previous day. Wallander had the immediate impression that the man was not surprised to see him. He had been expecting him, and was on his guard.
'You again,' said the man.
'Yes,' Wallander said. 'I'm knocking on the doors of people who live in houses along the beach.'
'I told you yesterday that I hadn't seen anything.'
Wallander nodded.
'People sometimes remember things afterwards,' he said.
The man stepped aside and let Wallander into the house. The Labrador sniffed him inquisitively.
'Do you live here year-round?' asked Wallander.
'Yes,' said the man. 'I was a doctor in Nynashamn for twenty years. When I retired we moved here, my wife and I.'
'Maybe she saw something?' Wallander said. 'Assuming she's here?'
'She's ill,' said the man. 'She hasn't seen anything.'
Wallander produced a notebook from his pocket.
'Can I have your name?' he asked.
'I'm Martin Stenholm,' the man said. 'My wife's name is Kajsa.'
Wallander noted down the names and put the book back in his pocket.
'I won't disturb you any more,' he said.
'No problem,' said Stenholm.
'I might come back in a few days' time and speak to your wife,' he said. 'Sometimes it's better for people to say for themselves what they've seen or haven't seen.'
'I don't think there would be much point,' said Stenholm. 'My wife is very ill. She has cancer and is dying.'
'I understand,' Wallander said. 'In that case I won't come back and intrude.'
Stenholm opened the door for him.
'Is your wife also a doctor?' Wallander asked.
'No,' said the man. 'She was a lawyer.'
Wallander walked down the path to the road, then on to three more houses, none of which produced any information. He caught sight of Rydberg and could tell he had almost finished his quota of doors. Wallander went to get his car and waited for Rydberg outside Agnes Ehn's house. When Rydberg arrived, he had no positive information. Nobody had seen Goran Alexandersson on the beach
'I always thought people were curious,' Rydberg said. 'Especially in the country, and especially where strangers are concerned.'
They drove back to Ystad. Wallander didn't say a word. When they got back to the police station he asked Rydberg to find Hansson and bring him to Wallander's office. He then phoned the medico-legal unit in Lund and this time managed to get hold of Jorne. Hansson and Rydberg had arrived by the time he had finished the call. Wallander looked questioningly at Hansson.
'Any news?' he asked.
'Nothing that changes the picture we already have of Alexandersson,' Hansson said.
'I've just spoken to Jorne,' said Wallander. 'The poison that killed Alexandersson could very well have been administered without him noticing it. It's not possible to say precisely how fast it works. Jorne guessed it would be at least half an hour. When death does come, it happens very quickly.'
'So we're right in our suppositions so far,' said Hansson. 'Does this poison have a name?'
Wallander read out the complicated chemical description he had written down on his notepad.
Then he told them about the conversation he'd had with Martin Stenholm in Svarte.
'I don't know why,' he said, 'but I can't help feeling we'll find the solution to our problem in that doctor's house.'
'A doctor knows about poisons,' Rydberg said. 'That's always a start.'
'You're right, of course,' said Wallander. 'But there's something else too. I can't put my finger on it, though.'
'Why don't I run a search through the registers?' asked Hansson. 'It's too bad Martinsson is sick. He's the best at that sort of thing.'
Wallander nodded. Then an idea struck him.
'Do one for his wife as well. Kajsa Stenholm.'
The investigation was put on hold for the Valpurgis Night holiday and the weekend. Wallander spent a large part of his free time at his father's house. He spent one afternoon repainting the kitchen. He also called Rydberg, for no other reason than the fact that Rydberg was as solitary as he was. But when Wallander called, Rydberg turned out to be drunk, and the conversation was a very short one.
On Monday, 4 May, he was back at the police station early. While he waited to hear if Hansson had found anything of interest in the registers, he resumed his work on the gang smuggling stolen cars into Poland. It wasn't until eleven the next morning that Hansson eventually showed up.
'I can't find a thing about Martin Stenholm,' he said. 'It looks as if he's never done a dishonest thing in his whole life.'
Wallander wasn't in the least surprised. He had been aware from the start that they could be heading into a cul-de-sac.
'What about his wife?'
Hansson shook his head.
'Even less,' said Hansson. 'She was a prosecutor in Nynashamn for many years.'
Hansson put a file full of papers on Wallander's desk.
'I'll go and talk to the taxi drivers again,' he said. 'Perhaps they saw something without realising it.'
When Hansson had left, Wallander opened the file. It took him an hour to work his way carefully through all the documents. For once Hansson hadn't overlooked anything. Even so, Wallander was convinced that Alexandersson's death had something to do with the old doctor. He knew without knowing, as so many times before. He didn't trust his intuition, it was true, but he couldn't deny that it had served him well many times in the past. He called Rydberg, who came to his office immediately. Wallander handed him the file.
'I'd like you to read through this,' he said. 'Neither Hansson nor I can see anything of interest, but I'm sure we're missing something.'
'We can forget Hansson,' Rydberg said, making no attempt to disguise the fact that his respect for his colleague was limited.
Late that afternoon Rydberg returned the file, shaking his head. He hadn't found anything either.
'We'll have to start again from the beginning,' said Wallander. 'Let's meet here in my office tomorrow morning and decide where we go from here.'
An hour later Wallander left the police station and drove to Svarte. Once again he took a long walk along the beach. He didn't see another soul. Then he sat in his car and read one more time through the material Hansson had given him. What is it that I'm missing? he asked himself. There is a link between this doctor and Goran Alexandersson. It's just me who can't see what it is.
He drove back to Ystad and took the file home with him to Mariagatan. They had lived in the same three-room apartment ever since they moved to Ystad twelve years earlier.
He tried to relax, but the file gave him no peace. As midnight approached, he sat down at the kitchen table and went through it one more time. Although he was very tired, he did in fact find one detail that caught his attention. He knew it might well have no significance. Nevertheless, he decided to look into it early the following morning.
He slept badly that night.
He was back at the police station by 7 a.m. Ystad was enveloped in drizzle. Wallander knew the man he was looking for was just as much of an early bird as he was. He went to the part of the building that housed the prosecutors and knocked on Per Akeson's door. As usual, the room was in chaos. Akeson and Wallander had worked together for many years and had great faith in each other's judgement. Akeson pushed his glasses up on top of his
