She broke off and looked around the table. Neither Wallander nor anyone else seemed to understand what she meant.
“It’s almost pure mathematics,” she said. “But it seems as if our killer acts according to a pattern that is so irregular that it’s interesting. On 21 September Eriksson dies. On the night of 30 September, Katarina Taxell is visited at the Ystad maternity ward. On 11 October Gosta Runfeldt dies. On the night of 13 October the woman is back at the maternity ward and knocks down Svedberg’s cousin. Finally, on 17 October Eugen Blomberg is found dead. To this we can also add the day that Runfeldt probably disappeared. There is no regularity whatsoever. Which might be surprising, since everything else seems to be minutely planned and prepared. This is a killer who takes the time to sew weights into a sack that are carefully balanced to the victim’s weight. So we could say that perhaps the irregularity is caused by something out of the killer’s control. And then we have to ask: what?”
Wallander wasn’t quite following her.
“One more time,” he said. “Slowly.”
She repeated what she had said. This time Wallander understood what she meant.
“Maybe we can just say that it doesn’t have to be a coincidence,” she concluded. “I won’t try to stretch it further than that.”
Wallander started to see the picture more clearly.
“Let’s assume that there is a pattern,” he said. “Then what’s your interpretation? What factors affect a killer’s timetable?”
“There could be various explanations. The killer doesn’t live in Skane, but makes regular visits here. Or perhaps he or she has a job that follows a certain rhythm.”
“So you think these dates could be days off? If we could follow them for another month, would it be clearer?”
“That’s possible. The killer has a job that follows a rotating schedule. The days off don’t always occur on Saturdays and Sundays.”
“That might turn out to be important,” Wallander said hesitantly. “But I find it difficult to believe it.”
“Otherwise I couldn’t manage to read much from the times,” she said.
Wallander held up the plastic bag.
“Now that we’re talking about timetables, I found this in a secret compartment in Katarina Taxell’s desk, as if this were her most important possession, that she hid from the world. A timetable for Swedish Railways’ inter-city trains for the spring of 1991. With a departure time underlined: Nassjo 16.00. It goes every day.”
He pushed the plastic bag over to Nyberg.
“Fingerprints,” he said.
Then he moved on to Krista Haberman and told them about the morning visit in the fog. There was no mistaking the sombre mood in the room.
“So I think we have to start digging,” he concluded. “When the fog lifts and Hansson has had a chance to find out who worked the land, and whether any changes took place after 1967.”
For a long time there was complete silence as everyone evaluated what Wallander had just said. It was Akeson who spoke.
“This sounds both incredible and at the same time highly plausible,” he said. “I assume that we have to take this possibility seriously.”
“It would be good if this didn’t get out,” Chief Holgersson said. “There’s nothing people like better than having old, unsolved missing-person cases come up again.”
They had made a decision. Wallander decided to end the meeting as quickly as possible because everyone had a lot of work to do.
“Katarina Taxell has disappeared,” he said. “Left her home in a red Golf with an unknown driver. Her departure was hasty. Her mother wants us to put out an APB on her, which we can hardly refuse since she’s the next of kin. But I think we should wait, at least a few more days.”
“Why?” Akeson asked.
“I have a suspicion that she’ll make contact,” Wallander said. “Not with us, of course. But with her mother, who she knows will be worried. She’ll call to reassure her. Unfortunately she probably won’t say where she is. Or who she’s with.”
Wallander now turned to face Akeson.
“I want someone to stay with Taxell’s mother and record the conversation. Sooner or later it’ll come.”
“If it hasn’t happened already,” Hansson said, getting to his feet. “Give me Birch’s phone number.”
He got it from Hoglund and quickly left the room.
“There’s nothing more for now,” Wallander said. “Let’s say we’ll meet again at 5 p.m. if nothing else happens before then.”
When Wallander got to his own office, the phone was ringing. It was Martinsson, wanting to know if Wallander could meet him at his house at 2 p.m. Wallander promised to be there. He left the station and ate lunch at the Hotel Continental. He knew that he couldn’t afford it, but he was hungry and didn’t have much time. He sat alone at a window table, nodding to people passing by, surprised and hurt that no-one stopped to offer condolences at the death of his father. It was in the papers. News of a death travels fast, and Ystad was a small town. He ate halibut and drank a light beer. The waitress was young and blushed every time he looked at her. He wondered sympathetically how she was going to stand her job.
At 2 p.m. he rang Martinsson’s bell, and they went and sat in the kitchen. Martinsson was home alone. Wallander asked about Terese. She had gone back to school. Martinsson looked pale and dejected. Wallander had never seen him so depressed.
“What should I do?” Martinsson asked.
“What does your wife say? What does Terese say?”
“That I should keep working, of course. They’re not the ones who want me to quit. I’m the one.”
Wallander waited. But Martinsson didn’t say anything.
“Remember a few years back?” Wallander began. “When I shot a man in the fog near Kaseberga and killed him? And then ran over another one on the Oland Bridge? I was gone almost a year. All of you thought that I had quit. Then there was that case with the two lawyers named Torstensson, and suddenly everything changed. I was about to sign my letter of resignation, but instead I went back on duty.”
Martinsson nodded. He remembered.
“Now, after the fact, I’m glad that I did what I did. The only advice I can give you is that you shouldn’t do anything rash. Wait to make up your mind. Work one day at a time. Decide later. I’m not asking you to forget, I’m asking you to be patient. Everyone misses you. You’re a good policeman. Everyone notices when you’re not there.”
Martinsson threw out his arms.
“I’m not that important. Sure, I know a few things. But you can’t tell me that I’m in any way irreplaceable.”
“You are irreplaceable,” Wallander said. “That’s just what I’m trying to tell you.”
Wallander had expected the conversation to take a long time. Martinsson sat in silence for a few minutes. Then he got up and left the kitchen. When he came back he had his jacket on.
“Shall we go?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Wallander. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
In the car on the way to the station, Wallander gave him a brief summary of the events of the past few days. Martinsson listened in silence. When they entered reception, Ebba stopped them. Since she didn’t take the time to welcome Martinsson back, Wallander knew at once that something had happened.
“Ann-Britt is trying to get hold of you two,” she said. “It’s important.”
“What’s happened?”
“Someone named Katarina Taxell called her mother.”
Wallander looked at Martinsson. So he had been right, but it had happened faster than he had expected.
CHAPTER 33
They weren’t too late. Birch had managed to be there in time. In just over an hour the tape of the conversation was in Ystad. They gathered in Wallander’s office, where Svedberg had set up a tape recorder, and listened tensely to the brief conversation. The first thing that occurred to Wallander was that Katarina Taxell didn’t want to talk any longer than necessary.