The phone rang. It was Martinsson. Wallander listened for signs in his voice that something important had happened, but he heard nothing.
“Svedberg just came back from the university. Eugen Blomberg seems to have been the type of person that blended into the woodwork. He wasn’t a particularly prominent researcher. He was loosely affiliated with the children’s clinic in Lund, but what he was working on was considered quite rudimentary. That’s what Svedberg claims, at least.”
“Go on,” Wallander said, not hiding his impatience.
“I have a hard time understanding how a man could be so utterly devoid of interests,” Martinsson said. “He seems to have been completely preoccupied with his damned milk. And nothing else. Except for one thing.”
Wallander waited.
“He was having a relationship with another woman. I found some letters. The initials K.A. keep showing up. What’s interesting about all this is that she seems to have been pregnant.”
“How did you find that out?”
“From the letters. In the most recent it says that she was near the end of her pregnancy.”
“When was it dated?”
“There isn’t any date. But she mentions that she saw a movie on TV she liked. And if I remember correctly, it ran a few months back. Of course we’ll have to check that out more exactly.”
“Does she have an address?”
“It doesn’t say.”
“Not even whether it’s in Lund?”
“No. But she’s probably from somewhere in Skane. She uses several expressions that indicate as much.”
“Did you ask the widow about this?”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Whether it’s appropriate to do so, or whether I should wait.”
“Ask her,” Wallander said. “We can’t wait. Besides, I have a strong feeling that she knows about it already. We need that woman’s name and address as fast as we can damn well get it, in fact. Let me know as soon as you’ve got something.”
Afterwards Wallander sat with his hand on the telephone. A cold wave of aversion passed through him. What Martinsson had said reminded him of something. It had to do with Svedberg, but he couldn’t recall what it was.
As he waited for Martinsson to call back, Hansson appeared at the door and said he was going to get started on the investigative material from Ostersund that evening.
“There’s eleven kilos of it,” he said. “Just so you know.”
“Did you weigh it?” Wallander asked, surprised.
“I didn’t, but the courier did. Want to know what it cost?”
“I’d rather not.”
Hansson left. Wallander imagined a black Labrador sleeping next to his bed. It was 7.40 p.m. He still hadn’t heard from Martinsson. Nyberg called in and said he thought he’d call it a night. Why had Nyberg let him know? So that he could be found at home, or because he wanted to be left in peace?
Finally Martinsson called.
“She was asleep,” he said. “I didn’t really want to wake her. That’s why it took so long.”
Wallander said nothing. He wouldn’t have hesitated to wake Kristina Blomberg.
“What did she say?”
“You were right. She knew her husband had other women. But the initials K.A. didn’t mean anything to her.”
“Does she know where she lives?”
“She claims she doesn’t. I’m inclined to believe her.”
“But she must have known if he went out of town.”
“I asked about that. She said no. Besides, he didn’t have a car. He didn’t even have a driver’s licence.”
“That sounds like she must live nearby.”
“That’s what I was thinking too.”
“A woman with the initials K.A. We have to find her. Drop everything else for the time being. Is Birch there?”
“He drove back to the station a while ago.”
“Where’s Svedberg?”
“He was supposed to talk to someone who knew Blomberg best.”
“Tell him to concentrate on finding out who the woman is with the initials K.A.”
“I’m not sure I can get hold of him,” Martinsson replied. “He left his phone here with me.”
Wallander swore.
“The widow must know who her husband’s best friend was. It’s important to tell Svedberg.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Wallander put down the receiver, then thought better of it, but it was too late. What he had forgotten had suddenly come back to him. He looked up the phone number of the police station in Lund, and got hold of Birch almost at once.
“I think we might have hit on something,” Wallander said.
“Martinsson spoke to Ehren, who’s working with him at Siriusgatan,” Birch said. “As I understand it, we’re looking for an unknown woman who might have the initials K.A.”
“Not ‘might’, they are her initials,” Wallander said. “Karin Andersson, Katrina Alstrom. . we have to find her, whatever her name is. And there’s one detail that I think is important.”
“That she was pregnant?”
Birch was thinking fast.
“Precisely,” said Wallander. “We should contact the maternity ward in Lund and check up on women who have had children recently or will soon. With the initials K.A.”
“I’ll take care of it myself,” Birch said. “This sort of thing is always a little sensitive.”
Wallander said goodbye. He had started to sweat. Something had started moving. He went out into the hall. It was empty. When the phone rang he gave a start. It was Hoglund. She was at Runfeldt’s shop.
“There’s no blood here,” she said. “Vanja Andersson scrubbed the floor herself. She thought the stain was upsetting.”
“What about the rag?”
“She threw it out. And the rubbish was collected long ago, of course.”
Wallander knew that only the tiniest amount was needed to carry out an analysis.
“Her shoes,” he said. “What shoes was she wearing that day? There might be a little bit on the sole.”
“I’ll ask her.”
Wallander waited.
“She had on a pair of clogs,” Hoglund said. “But they’re back at her flat.”
“Go and get them. Bring them here, and call Nyberg at home. He can at least tell us if there’s any blood on them.”
During the conversation Hamren appeared at his door. Wallander hadn’t seen much of him since he arrived in Ystad. He wondered what the two detectives from Malmo were working on.
“I’ve taken over matching the data between Eriksson and Runfeldt now that Martinsson’s in Lund. So far there are no matches,” he said. “But I don’t think their paths ever crossed.”
“Still, it’s important to do a thorough job on it,” Wallander said. “Somewhere these investigations are going to merge. I’m convinced of that.”
“And Blomberg?”
“He’ll find a place in the pattern too. Anything else is just implausible.”
“When was police work ever a matter of plausibility?” Hamren said with a smile.
“You’re right, of course. But we can hope.”
Hamren stood there with his pipe in his hand.
“I’m going out for a smoke. It clears my brain.”
He left. It was just past 8 p.m. Wallander waited for Svedberg to report in. He got a cup of coffee and some biscuits. Wallander wandered into the canteen and absent-mindedly watched the TV for a while. Beautiful pictures from the Comoro Islands. He wondered where those islands were. At 8.45 p.m. he was back in his chair. Birch called. They had started looking for women who had given birth in recent months or would give birth in the next two months. So far they hadn’t found any with the initials K.A. After he hung up, Wallander thought he might as well go home. They could call him on his mobile phone if they wanted him. He tried to get hold of Martinsson, without success. Then Svedberg called. It was 9.10 p.m.
“There’s nobody with the initials K.A.,” he said. “At least not known to the man who claims to have been Blomberg’s best friend.”