The rain came sooner than she had expected. Linda ducked under a tall oak tree next to the parking lot. Raindrops started to fall all around her and suddenly the whole situation seemed completely idiotic. She was about to brace herself for a run through the rain to the car when she saw something glittering between the wet branches of a nearby bush. At first she thought it was a discarded beer can. She poked at one of the branches and saw a black tire. She started pulling the branches away with both hands and her heart beat faster. Then she ran to the car and grabbed her phone. For once her dad had his cell phone with him and turned on.
“Where are you?” he asked.
His voice was unusually gentle. She could tell he was still trying to make up for the morning.
“I’m at Rannesholm Manor,” she said. “In the parking lot.”
“What are you doing up there?”
“Dad, there’s something you need to see.”
“I can’t. We’re about to have a meeting about crazy new directives from Stockholm.”
“Skip it. Just get over here — I’ve found something.”
“What?”
“Birgitta Medberg’s Vespa.”
She heard her father’s sharp intake of breath on the other end.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“And how did this happen?”
“I’ll tell you everything when you get here.”
There was a noise on the line and the connection was broken, but Linda didn’t bother calling him again. She knew he was on his way.
15
It was raining even harder now. Linda saw something flashing through the windshield and turned on the wipers. It was her father’s car. He parked, ducked out, and jumped into the passenger seat next to her. He was impatient, clearly in a hurry.
“Let’s hear it.”
His impatience made her nervous.
“Do you have the journal with you?” he interrupted.
“No. Why? I’ve given you the text word for word.”
He had no more questions and she continued her account. When she had finished, he sat and stared out into the rain.
“A strange story,” he said.
“You always say to watch for the unexpected.”
He nodded, then looked her over.
“Did you bring a raincoat?”
“No.”
“I have one you can borrow.”
He popped the door open and ran back to his car. Linda was amazed to see her large, heavyset dad move so quickly, with such agility. She followed him out into the rain. He stood at the back of the car putting on his gear. When he saw her he handed her a raincoat that fell all the way down to her feet. Then he fished out a baseball cap with the logo of a local car-repair shop and pushed it down over her head. He stared up at the sky. The rain poured down over his face.
“It’s Noah and the flood all over again,” he said. “I don’t remember rain like this since I was a child.”
“It rained a lot when I was young,” Linda said.
He nudged her on and she led the way over to the oak tree and pushed the bushes away so he could see. Wallander took out his cell phone and she heard him call the police station. He grumbled when they didn’t pick up right away. Wallander read out the license-plate number and waited for confirmation. It was her Vespa. Wallander put the phone back in his pocket.
The rain stopped at that exact moment. It happened so fast it took them a while to register what had happened. It was like rain on a movie set being turned off after the take.
“God has decided to take pity on us,” Wallander said. “You’ve found Birgitta Medberg’s Vespa.”
He looked around.
“But no Birgitta Medberg.”
Linda hesitated, then pulled out the photocopy of the old map that she had found in Birgitta Medberg’s apartment. She regretted it as soon as she had taken it out, but it was too late.
“What’s that?”
“A map of the area.”
“Where did you find it?”
“Here on the ground.”
He took the dry piece of paper from her and gave her a searching look. Here comes the question I won’t be able to answer, she thought.
But he didn’t ask. Instead he studied the map, looked down to the lake and the road, at the parking lot and the various paths that branched out from it.
“She came here,” he said. “But this is a big park.”
He studied the area right around the Vespa. Linda watched him, trying to read his mind.
Suddenly he looked at her.
“What’s the first question we should be asking?”
“If she hid the Vespa deliberately, or was only trying to protect it from being stolen.”
He nodded.
“There’s a third alternative, of course.”
Linda understood what he was getting at. She should have thought of it right away.
“That someone else hid it.”
“Exactly.”
A dog came running out from one of the paths. It was white with little black spots; Linda couldn’t remember what that kind was called. Then another and finally a third dog appeared out of the forest, followed by a woman dressed in rain gear from head to toe. She was walking briskly and put all three of the dogs on leashes when she caught sight of Linda and Wallander. She was in her forties, tall, blond, and attractive. Linda saw her father react instinctively to the presence of a good-looking woman: he stood up straight, pulled up his head to make his throat appear less wrinkled, and held in his stomach.
“Excuse me,” he said. “My name is Wallander and I’m with the Ystad police.”
The woman looked at him skeptically.
“May I see your identification?”
Wallander dug out his wallet, then presented his ID card, which she studied closely.
“Has anything happened?”
“No. Do you often walk your dogs in this area?”
“Twice a day, actually.”
“That must mean you know these paths very well.”
“Yes, I would say I do. Why?”
He ignored her last question.
“Do you meet many people in the forest?”
“Not during the fall. Spring and summer there are a fair number of people in the park, but soon it will only be dog owners who make the effort. That’s always a relief. Then I can let the dogs off the leash.”
“But aren’t they supposed to stay on the leash year-round? That’s what the sign says.”
He pointed at a sign a few feet away. She raised her eyebrows.
“Is that why you’re here? To catch women who let their dogs run loose?”
“No. There’s something I’d like to show you.”
The dogs strained impatiently on their leashes while Wallander lifted away some of the undergrowth to reveal the Vespa.
“Have you ever seen this scooter before? It belongs to a woman in her sixties by the name of Birgitta Medberg.”
The dogs immediately wanted to pull forward and sniff it, but they were firmly restrained by their owner. Her voice was steady and without hesitation.