They sat down at a table overflowing with used plastic coffee cups. Telephones rang all around them. They erected an invisible wall around themselves, admitting only Svedberg.
“The interesting thing is that Logard suddenly stopped paying visits to our prisons,” Birgersson said. “The last time he was inside was 1989. Since then he’s been clean. As if he found salvation.”
“That corresponds pretty well with when Liljegren got himself a house here in Helsingborg.”
Birgersson nodded. “We’re not too clear on that yet. But it seems that Logard bought Hordestigen in 1991. That’s a gap of a couple of years. But there’s nothing to prevent him from having lived somewhere else in the meantime.”
“We’ll need an answer to that one right away,” Wallander said, reaching for the phone. “What’s Elisabeth Carlen’s number? It’s on Sjosten’s desk. Have we still got her under surveillance, by the way?”
Birgersson nodded again. Wallander made a quick decision.
“Pull them off,” he said.
Someone put a piece of paper in front of him. He dialled the number. She answered almost immediately.
“This is Inspector Wallander,” he said.
“I won’t come to the station at this time of night,” she said.
“I don’t want you to. I just have one question: was Hans Logard hanging out with Liljegren as early as 1989? Or 1990?”
He could hear her lighting a cigarette and blowing smoke straight into the receiver.
“Yes,” she said, “I think he was there then. In 1990 anyway.”
“Good,” said Wallander.
“Why are you tailing me?” she asked.
“I was wondering myself,” Wallander said. “We don’t want anything to happen to you, of course. But we’re lifting the surveillance now. Just don’t leave town without telling us. I might get mad.”
“Fair enough,” she said, “I bet you can get mad.”
She hung up.
“Logard was there,” said Wallander. “It seems he appeared at Liljegren’s in 1989 or 1990. Then he acquired Hordestigen. Liljegren seems to have taken care of his salvation.”
Wallander tried to fit the different pieces together.
“And about then the rumours of the trade in girls surfaced. Isn’t that right?”
Birgersson nodded.
“Does Logard have a violent history?” Wallander asked.
“A few charges of aggravated assault,” Birgersson said. “But he’s never shot anyone, that we know of.”
“No axes?”
“No, nothing like that.”
“In any case, we’ve got to find him,” said Wallander, getting up.
“We’ll find him,” Birgersson said. “Sooner or later he’ll crawl out of his hole.”
“Why did he shoot at us?” Wallander asked.
“You’ll have to ask him that yourself,” Birgersson said, as he left the room.
Svedberg had taken off his cap. “Is this really the man we’re looking for?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” said Wallander. “Frankly I doubt it, although I could be wrong. Let’s hope I am.”
Svedberg left the room. Wallander was alone again. More than ever he missed Rydberg. There’s always another question you can ask. Rydberg’s words, repeated often. So what was the question he hadn’t asked yet? He searched and found nothing. All the questions had been asked. Only the answers were missing.
That was why it was a relief when Hoglund stepped into the room. It was just before 1 a.m. They sat down together.
“Louise wasn’t there,” she said. “Her mother was drunk. But her concern about her daughter seemed genuine. She couldn’t understand how it had happened. I think she was telling the truth. I felt really sorry for her.”
“You mean she actually had no idea?”
“Not a clue. And she’d been worrying about it.”
“Had it happened before?”
“Never.”
“And her son?”
“The older or the younger one?”
“The older one. Stefan.”
“He wasn’t there.”
“Was he out looking for his sister?”
“If I understood the mother correctly, he stays away occasionally. But there was one thing I did notice. I asked to have a look around. Just in case Louise was there. I went into Stefan’s room. The mattress was gone from his bed. There was just a bedspread. No pillow or blanket either.”
“Did you ask her where he was?”
“I don’t think she would have been able to tell me.”
“Did she say how long he’d been gone?”
She thought about it and looked at her notes.
“Since midday.”
“Not long before Louise disappeared.”
She looked at him in surprise.
“You think he was the one who went and got her? Then where are they now?”
“Two questions, two answers. I don’t know. I don’t know.”
Wallander felt a deep unease creep over him. He couldn’t tell what it meant.
“Did you happen to ask her whether Stefan has a moped?”
He saw that she immediately understood where he was heading.
“No.”
Wallander gestured towards the phone.
“Call her,” he said. “Ask her. She drinks at night. You won’t wake her up.”
It was a long time before she got an answer. The conversation was very brief. She hung up again.
“He doesn’t have a moped,” she said. “Besides, Stefan isn’t 15 yet, is he?”
“It was just a thought,” Wallander said. “We have to know. Anyway, I doubt that young people today pay much attention to what is permitted or not.”
“The little boy woke up when I was about to leave,” she said. “He was sleeping on the sofa next to his mother. That’s what upset me the most.”
“That he woke up?”
“I’ve never seen such frightened eyes in a child before.”
Wallander slammed his fist on the table. She jumped.
“I’ve got it,” he cried. “What it was I’ve been forgetting all this time. Damn it!”
“What?”
“Wait a minute. Wait a minute. .”
Wallander rubbed his temples to squeeze out the image that had been bothering him for so long. Finally he captured it.
“Do you remember the doctor who did the autopsy of Dolores Maria Santana in Malmo?”
She tried to remember.
“Wasn’t it a woman?”
“Yes, it was. A woman. What was her name? Malm something?”
“Svedberg’s got a good memory,” she said. “I’ll get him.”
“That’s not necessary,” said Wallander. “I remember now. Her name was Malmstrom. We’ve got to get hold of her. And we need to get hold of her right now. I’d like you to take care of it. As fast as you can!”
“What is it?”
“I’ll explain later.”
She got up and left the room. Could the Fredman boy really be mixed up in this? Wallander picked up the phone and called Akeson. He answered at once.
“I need you to do me a favour,” he said. “Now. In the middle of the night. Call the hospital where Louise was a patient. Tell them to copy the page of the visitors’ book with the signature of the person who picked her up. And tell them to fax it here to Helsingborg.”
“How the hell do you think they can do that?”
“I have no idea,” Wallander said. “But it could be important. They can cross out all the other names on the page. I just want to see that one signature.”
“Which was illegible?”
“Precisely. I want to see the illegible signature.”
Wallander stressed his final words. Akeson understood that he was after something that might be important.
“Give me the fax number,” Akeson said. “I’ll try.”
Wallander gave him the number and hung up. The clock on the wall said 2.05 a.m. He was sweating in his new shirt. He wondered vaguely whether the state had paid for the shirt and trousers. Hoglund returned and said that Agneta Malmstrom was on a sailing holiday with her family somewhere between Landsort and Oxelosund.
“What’s the name of the boat?”
“It’s supposed to be some kind of Maxi class. The name is Sanborombon. It also has a number.”
“Call Stockholm Radio,” Wallander said. “They must have a two-way radio on board. Ask them to call the boat. Tell them it’s a police emergency. Talk to Birgersson. I want to get in touch with her right away.”