“I had the feeling something wasn’t as it should be,” Wallander said. “We stopped and got out. I called my colleague Nyberg here. The car blew up almost as soon as he got here.”
The senior officer from Malmö eyed him skeptically. “This is the official version, I assume,” he said.
“Well, the car will have to be examined,” Wallander said. “But nobody’s been hurt. For the moment you can report just what I said. I’ll ask Björk to get in touch with you—he’s the chief of police in Ystad. Forgive me, but I’m afraid I can’t remember your name.”
“Roslund.”
Wallander remembered.
“We’ll cordon the scene off,” Roslund said. “I’ll leave a car here.”
Wallander checked his watch. It was 4:15.
“I think it’s time for us to go home to bed.”
They all got into Nyberg’s car. Nobody had anything to say. They dropped Höglund outside her house, then Nyberg drove Wallander home to Mariagatan.
“We’ll have to get to grips with this a few hours from now,” Wallander said before getting out. “We can’t put it off.”
“I’ll be at the station by seven,” Nyberg said.
“Eight will be soon enough. Thanks for your help.”
Wallander had a quick shower, then stretched himself out between the sheets. He was still awake at 6:00. He got up again shortly before 7:00. He knew it was going to be a long day. He wondered how he would cope.
Thursday, November 4, began with a sensation.
Björk came to work unshaven. This had never happened before. But when the door of the conference room was closed at 8:05, everybody could see that Björk had more stubble than anybody could have imagined. Wallander knew that he was still not going to have the opportunity to talk to Björk about what had happened before his visit to Farnholm Castle. But it could wait: they had more important things to figure out first.
Björk slapped his hands down on the table and looked around the room.
“What’s going on?” he demanded to know. “I get a phone call at 5:30 in the morning from a senior officer in Malmö who wants to know if they should send their own forensic people to examine Inspector Wallander’s burned-out car that’s standing near Svedala on the E65, or were we going to send Nyberg and his team? There I am in my kitchen, it’s 5:30 in the morning, wondering what in the world I should say because I haven’t the slightest idea what’s going on. What happened? Has Kurt been injured or even killed in a crash that ended with his car going up in flames? I know nothing at all. But Roslund from Malmö is a sensible man who is able to fill me in. I am grateful to be told roughly what’s been going on. But the fact is that I’m mostly in the dark.”
“We have a double murder to solve,” Wallander said. “We have an attempted murder on Mrs. Dunér to keep us occupied. Until yesterday we had next to nothing to go on. The investigation was up against a brick wall, we all agree on that, I think. Then we hear about these threatening letters. We discover a name and a link with a hotel in Helsingborg. Ann-Britt and I go there to investigate. That could have waited until today, I admit. We pay a visit to some people who knew Borman. They are able to supply us with useful information. On the way to Helsingborg, Ann-Britt notices that we’re being followed. When we get to Helsingborg we stop, and manage to get one or two relevant license plate numbers. Martinsson starts tracking down those numbers. While Ann-Britt and I are talking to Mr. and Mrs. Forsdahl, who used to run the Linden Hotel, which is closed down now, somebody plants explosives in our gas tank. Purely by chance, on the way home I get suspicious. I get Martinsson to phone Nyberg. Shortly after he gets there the car blows up. Nobody is hurt. This happens outside Svedala, in the Malmö police district. That’s what happened.”
Nobody spoke when Wallander finished. It seemed to him he might just as well continue. He could give them the whole picture, everything he had thought about as he stood there in the road while his car was burning before his very eyes.
The moment of painful silence.
Also the moment of clarity.
He reported scrupulously on his thoughts, and immediately noticed that his deductions won the meeting’s approval. His colleagues were experienced police officers. They could distinguish between sensible theories, and a fantastic but nevertheless plausible series of events.
“I can see three lines of attack,” Wallander said in conclusion. “We can concentrate on Gustaf Torstensson and his clients. We must delve deeply but rapidly into just what he was up to those last five years while he devoted himself more or less exclusively to financial advice and similar matters. But to save time we should start off with the last three years during which time, according to Mrs. Dunér, he started to change. I would also like somebody to have a word with the Asian woman who cleans the office. Mrs. Dunér has her address. She might have seen or heard something.”
“Does she speak Swedish?” Svedberg said.
“If not we’ll have to arrange for an interpreter,” Wallander said.
“I’ll talk to her,” Höglund said.
Wallander took a sip of his cold coffee before going on. “The second line of attack is Lars Borman. I have a suspicion that he can still be of help to us, even though he’s dead.”
“We’ll need the support of our colleagues in Malmö,” Björk said. “Klagshamn is in their territory.”
“I would rather not,” Wallander said. “It would be quicker to deal with it ourselves. As you keep pointing out, there are all kinds of administrative problems when police officers from different districts try to help each other.”
While Björk pondered his response, Wallander took the opportunity to finish what he had to say. “The third line is to find out who’s following us. Perhaps I should ask whether anybody else has had a car trailing them?”
Martinsson and Svedberg shook their heads.
“There’s every reason for you to keep your eyes peeled,” Wallander said. “I could be wrong, it might not just be me they’re after.”
“Mrs. Dunér is being guarded,” Martinsson said. “And in my view you ought to be as well.”
“No,” Wallander said. “That’s not necessary.”
“I can’t go along with that,” Björk said firmly. “In the first place you must never go out on duty alone. And furthermore you must be armed.”
“Never,” Wallander said.
“You’ll do as I say,” Björk said.
Wallander didn’t bother to argue. He knew what he was going to do anyway.
They divided the work between them. Martinsson and Höglund would go to the lawyers’ offices and begin sifting through the Gustaf Torstensson files. Svedberg would do a thorough search into the cars that had been following them to Helsingborg. Wallander would concentrate on Borman.
“For some days now I have had the feeling that this is all very urgent,” he said. “I don’t know why. But let’s get a move on.”
The meeting broke up and they went their different ways. Wallander could sense the resolve in everybody’s attitude, and he noted that Höglund was coping well with her exhaustion.
He got another cup of coffee and went back to his office to work out what to do next. Nyberg stuck his head in the door and announced that he was about to set off for the burned-out car at Svedala.
“I take it you want me to see if there’s any similarity to the explosion in Mrs. Dunér’s garden,” he said.
“Yes,” Wallander said.
“I don’t expect to be able to establish that,” Nyberg said, “but I’ll give it a try.”
Nyberg went on his way and Wallander called reception.
“It’s awful, these terrible things happening,” Ebba said.
“Nobody was hurt,” Wallander said. “That’s the main thing.” He came raight to the point.