"I don't know if I have any identification papers you would regard as acceptable," he said, "but the guard who goes by the name of Strom recognised me."
"I know," said the woman.
It was not the woman who'd answered the phone when he rang from the cafe. He went up the steps, held out his hand and introduced himself. She ignored his hand but simply reproduced the same distant smile. He followed her in through the doors. They walked across a large entrance hall. Modernistic sculptures on stone pedestals were dotted around, illuminated by invisible spotlights. In the background, by the wide staircase leading to the upper floor, he detected two men lurking in the shadows. Wallander could sense their presence, but could not make out their faces. Tranquillity and shadows, he thought. The world of Harderberg, as I know it so far. He followed her through a door on the left, leading into a large oval room that was also decorated with sculptures. But as a reminder of the fact that they were in a castle with a history going back deep into the Middle Ages, there were also some suits of armour keeping watch over him. In the centre of the highly polished oak parquet floor was a desk and a single visitor's chair. There was no paper on the desk, only a computer and an advanced telephone exchange that was hardly any bigger than an ordinary telephone. The woman invited him to sit down, then keyed a command into the computer. She handed him a sheet from a printer invisible somewhere under the desk.
"I gather you wanted a printout of the gate-control data for the evening of October 11," the woman said. "You can see from this when Mr Torstensson arrived, and when he left Farnholm."
Wallander took the printout and put it on the floor beside him.
"That's not the only reason why I've come," he said. "I have several other questions."
"Fire away."
The woman had sat down behind the desk. She pressed various buttons on the telephone exchange. Wallander assumed she was switching all incoming calls to another exchange somewhere in the huge building.
"The information I've received informs me that Gustaf Torstensson had Alfred Harderberg as a client," Wallander said. "If I understand it rightly, he's out of the country at present."
"He's in Dubai," the woman said.
Wallander frowned. "An hour ago he was in Geneva," he said.
"That's right," the woman said without batting an eyelid. "But he's now left for Dubai."
Wallander took a notebook and pencil from his jacket pocket.
"May I ask your name and what you do here?"
"I'm one of Alfred Harderberg's secretaries," she said. "My name's Anita Karlen."
"Does Mr Harderberg have many secretaries?" Wallander wondered.
"That depends on how you look at it," Anita Karlen replied. "Is that really relevant?"
Once again Wallander started to get annoyed at the way in which he was being treated. He decided he would have to change his approach if the whole visit to Farnholm were not to be a waste of time.
"I shall decide if the question is relevant or not," he said. "Farnholm Castle is a private property and you have a legal right to surround it with as many fences as you like, as high as you like. Provided you have planning permission and are not contravening any laws or regulations. You also have the right to deny entry to whoever you like. With one exception: the police. Is that understood?"
"We haven't denied you entry, Mr Wallander," she said, still without batting an eyelid.
"Let me express myself more clearly," Wallander said, noting that the woman's indifference was making him feel insecure. Perhaps he was also distracted by the fact that she was strikingly beautiful.
Just as he opened his mouth to continue, a door opened and a woman came in with a tray. To his surprise Wallander saw that she was black. Without saying a word she put the tray down on the desk, then disappeared again just as noiselessly as she'd appeared.
"Would you like a cup of coffee, Mr Wallander?"
He said he would. She poured and then handed him the cup and saucer. He examined the china.
"Let me ask you a question that's relevant," he said. "What will happen if I drop this cup on the floor? How much will I owe you?"
For the first time her smile seemed genuine.
"Everything's insured, of course," she said. "But that's a classic Rorstrand special edition."
Wallander put the cup and saucer gingerly down by the side of the printout on the oak parquet floor, and started again.
"I'll express myself very precisely," he said. "That same evening, October 11, barely an hour after Mr Torstensson had been here, he died in a car accident."
"We sent flowers to the funeral," she said. "One of my colleagues attended the service."
"But not Alfred Harderberg, of course?"
"My employer avoids appearing in public whenever possible."
"I've gathered that," Wallander said. "But the fact is that we've reason to believe this wasn't in fact a car accident. Many things suggest Mr Torstensson was murdered. And to make matters worse, his son was shot dead in his office a few weeks later. Perhaps you sent flowers to his funeral as well?"
She stared at him uncomprehendingly.
"We only dealt with Gustaf Torstensson," she said.
Wallander nodded, and went on: "Now you know why I've come. And you still haven't told me how many secretaries there are working here."
"And you haven't understood that it depends on how you look at it, Inspector Wallander," she said.
"I'm all ears."
"Here at Farnholm Castle there are three secretaries," she said. "Then there are two more who accompany him on his travels. In addition Dr Harderberg has secretaries stationed in various places around the world. The number can vary, but it's rarely fewer than six."
"I make it eleven," Wallander said.
She agreed.
"You referred to your employer as Dr Harderberg," Wallander said.
"He has several honorary doctorates," she said. "You can have a list if you'd like one."
"Yes, I would," Wallander said. "I also want an overview of Dr Harderberg's business empire. But you can let me have that later. What I want now is to know what happened that evening when Gustaf Torstensson was here for the last time. Which one of all those secretaries can tell me that?"
"I was on duty that evening."
Wallander thought for a moment. "That's why you're here," he said. "That's why you are receiving me. But what would have happened if this had been your day off? You couldn't know the police were going to come this day of all days."
"Of course not."
Even as he spoke Wallander realised he was wrong. And he also realised how it would be possible for people at Farnholm Castle to know. The thought worried him. He had to force himself to concentrate before continuing.
"What happened that evening?" he asked.
"Mr Torstensson arrived shortly after 7 p.m. He had a private conversation with Dr Harderberg and some of his closest colleagues, lasting an hour. Then he had a cup of tea. He left Farnholm at exactly 8.14."
"What did they talk about that evening?"
"I can't answer that."
"But you said a moment ago that you were on duty."
"It was a conversation with no secretary present. No notes were taken."
"Who were the colleagues?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"You said Mr Torstensson had a private conversation with Dr Harderberg and some of his closest colleagues."
"I can't answer that."
"Because you're not allowed to?"
"Because I don't know."
"Don't know what?"
"Who those colleagues were. I'd never seen them before. They had arrived that day and they left the following day."
Wallander didn't know what to ask next. It seemed as if all the answers he was getting were peripheral. He decided to approach matters from a different angle.