She surprised him again.
'You need to have someone to sleep with,' she said. 'It's not good for you to walk around with so much pent-up longing.'
Wallander winced. She had never said anything like that to him before.
'I have all I need,' he said evasively.
'Can't you tell me more?'
'There's not much to say. A nurse. A decent person. The problem is just that she likes me more than I like her.'
Linda did not ask any more questions. Wallander immediately started to wonder about her sex life. But the very thought filled him with so many ambivalent feelings that he didn't want to get into it.
They stayed in the restaurant until it was past ten o'clock. Then he offered to drive her home, but she had errands to run. They parted in the car park. Wallander gave her three hundred kronor.
'You don't need to do this,' she said.
'I know. But take it anyway.'
Then he watched her walk off into the city. Thought that this was his family. A daughter who was finding her way. And a father who was right now sitting on a plane taking him to scorching-hot Egypt. He had a complicated relationship with both of them. It was not only his father who could be difficult, but also Linda.
He was back in Ystad at half past ten. During the trip back he had an easier time thinking about what now awaited him. The meeting with Linda had given him new energy. The broadest possible approach, he said to himself. That's the way we have to proceed. He stopped on the outskirts of Ystad and ate a hamburger, promising himself it would be the last one of the year. When he walked into the reception area, Ebba called out to him. She looked a little tense.
'Bjork wants to talk to you,' she said.
Wallander hung his coat up in his office, then walked to Bjork's room. He was let in at once. Bjork stood up behind his desk.
'I have to express my great dismay,' he said.
'With what?'
'That you go to Malmo on personal business when we are in the midst of a difficult murder case, one that you moreover are in charge of.'
Wallander could not believe his ears. Bjork was actually reprimanding him. That had never happened before, even if Bjork had often had ample reason to do so on previous occasions. Wallander thought about all the times that he had acted too independently during an investigation, without informing the others.
'This is extremely unfortunate,' Bjork concluded. 'There will be no formal reprimand. But it was, as I said, a show of poor judgement.'
Wallander stared at Bjork. Then he made an about-face and left without saying a word. But when he was halfway back to his office, he turned and walked back, pulling open the door to Bjork's office and saying, through clenched teeth:
'I'm not going to take any shit from you. Just so you know. Give me a formal reprimand if you want. But don't stand there talking nonsense. I won't take it.'
Then he left. He noticed that he was sweating. But he didn't regret it. The outburst had been necessary. And he was not at all worried about the consequences. His position at the station was strong.
He got a cup of coffee in the break room and then sat down at his desk. He knew that Bjork had gone to Stockholm to take a leadership course of some kind. He had probably learned he should scold his colleagues from time to time in order to improve the climate of the workplace, Wallander thought. But if so, he had chosen the wrong person to start with.
Then he wondered who had passed on the fact that Wallander had spent the morning driving his father to Malmo.
There were several possibilities. Wallander could not recall to whom he had mentioned his father's impending trip to Egypt.
The only thing he was sure of was that it was not Rydberg. The latter regarded Bjork as a necessary administrative evil. Hardly anything more. And he was always loyal to those he worked with. His loyalty would never be corrupted, though of course he would not spare his colleagues if they acted irresponsibly. Then Rydberg would be the first to react.
Wallander was interrupted in this train of thought by Martinsson, who looked in.
'Is this a good time?'
Wallander nodded at his visitor's chair.
They began by talking about the fire and the murder of the Eberhardsson sisters. But Wallander soon realised that Martinsson had come in about something different.
'It's about the plane,' he said. 'Our Sjobo colleagues have worked quickly. They've located an area just south- west of the village where lights were allegedly observed that night. From what I gather, it's a nonresidential area. That could also corroborate the idea of an air drop.'
'You mean that the lights would have been guiding lights?'
'That is one possibility. There's also a myriad of small roads through that area. Easy to get to, easy to leave.'
'That strengthens our theory,' Wallander said.
'I have more,' Martinsson went on. 'The Sjobo team has been diligent. They've checked to see who actually lives in that area. Most of them are farmers, of course, but they found one exception.'
Wallander sharpened his attention.
'A farm called Langelunda,' Martinsson said. 'For a couple of years it's been a haven for a variety of people who have caused problems for the Sjobo police from time to time. People have moved in and out, the ownership has been unclear and there have been drug seizures. Not great quantities, but still.'
Martinsson scratched his forehead.
'The colleague I spoke with, Goran Brunberg, gave me a few names. I wasn't paying that much attention, but when I hung up I started thinking. There was one name I thought I recognised. From a case we had recently.'
Wallander sat up.
'You don't mean that Yngve Leonard Holm lives up there? That he has a place there?'
Martinsson nodded.
'He's the one. It took a while for me to put it together.'
Damn it, Wallander thought. I knew there was something about him. I even thought of the plane. But we had to let him go.
'We'll bring him in,' Wallander said and banged a fist firmly on his desk.
'That was exactly what I told our Sjobo colleagues when I made the connection,' Martinsson said. 'But when they got out to Langelunda, Holm was gone.'
'What do you mean, 'gone'?'
'Disappeared, gone, vanished. He did live there, even if he was registered in Ystad for the last couple of years. And built his mansion here. The Sjobo colleagues talked to a couple of other individuals living there. Rough types, from what I gather. Holm was there as recently as yesterday. But no one has seen him since then. I went to his house here in Ystad, but it's locked up.'
Wallander thought it over.
'So Holm doesn't usually disappear like this?'
'The people in the house actually seemed a little concerned.'
'In other words, there could be a connection,' Wallander said.
'I was thinking that Holm may have been intending to leave on the plane that crashed.'
'Not likely,' Wallander said. 'Then you're assuming the plane had somewhere to land and pick him up. And the Sjobo police haven't found any place like that, have they? An improvised landing strip? It would also exceed the time frame.'
'A sport plane with a skilled pilot may only need a small level area to land and take off from.'
Wallander hesitated. Martinsson could be right, even though Wallander doubted this was the case. On the other
