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 work 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 count 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 realized he was wrong. And he also realized 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.
“You said a moment ago that Dr. Harderberg has eleven secretaries. May I ask how many lawyers he has?”
“Presumably at least as many.”
“But you’re not allowed to say exactly how many?”
“I don’t know.”
Wallander nodded. He could see he was entering another cul-de-sac.
“How long had Mr. Torstensson been working for Dr. Harderberg?”
“Ever since he bought Farnholm Castle and made it his headquarters. About five years ago.”
“Mr. Torstensson worked as a lawyer in Ystad all his life,” said Wallander. “All of a sudden he’s considered to be qualified to advise on international business matters. Doesn’t that seem a little remarkable?”
“That’s something you’ll have to ask Dr. Harderberg.”
Wallander closed his notebook. “Absolutely right,” he said. “I’d like you to send him a message, whether he’s in Geneva or Dubai or wherever, and inform him that Inspector Wallander wants to talk to him as soon as possible. The day he gets back here, in other words.”
He stood up and gingerly placed the cup and saucer on the desk.
“The Ystad police don’t have eleven secretaries,” he said, “but our receptionists are pretty efficient. You can leave a message with them saying when he can see me.”
He followed her out into the hall. Next to the front door, lying on a marble table, was a thick leather-bound file.
“Here’s the overview of Dr. Harderberg’s business affairs you asked for,” Anita Karlén said.
Somebody’s been listening in, Wallander thought. Somebody’s overheard the whole of our conversation. Presumably a transcript is already on its way to Harderberg, wherever he is. In case he’s interested. Which I doubt.
“Don’t forget to stress that it’s urgent,” Wallander said. This time Anita Karlén did shake hands with him.
Wallander glanced at the big unlit staircase, but the shadows had gone.
The sky had cleared. He got into his car. Anita Karlén was standing on the steps, her hair fluttering in the wind. As he drove off he could see her in his rearview mirror, still on the steps, watching him. This time he didn’t need to stop at the gates, which started opening as he approached. There was no sign of Kurt Ström. The gates closed automatically behind him, and he drove slowly back to Ystad. It was only three days since he’d suddenly made up his mind to return to work, but even so, it seemed like a long time. As if he were on his way somewhere while his memories raced away at an enormous pace in an entirely different direction.
Just after the turnoff onto the main highway there was a dead hare lying on the road. He drove around it, and thought how he was still no nearer to finding out what had happened to Gustaf Torstensson or his son. It seemed to him highly unlikely that he would find any connection between the dead lawyers and the people in the castle behind that double fence. Nevertheless, he would go through that leather file before the day was over, and try to get some idea of Alfred Harderberg’s business empire.
His car phone started ringing. He picked it up and heard Svedberg’s voice.
“Svedberg here,” he shouted. “Where are you?”
“Forty minutes from Ystad.”
“Martinsson said you were going to Farnholm Castle.”
“I’ve been there. Drew a blank.”
The conversation was cut off by interference for a few seconds. Then Svedberg’s voice returned.
“Berta Dunér phoned and asked for you,” he said. “She was anxious for you to get in touch with her right away.”
“Why?”
“She didn’t say.”
“If you give me her number I’ll give her a call.”
“It would be better if you just drove there. She seemed very insistent.”
Wallander glanced at the clock. It was 8:45 already.
“What happened at the meeting this morning?”
“Nothing special.”
“I’ll drive straight to her place when I get back to Ystad,” Wallander said.
“Do that,” Svedberg said.
Wallander wondered what Mrs. Dunér wanted that was so urgent. He could feel himself growing tense, and increased his speed.
At 9:25 he parked haphazardly across the street from the pink house. He hurried across the street and rang her bell. The moment she opened the door he could see something was amiss. She looked to be in shock.
“You’ve been asking for me,” he said.
She nodded and ushered him in. He was about to take off his shoes when she grasped his arm and dragged him into the living room that overlooked her little garden. She pointed.
“Somebody’s been there during the night,” she said.
She looked really frightened. Something of her anxiety rubbed off on Wallander. He stood at the French windows and examined the lawn: the flower beds, dug over in preparation for winter, the climbers on the whitewashed wall between Mrs. Dunér’s garden and her neighbor’s.