'Can you add anything else?' Jespersen said. 'He was a sailor and an engineer. Which in itself is an unusual combination. Which ports did he sail to? Which type of vessel?'
'I think he went to Brazil a number of times,' Wallander said hesitantly. 'Rio de Janeiro, of course. But also a place called Sao Luis.'
'Northern Brazil,' Jespersen said. 'I've been there once. Had shore leave there and stayed in an elegant hotel called Casa Grande.'
'I don't think I have anything more to tell,' Wallander said.
Jespersen studied him while he dropped a few more sugar cubes into his coffee.
'Someone who knew him? Is that what you want to know? Someone who knew Anders Hansson? Or Artur Halen?'
Wallander nodded.
'Then we won't get any further right now,' Jespersen said. 'I'll check around. Both here and in Malmo. Now I think we should go have a bite to eat.'
Wallander looked at his watch. Half past five. There was no need to hurry. If he took the hydrofoil back to Malmo at half past eight he would still get home in time to call Mona. And he was hungry anyway. The sausage slices had not been enough.
'Mussels,' Jespersen said and stood up. 'We're going to Anne-Birte's to have a bite.'
Wallander paid for his drinks. Since Jespersen had already gone out to the street, Wallander had to pay for him as well.
Anne-Birte's establishment was located in the lower part of Nyhavn. Since it was early, they had no problems getting a table. Mussels were not really what Wallander most wanted to have, but that was Jespersen's choice and so mussels it was. Wallander kept drinking beer while Jespersen had switched to an intensely yellow lemon drink, Citronvand.
'I'm not touching the drink right now,' he said. 'But I will in a few weeks.'
Wallander ate and listened to Jespersen's many well-told stories from his years at sea. Shortly before half past eight they were ready to leave.
For a while, Wallander worried that he wouldn't have enough money to pay the bill since Jespersen appeared to take for granted that Wallander would pay. But in the end Wallander had enough to cover it.
They parted outside the restaurant.
'I'll look into this,' Jespersen said. 'I'll be in touch.'
Wallander walked down to the ferries and stood in line. They cast off at exactly nine o'clock. Wallander closed his eyes and dozed off almost immediately.
He was awakened by the fact that everything had grown very quiet around him. The roar of the ship's engines had stopped. He looked around in bewilderment. They were about halfway between Denmark and Sweden. Then an announcement from the captain came over the ship's PA system. The ship had sustained engine damage and would have to be towed back to Copenhagen. Wallander leaped up out of his seat and asked one of the stewardesses if there was a telephone aboard. He received an answer in the negative.
'When will we get to Copenhagen?' he asked.
'That will unfortunately take several hours. But we will be offering a range of sandwiches and beverages in the meantime.'
'I don't want a sandwich,' Wallander said. 'I want a telephone.'
But no one could help him. He turned to a ship's mate who answered curtly that the radio phones could not be used for personal calls when the vessel was in a state of emergency.
Wallander sat back down in his seat.
She won't believe me, he thought. A hydrofoil that breaks down. That will be the last straw for her. Then our relationship will break down as well, for good.
Wallander reached Malmo at half past two in the morning. They had not arrived in Copenhagen until shortly after midnight. At that point he had already abandoned all thoughts of calling her. When he landed in Malmo there was a downpour. Since he did not have enough money to take a taxi he had to walk all the way back to Rosengard. He had only just stepped inside the door when he suddenly became violently ill. After vomiting, he developed a fever.
The mussels, he thought. Don't tell me I'm really getting the stomach flu now.
Wallander spent the rest of the night in a constant series of trips between the bedroom and the bathroom. He had the energy to remind himself that he had actually never called in to say he was over his illness. Therefore he was still on sick leave. At dawn he finally managed to catch a few hours of sleep. But at nine he started running to the toilet again. The thought of calling Mona while shitting and vomiting was beyond him. In the best-case scenario she would realise that something had happened to him, that he was sick. But the telephone didn't ring. No one tried to reach him all day.
Late that evening he started to feel somewhat better. But he was so weak that he didn't manage to make himself anything except a cup of tea. Before he fell asleep again he wondered how Jespersen was feeling. He hoped he was as sick since he was the one who had suggested the mussels.
The next morning he tried to have a boiled egg. But this only resulted in him having to rush to the toilet again. He spent the rest of the day in bed and felt that his stomach was slowly starting to get back to normal.
Shortly before five, the phone rang. It was Hemberg.
'I've been looking for you,' he said.
'I'm sick in bed,' Wallander said.
'The stomach flu?'
'More precisely, mussels.'
'Surely no sensible person eats mussels?'
'I did, unfortunately. And was duly punished.'
Hemberg changed the subject.
'I'm calling to tell you that Jorne is finished,' he said. 'It wasn't what we thought. Halen killed himself before Alexandra Batista was strangled.
This means, in other words, that we have to turn this investigation in another direction. There is an unknown perpetrator.'
'Maybe it's a coincidence,' Wallander said.
'That Batista dies and Halen shoots himself? With precious stones in his stomach? You can try to convince someone else of that. What is missing is the link in this chain of events. For the sake of simplicity we can say that a drama of two people has suddenly been changed into a triangle.'
Wallander wanted to tell Hemberg about Halen's change of name but felt another urge to vomit coming on. He excused himself.
'If you feel better tomorrow, then come up and see me,' Hemberg said. 'Remember to drink a lot. Liquids are the only thing that help.'
After very hastily concluding the conversation and making yet another trip to the bathroom, Wallander returned to his bed. He spent that evening and night somewhere in the no-man's-land between sleep, wakefulness and half- sleep. His stomach had calmed itself now, but he was still very tired. He dreamed about Mona and thought about what Hemberg had said. But he did not have the energy to get worked up, could not bring himself to think in earnest.
He felt better in the morning. He toasted some bread and brewed a weak cup of coffee. His stomach did not react. He let fresh air into the apartment, which had started to smell bad. The rain clouds had gone away and it was warm. At lunchtime Wallander called the hair salon. Again it was Karin who answered.
'Could you tell Mona I'll call her tonight?' he said. 'I've been sick.'
'I'll let her know.'
Wallander could not determine if there was a tinge of sarcasm in her voice. He didn't think Mona talked much about her personal life. At least he hoped she didn't.
Around one o'clock Wallander got ready to go down to the police station. But to make sure, he called and asked if Hemberg was in. After several fruitless attempts to get hold of him or at least information about where he might be, Wallander gave up. He decided to go grocery shopping and then spend the rest of the afternoon preparing for
