Martinsson reported on his interview with Carlman’s widow. She was still very calm, leading Martinsson to think she must be on sedatives. Neither she nor any of the children was able to suggest a motive for the murder. Wallander outlined his talk with Sara Bjorklund, Wetterstedt’s “char-woman”. He also told them that the light bulb on the pole by the gate had been unscrewed. And finally, he told them about the bloody piece of paper he had found behind the road workers’ hut.
None of his colleagues knew that his father was constantly on his mind. After the meeting he asked Hoglund whether she had noticed how distracted he had been. She told him she hadn’t noticed this, that he had seemed more dogged and focused than ever.
At 9 p.m. they took a break. Martinsson and Hoglund called home, and Wallander finally got hold of his sister. She had wept when he told her about their father’s visit and his illness. Wallander tried to console her as best he could, but he fought back tears himself. At last they agreed that she should talk to Gertrud the next day and that she would visit as soon as possible. She asked whether he really believed that their father would be able to manage a trip to Italy. Wallander answered honestly — he didn’t know. But he reminded her that their father had dreamed of going to Italy since they were children.
During the break Wallander also tried to call Linda. After 15 rings he gave up. Annoyed, he decided he would have to give her the money to buy an answer machine.
When they returned to the meeting room Wallander started by discussing the connection between the two victims. That was what they had to seek, without ruling out other possibilities.
“Carlman’s widow was sure that her husband had never had anything to do with Wetterstedt,” said Martinsson. “Her children said the same thing. They searched through all his address books without finding Wetterstedt’s name.”
“Carlman wasn’t in Wetterstedt’s address book either,” said Hoglund.
“So the link is invisible,” said Wallander. “Or, more precisely, elusive. Somewhere we must be able to find it. If we do, we may also catch sight of the killer. Or at least a motive. We have to dig deep and fast.”
“Before he strikes again,” said Hansson. “There is no knowing whether that will happen.”
“We also don’t know who to warn,” said Wallander. “The only thing we know about the killer or killers, is that they plan the murders.”
“Do we know that?” Akeson interjected. “It seems to me you’re jumping to that conclusion prematurely.”
“Well there’s no indication that we’re dealing with someone who kills on impulse, who has a spontaneous desire to rip the hair off his victims,” replied Wallander, feeling his temper rise.
“It’s the conclusion that I’m having trouble with,” said Akeson. “That’s not the same thing as discrediting the evidence.”
The mood in the room grew oppressive. No-one could miss the tension between the two men. Normally, Wallander wouldn’t hesitate to argue with Akeson in public. But this evening he chose to back down, mainly because he was exhausted and knew he would have to keep the meeting going for hours yet.
“I agree,” was all he said. “We’ll scrub that conclusion and settle for saying that the murders appear planned.”
“A psychologist from Stockholm is coming down tomorrow,” said Hansson. “I’m going to pick him up at Sturup Airport. Let’s hope he can help us.”
Wallander nodded. Then he threw out a question that he hadn’t really prepared. But now seemed a suitable time.
“The murderer,” he said. “For the sake of argument let’s think of him for the time being as a man who acts alone. What do you see? What do you think?”
“Strong,” said Nyberg. “The axe blows were delivered with tremendous force.”
“I’m afraid he’s collecting trophies,” said Martinsson. “Only an insane person would do something like that.”
“Or someone who intends to throw us off the track with the scalps,” said Wallander.
“I have no idea,” said Hoglund. “But it must be someone who’s profoundly disturbed.”
In the end the character of the killer was left. Wallander summed up in one last run-through, in which they planned the investigative work to be done and divided up the tasks. At around midnight Akeson left, saying that he would help out by arranging for reinforcements for the investigative team whenever they thought it necessary. Although they were all exhausted, Wallander went over the work one more time.
“None of us is going to get a lot of sleep for the next few days,” he said in closing. “And I realise that this will throw many of your holiday plans into chaos. But we have to muster all our forces. We have no option.”
“We’ll need reinforcements,” said Hansson.
“Let’s decide about that on Monday,” said Wallander. “Let’s wait until then.”
They decided to meet again the following afternoon. Before then Wallander and Hansson would present the case to the psychologist from Stockholm.
Then they broke up and went their separate ways. Wallander stood by his car and looked up at the pale night sky. He tried to think about his father. But something else kept intruding. Fear that the killer would strike again.
CHAPTER 14
Early on Sunday morning, 26 June, the doorbell rang at Wallander’s flat on Mariagatan in central Ystad. He was wrenched out of a deep sleep and at first thought the telephone was ringing. When the doorbell rang again he got up quickly, found his dressing gown lying halfway under the bed, and went to the door. It was Linda with a friend Wallander hadn’t met. He hardly recognised Linda either, since she had cropped her long blonde hair and dyed it red. But he was relieved and happy to see her.
He let them in and said hello to Linda’s friend, who introduced herself as Kajsa. Wallander was full of questions. How did they come to be ringing his doorbell so early on a Sunday morning? Were there really train connections this early? Linda explained that they had arrived the night before, but they had stayed at the house of a girl she had gone to school with, whose parents were away. They would be staying there for the whole week. They came over so early because after reading the papers in the past few days, Linda knew it would be hard to get hold of her father.
Wallander made a breakfast of leftovers he dug out of his refrigerator. While they ate they told him they’d be spending the week rehearsing a play they had written. Then they were going to the island of Gotland to take part in a theatre seminar. Wallander listened, trying to disguise how disappointed he was that Linda had abandoned her dream to become a furniture upholsterer, settle down in Ystad, and open her own shop. He also yearned to talk to her about her grandfather. He knew how close she was to him.
“There’s so much going on. I’d like to talk with you in peace and quiet, just you and me,” he said, when Kajsa was out of the room.
“That’s the best thing about you,” she said. “You’re always so glad to see me.” She wrote down her phone number and promised to come over when he called.
“I saw the papers,” she said. “Is it really as bad as they make out?”
“It’s worse,” Wallander said. “I’ve got so much to do that I don’t know how I’m going to cope. It was pure luck that you caught me at home.”
They sat and talked until Hansson called and said he was at Sturup Airport with the psychologist. They agreed to meet at the station at 9 a.m.
“I have to go now,” he told Linda.
“We do, too,” she said.
“Does this play you’re putting on have a name?” Wallander wondered when they got out to the street.
“It’s not a play,” replied Linda. “It’s a revue.”
“I see,” said Wallander, trying to remember what the difference was. “And does it have a name?”
“Not yet,” said Kajsa.
“Can I see it?” Wallander asked tentatively.
“When it’s ready,” said Linda. “Not before.”
Wallander asked whether he could drive them somewhere.