wasn't true, of course, but Wallander had had enough of the Edengrens' indifference towards their daughter in spite of their son's suicide. He wondered how people could have such a total absence of affection for their children.
'I find your tone insulting.'
'Three of Isa's friends have been murdered,' Wallander said. 'Isa was supposed to have been with them when it happened. I'm talking about murder here, and you're going to cooperate with me or I'm going to go to the Spanish authorities. Am I making myself clear?'
The man seemed to hesitate. 'What is it that's happened?'
'As far as I know, they sell Swedish papers in Spain. Can you read?'
'What the hell do you mean by that?'
'Exactly what I just said. You have a summer house on Barnso Island. Does Isa have the keys to it, or do you lock her out of that house, too?'
'She has the keys.'
'Is there a phone on the island?'
'We use our mobile phones.'
'Does Isa have one?'
'Doesn't everybody?'
'What's her number?'
'I don't know. I'm really not sure whether she has one.'
'So which is it? Does she have a phone or not?'
'She has never asked me for money to buy one, and she couldn't afford one. She doesn't work, she doesn't do anything to try to get a grip on her life.'
'Do you think it's possible that Isa has gone to Barnso? Does she often go there?'
'I thought she was still in the hospital.'
'She's run away.'
'Why?'
'We don't know. Is it possible that she would have gone to Barnso?'
'It's possible.'
'How do you get there?'
'You take a boat from Fyrudden.'
'Does she have access to a boat?'
'The one we have is currently being serviced in Stockholm.'
'Are there any neighbours on the island I could get in touch with?'
'No, we're the only house on the island.'
Wallander had been taking notes as they talked. For the moment he couldn't think of anything else to ask.
'You'll have to stay close to the phone so I can get hold of you,' he said. 'Is there any other place you can think of where Isa may have gone?'
'No.'
'If you think of anything, you know where to reach me.'
Wallander gave him the phone numbers to the station and his mobile phone, then hung up. His hands were damp with sweat. It was already past lunchtime, and Wallander ached from hunger and a headache. He ordered a
