'Did you know about the photo album he kept locked in his desk?'
'I never saw what he had in his desk.'
Wallander felt sure that the man sitting across from him was telling the truth.
'Did you have your own keys when you worked for Lamberg?'
'Yes.'
'What happened to those when you were let go?'
'I gave them back.'
Wallander nodded. He wasn't going to get any further. The more people he talked to, the more mysterious Simon Lamberg in all his colourlessness appeared. He made a note of Gunnar Larsson's phone number and address. The conversation came to a close and Wallander walked him out to the reception area. Then he went and got a cup of coffee and returned to his office. He unplugged the phone. He could not recall when he had last felt at such a loss. In which direction should they turn for their solution? Everything seemed to consist of loose threads. Even though he tried to avoid it, the image of his own face, distorted and pasted in a photo album, returned again and again.
The loose threads did not connect anywhere.
He checked the time. Almost twelve. He was hungry. The wind outside the window appeared to be blowing stronger. He plugged his phone back in. It rang immediately. It was Nyberg, who wanted to let him know that the forensic investigation was complete and that they had not found anything out of the ordinary. Now Wallander was free to look through the other rooms as well.
Wallander sat at his desk and tried to come up with a review of the events. In his mind he was conducting a conversation with Rydberg, and he cursed the fact that his colleague was absent. What do I do now? How do I go further? We're grasping at nothing, as if we were stumbling around in a circle.
He read through what he had written. Tried to coax a secret out of the brief account. But there was nothing. Irritated, he tossed the notepad aside.
It was now a quarter to one. The best thing he could do would be to go and get a bite to eat. Later in the afternoon he would need to have another conversation with Elisabeth Lamberg.
He realised he was too impatient. Despite everything that had happened, only one day had gone by since Simon Lamberg was murdered.
In his mind, Rydberg agreed with him. Wallander knew that he didn't have enough patience.
He put on his coat and got ready to leave.
The door opened. It was Martinsson.
He could tell from his face that something important had happened.
Martinsson paused in the doorway. Wallander regarded him with anticipation.
'We never found the man who attacked you last night,' Martinsson said. 'But someone saw him.'
Martinsson pointed to a map of Ystad that hung on Wallander's wall.
'He knocked you down at the corner of Aulingatan and Giodde's Alley. Then he most likely fled along Herrestadsgatan and turned north.
Shortly after you were attacked, he was observed in a garden close by, on Timmermansgatan.'
'What do you mean, 'observed'?'
Martinsson took out his little notebook from his pocket and turned the pages.
'It was a young family by the name of Simovic. The wife was awake, since she was nursing her three-month-old baby. At some point she looked out into the garden and caught sight of a person lurking in the shadows. She immediately woke her husband. But when he got to the window, the person was gone. He said she was just imagining things. She was apparently convinced by this, and when her child fell asleep she went back to bed. It was only today, when she was out in the garden, that she remembered what had happened. She went over to the spot where she thought she had seen someone that night. I should also mention that she had heard that Lamberg had been murdered. Ystad is small enough that even the Simovics had a family portrait taken in his studio.'
'But she can't possibly have heard about our night-time chase,' Wallander objected. 'We haven't gone public with that.'
'Yes, that's right,' Martinsson said. 'That's why we should be thankful she even contacted us.'
'Was she able to offer a useful description?'
'She only saw a shadow at best.'
Wallander looked curiously at Martinsson.
'Then these observations aren't really of much use to us, are they?'
'No,' Martinsson said, 'if it weren't for the fact that she found something on the ground. Which she came by and dropped off a little while ago. And that is lying on my desk at this very moment.'
Wallander followed Martinsson to the latter's office.
'This? Was this what she found?'
'A hymn book. From the Church of Sweden.'
Wallander tried to think it through.
'What compelled Mrs Simovic to bring it in?'
'A murder had been committed. She had observed someone moving around in a suspicious manner in her garden at night. At first she had allowed herself to be convinced by her husband that it was only her imagination. But then she found the hymn book.'
Wallander slowly shook his head.
'This isn't necessarily the same man,' he said.
'And yet I would claim that there's a lot that says it is. How many people sneak around in other people's gardens at night in Ystad? In addition, the night patrol units were out and looking. I've talked with one officer who was out last night. They were out on Timmermansgatan several times. A garden was therefore a good place to hide.'
Wallander knew that Martinsson was right.
'A hymn book,' he said. 'Who the hell carries around a hymn book in the middle of the night?'
'And drops it in someone's garden after having attacked a police officer,' Martinsson added.
'Let Nyberg take care of the book,' Wallander said. 'And make sure to thank the Simovics for their help.'
He thought of something else as he was on his way out of Martinsson's office.
'Who is in charge of the office pool?'
'Hansson. But it doesn't seem to have gained any serious momentum yet.'
'It may never,' Wallander replied doubtfully.
Wallander walked down to the bakery-cafe by the bus terminal and had a couple of sandwiches. The hymn book was as mysterious a discovery as anything else that had so far been associated with the ongoing investigation of the photographer's death. Wallander realised how lost he really was. They were searching blindly for anything concrete to go on.
After lunch Wallander drove to Lavendelvagen. Again it was Karin Fahlman who opened the door. But this time Elisabeth Lamberg was not resting. She was sitting in the living room when Wallander came in. Again he was struck by her pallor. He had the feeling it came from somewhere inside and also had roots far back in time and was not simply a reaction to her husband's murder.
Wallander sat down across from her. She scrutinised him.
'We are no closer to solving this case,' Wallander began.
'I know you're doing the best you can,' she said.
Wallander briefly wondered what she really meant. Was it a disguised criticism of their work? Or did she mean it honestly?
'This is the second time that I've come to see you,' he said, 'but I think we can safely assume it will not be the last. New questions turn up all the time.'
'I'll try to answer to the best of my ability.'
'This time I haven't simply come to ask questions,' Wallander continued. 'I also need to be able to look through your husband's belongings.'
She nodded but said nothing.
Wallander decided to take the bull by the horns.
