Then he was furious. "What the hell's going on here?" he snarled.
"The alarm went off at the security company, and they called the police," Peters said, clearly worried. "So we came rushing here in a hurry. I had no idea it was you."
Peters' partner Noren entered on cue, also wielding a pistol.
"There's a police investigation going on here," Wallander said, noting that his anger had subsided as quickly as it had broken out. "Torstensson, the solicitor who died in the car accident, lived here."
"If the alarm goes off, we turn out," the man from the security company said, bluntly.
"Turn it off," Wallander said. "You can turn it on again in a few hours' time. But let's all work our way through the house first."
"This is Chief Inspector Wallander," Peters explained. "I expect you recognise him."
The security man was very young. He nodded, but Wallander could tell that he had not recognised him.
"We don't need you any more. And get that dog out of here," Wallander said.
The guard withdrew, taking the reluctant Alsatian with him. Wallander shook Peters and Noren by the hand.
"I'd heard you were back," Noren said. "It's good to see you again."
"Thank you."
"Things haven't been the same since you were on sick leave," Peters said.
"Well, I'm in harness again now," Wallander said, hoping to steer the conversation back to the investigation.
"The information we get isn't exactly reliable," Noren said. "We'd been told you were going to retire. After that we didn't expect to find you in a house when the alarm went off."
"Life is full of surprises," Wallander said.
"Anyway, welcome back," Peters said.
Wallander had the feeling for the first time that the friendliness was genuine. There was nothing artificial about Peters: his words were straightforward and clear.
"It's been a difficult time," Wallander said. "But it's over now. I think so, at least."
He walked down to the car with them and waved as they drove off. He wandered around the garden, trying to sort out his thoughts. His personal feelings were intertwined with thoughts about what had happened to the two lawyers. In the end he decided to go and talk again to Mrs Duner. Now he had a few questions to put to her which needed answering.
It was almost noon when he rang her doorbell and was let in. This time he accepted her offer of a cup of tea.
"I'm sorry to disturb you again so soon," he began, "but I do need help in building up a picture of both of them, father and son. Who were they? You worked with the older man for 30 years."
"And 19 years with Sten Torstensson," she said.
"That's a long time," Wallander said. "You get to know people as time goes by. Let's start with the father. Tell me what he was like."
"I can't," she said.
"And why not?"
"I didn't know him."
Her reply astonished him, but it sounded genuine. Wallander decided to feel his way forward, to take all the time his impatience told him he did not have.
"You will not mind my saying that your response is a bit odd," Wallander said. "I mean, you worked with him for a very long time."
"Not with him," she said. "For him. There's a big difference."
Wallander nodded. "Even if you didn't know the man, you must know a lot about him. Please, tell me what you can. If you don't I'm afraid we may never be able to solve the murder of his son."
"You're not being honest with me, Inspector Wallander," she said. "You haven't told me what really happened when he died in that car crash."
She was evidently going to go on surprising him. He made his mind up on the spot to be straight with her.
"We don't know yet," he said. "But we suspect it was more than just an accident. Something might have caused it, or happened afterwards."
"He'd driven along that road lots of times," she said. "He knew it inside out. And he never drove fast."
"If I understand it rightly, he'd been to see one of his clients," Wallander said.
"The man at Farnholm," was all she said.
"The man at Farnholm?"
"Alfred Harderberg. The man at Farnholm Castle."
Wallander knew that Farnholm Castle was in a remote area to the south of the Linderod Ridge. He had often driven past the turning, but had never been there.
"He was our biggest client," Mrs Duner went on. "For the last few years he'd been in effect Gustaf Torstensson's only client."
Wallander wrote the name on a scrap of paper he found in his pocket.
"I've never heard of him," he said. "Is he a farmer?"
"He's the man who owns the castle," Mrs Duner said. "But he's a businessman. Big business, international."
"I'll be in touch with him, obviously," Wallander said. "He must be one of the last people to see Mr Torstensson alive."
A packet of mail suddenly dropped through the letter box. Wallander noticed that Mrs Duner gave a start.
Three scared people, he thought. Scared of what?
"Gustaf Torstensson," he started again. "Let's try again. Tell me what he was like."
"He was the most private person I have ever met," she said, and Wallander detected a hint of aggression. "He never allowed anybody to get close to him. He was a pedant, never varied his routine. He was one of those people folk say you could set your watch by. That was absolutely true in Gustaf Torstensson's case. He was a sort of bloodless, cut-out silhouette, neither nice nor nasty. Just boring."
"According to Sten Torstensson, he was also cheerful," Wallander said.
"You could have fooled me," Mrs Duner said.
"How did the two of them get on?"
She did not hesitate, she answered directly to the point. "Gustaf Torstensson was annoyed that his son was trying to modernise the business," she said. "And naturally enough, Sten Torstensson thought his father was a millstone round his neck. But neither of them revealed their true feelings to the other. They were both afraid of fighting."
"Before Sten Torstensson died he said something had been upsetting and worrying his father for several months," Wallander said. "Can you comment on that?"
This time she paused before answering.
"Maybe," she said. "Now that you mention it, there was something distant about him in the last months of his life."
"Have you any explanation for that?"
"No."
"Nothing unusual that happened?"
"No, nothing."
"Please think carefully. This could be very important."
She poured another cup of tea while she was thinking. Wallander waited. Then she looked up at him.
"I can't say," she said. "I can't explain it."
Wallander knew she was not telling the truth, but he decided not to press her. Everything was still too vague and uncertain. The time wasn't ripe.
He pushed his cup to one side and rose to his feet. "I won't disturb you any longer," he said. "But I'll be back, I'm afraid."
"Of course," Mrs Duner said.
"If you think of anything you'd like to say, just give me a ring," Wallander said as he left. "Don't hesitate. The slightest detail could be significant."
"I'll bear that in mind," she said as she closed the door behind him.
Wallander sat in his car without starting the engine. He felt very uneasy. Without being able to say exactly why, he had the feeling there was something very serious and disturbing behind the deaths of the two lawyers. They were still only scratching the surface.
Something is pointing us in the wrong direction, he thought. The postcard from Finland might not be a red herring, might be the thing we really ought to be looking into. But why?
He was about to start the engine and drive off when he noticed that somebody was standing on the opposite pavement, watching him.
It was a young woman, hardly more than 20, of some Asiatic origin. When she saw that Wallander had noticed her, she hurried away. Wallander could see in his rear-view mirror that she had turned right into Hamngatan without looking back.