Wallander nodded.
'That's an interesting idea,' he said. 'Somebody gives Goran Alexandersson some poison that doesn't have any effect until an hour later. I'll ask Jorne to answer that one.'
'If he can,' muttered Rydberg. 'I wouldn't count on it.'
The meeting was over. They went their different ways after dividing up the various tasks. Wallander stood at the window of his office, coffee cup in hand, and tried to make up his mind where to start.
Half an hour later he was in his car, on the way to Svarte. The wind was slowly dropping. The sun shone through the parting clouds. For the first time that year Wallander had the feeling that perhaps spring really was on the way at last. He stopped when he came to the edge of Svarte and got out of the car. Goran Alexandersson came here, he thought. He came in the morning and returned to Ystad in the afternoon. On the fourth occasion, he was poisoned and died in the back seat of a taxi.
Wallander started walking towards the village. Many of the houses on the beach side of the road were summer cottages and were boarded up for the winter.
He walked through the whole village and only saw two people. The desolation made him feel depressed. He turned round and walked quickly back to his car.
He had already started the engine when he noticed an elderly lady working on a flower bed in a garden next to where the car was parked. He switched off the ignition and got out. When he closed the door, the woman turned to look at him. Wallander walked over to her fence, raising his hand in greeting.
'I hope I'm not disturbing you,' he said.
'Nobody disturbs anybody here,' said the woman, giving him an inquisitive look.
'My name's Kurt Wallander and I'm a police officer from Ystad,' he said.
'I recognise you,' she said. 'Have I seen you on TV? Some current affairs debate, maybe?'
'I don't think so,' Wallander said. 'But my picture has been in the papers now and again, I'm afraid.'
'My name's Agnes Ehn,' said the woman, reaching out her hand.
'Do you live here year-round?' Wallander asked.
'No, just the summer half of the year. I usually move out here at the beginning of April and stay till October. I spend the winter in Halmstad. I'm a retired schoolteacher. My husband died a few years ago.'
'It's pretty here,' said Wallander. 'Pretty, and quiet. Everybody knows everybody else.'
'I don't know about that,' she said. 'Sometimes you don't even know your next-door neighbour.'
'Did you happen to see a man by himself who came here to Svarte by taxi several times this last week? And was then picked up by a taxi again in the afternoon?'
Her reply surprised him.
'He used the telephone in my house to call for the taxi,' she said. 'Three days in a row, in fact. Assuming it's the same man.'
'Did he say his name?'
'He was very polite.'
'Did he introduce himself?'
'You can be polite without saying what your name is.'
'And he asked to use your phone?'
'Yes.'
'Did he say anything else?'
'Has something happened to him?'
Wallander thought he might as well tell her the truth.
'He's dead.'
'That's awful. What happened?'
'We don't know. All we know at the moment is that he's dead. Do you know what he did here in Svarte? Did he say who he'd come to see? Where did he go? Was there anybody with him? Anything at all you can remember is important.'
She surprised him again with her precise reply.
'He walked down to the beach,' she said. 'There's a path leading to the beach on the other side of the house. He took that. Then he walked along the sands in a westerly direction. He didn't come back until the afternoon.'
'He walked along the beach? Was he alone?'
'I can't tell you that. The beach curves away. He might have met somebody further away, where I can't see.'
'Did he have anything with him? A briefcase or a package, for instance?'
She shook her head.
'Did he seem worried at all?'
'Not as far as I could tell.'
'But he borrowed your telephone?'
'Yes.'
'Did you notice anything worth mentioning?'
'He seemed to be a very nice, friendly man. He insisted on paying for all the telephone calls.'
Wallander nodded.
'You've been a big help,' he said, giving her his business card. 'If you remember anything else, please call me at the number on the card.'
'It's a tragedy,' she said. 'Such a pleasant man.'
Wallander went round to the other side of the house and walked down the path to the beach. He went as far as the water's edge. The beach was deserted. When he turned back he saw that Agnes Ehn was watching him.
He must have met somebody, Wallander thought. There's no other plausible explanation. The only question is, who?
He drove back to the police station. Rydberg stopped him in the corridor and told him he had managed to track Alexandersson's exwife to a house on the Riviera.
'But nobody answered the telephone,' he said. 'I'll try again later.'
'Good,' said Wallander. 'Let me know when you get hold of her.'
'Martinsson came in,' said Rydberg. 'It was almost impossible to understand a word he said. I told him to go home again.'
'You did the right thing,' Wallander said.
He went to his office, closed the door behind him and pulled over the notepad on which he had written Goran Alexandersson's name. Who? he wondered. Who did you meet on the beach? I must find out.
By one o'clock Wallander felt hungry. He put on his jacket and was about to leave when Hansson knocked on his door. It was obvious he had something important to say.
'I've got something that might be important,' Hansson said.
'What?'
'As you'll recall, Alexandersson had a son who died seven years ago. It looks very much like he was murdered. But as far as I can see, nobody's ever been charged with it.'
Wallander looked long and hard at Hansson.
'Good,' he said eventually. 'Now we've got something to go on. Even if I can't put my finger on what it is.'
The hunger he'd been feeling just moments ago had disappeared.
Shortly after two in the afternoon on 28 April, Rydberg knocked on Wallander's half-open door.
'I've made contact with Alexandersson's ex-wife,' he said as he came into the room. He made a face as he sat down on the visitor's chair.
'How's your back?' Wallander asked.
'I don't know,' said Rydberg. 'There's something funny going on.'
'Perhaps you came back to work too soon?'
'Lying at home staring at the ceiling wouldn't do it any good.'
That put an end to any discussion about Rydberg's back. Wallander knew it was a waste of time trying to persuade him to go home and rest.
'What did she have to say?' he asked instead.
'She was shocked, naturally enough. It must have been a minute before she was able to say anything at
