He was back in Ystad at half past ten. During the trip back he had an easier time thinking about what now awaited him. The meeting with Linda had given him new energy. The broadest possible approach, he said to himself. That's the way we have to proceed. He stopped on the outskirts of Ystad and ate a hamburger, promising himself it would be the last one of the year. When he walked into the reception area, Ebba called out to him. She looked a little tense.
'Björk wants to talk to you,' she said.
Wallander hung his coat up in his office, then walked to Björk's room. He was let in at once. Björk stood up behind his desk.
'I have to express my great dismay,' he said.
'With what?'
'That you go to Malmö on personal business when we are in the midst of a difficult murder case, one that you moreover are in charge of.'
Wallander could not believe his ears. Björk was actually reprimanding him. That had never happened before, even if Björk had often had ample reason to do so on previous occasions. Wallander thought about all the times that he had acted too independently during an investigation, without informing the others.
'This is extremely unfortunate,' Björk concluded. 'There will be no formal reprimand. But it was, as I said, a show of poor judgement.'
Wallander stared at Björk. Then he made an about-face and left without saying a word. But when he was halfway back to his office, he turned and walked back, pulling open the door to Björk's office and saying, through clenched teeth:
'I'm not going to take any shit from you. Just so you know. Give me a formal reprimand if you want. But don't stand there talking nonsense. I won't take it.'
Then he left. He noticed that he was sweating. But he didn't regret it. The outburst had been necessary. And he was not at all worried about the consequences. His position at the station was strong.
He got a cup of coffee in the break room and then sat down at his desk. He knew that Björk had gone to Stockholm to take a leadership course of some kind. He had probably learned he should scold his colleagues from time to time in order to improve the climate of the workplace, Wallander thought. But if so, he had chosen the wrong person to start with.
Then he wondered who had passed on the fact that Wallander had spent the morning driving his father to Malmö.
There were several possibilities. Wallander could not recall to whom he had mentioned his father's impending trip to Egypt.
The only thing he was sure of was that it was not Rydberg. The latter regarded Björk as a necessary administrative evil. Hardly anything more. And he was always loyal to those he worked with. His loyalty would never be corrupted, though of course he would not spare his colleagues if they acted irresponsibly. Then Rydberg would be the first to react.
Wallander was interrupted in this train of thought by Martinsson, who looked in.
'Is this a good time?'
Wallander nodded at his visitor's chair.
They began by talking about the fire and the murder of the Eberhardsson sisters. But Wallander soon realised that Martinsson had come in about something different.
'It's about the plane,' he said. 'Our Sjöbo colleagues have worked quickly. They've located an area just south-west of the village where lights were allegedly observed that night. From what I gather, it's a nonresidential area. That could also corroborate the idea of an air drop.'
'You mean that the lights would have been guiding lights?'
'That is one possibility. There's also a myriad of small roads through that area. Easy to get to, easy to leave.'
'That strengthens our theory,' Wallander said.
'I have more,' Martinsson went on. 'The Sjöbo team has been diligent. They've checked to see who actually lives in that area. Most of them are farmers, of course, but they found one exception.'
Wallander sharpened his attention.
'A farm called Långelunda,' Martinsson said. 'For a couple of years it's been a haven for a variety of people who have caused problems for the Sjöbo police from time to time. People have moved in and out, the ownership has been unclear and there have been drug seizures. Not great quantities, but still.'
Martinsson scratched his forehead.
'The colleague I spoke with, Göran Brunberg, gave me a few names. I wasn't paying that much attention, but when I hung up I started thinking. There was one name I thought I recognised. From a case we had recently.'
Wallander sat up.
'You don't mean that Yngve Leonard Holm lives up there? That he has a place there?'
Martinsson nodded.
'He's the one. It took a while for me to put it together.'
Damn it, Wallander thought. I knew there was something about him. I even thought of the plane. But we had to let him go.
'We'll bring him in,' Wallander said and banged a fist firmly on his desk.
'That was exactly what I told our Sjöbo colleagues when I made the connection,' Martinsson said. 'But when they got out to Långelunda, Holm was gone.'
'What do you mean, "gone"?'
'Disappeared, gone, vanished. He did live there, even if he was registered in Ystad for the last couple of years. And built his mansion here. The Sjöbo colleagues talked to a couple of other individuals living there. Rough types, from what I gather. Holm was there as recently as yesterday. But no one has seen him since then. I went to his house here in Ystad, but it's locked up.'
Wallander thought it over.
'So Holm doesn't usually disappear like this?'
'The people in the house actually seemed a little concerned.'
'In other words, there could be a connection,' Wallander said.
'I was thinking that Holm may have been intending to leave on the plane that crashed.'
'Not likely,' Wallander said. 'Then you're assuming the plane had somewhere to land and pick him up. And the Sjöbo police haven't found any place like that, have they? An improvised landing strip? It would also exceed the time frame.'
'A sport plane with a skilled pilot may only need a small level area to land and take off from.'
Wallander hesitated. Martinsson could be right, even though Wallander doubted this was the case. On the other hand, he had no difficulty imagining that Holm could be involved in decidedly larger drug operations than they had believed.
'We'll have to continue working on this,' Wallander said. 'Unfortunately, you'll be more or less alone on it. The rest of us have to focus on the murdered sisters.'
'Have you found a possible motive?'
'We have nothing other than an incomprehensible execution and an explosive fire,' Wallander replied. 'But if there's anything to be found in the remains of the fire, Nyberg will get it.'
Martinsson left. Wallander noticed that his thoughts were alternating between the downed plane and the fire. It was two o'clock. His father would have landed in Cairo by now, if the plane had left on time from Kastrup. Then he thought about Björk's strange behaviour. He felt himself getting upset again and at the same time felt pleased that he had given his boss a piece of his mind.
Since he was having trouble concentrating on his paperwork he drove down to the scene of the fire. Nyberg was on his knees in the rubble together with the other technicians. The smell of smoke was still strong. Nyberg saw Wallander and made his way out onto the street.
'The fire burned with an intense heat, according to Edler's people,' he said. 'Everything appears to have melted. And that of course strengthens the suspicion of arson, about a fire started in several places at once. Perhaps with the help of petrol.'