The painful silence, he thought. That's what's enveloping me, and there is one more conclusion to draw, perhaps the most vital one of all. For it means we have made a breakthrough in this awful case, we have found a point around which we can all gather and say: this is our starting point. It might not take us to the Holy Grail, but it might lead to something else that we need to find.
The chronology was right, he thought. It started with that muddy field where Gustaf Torstensson met his end almost a month ago. Everything else, including the execution of his son, must derive from what happened that night, when he was on his way home from Farnholm Castle. We know that now, which means we now know what we should be doing.
He bent to retrieve his telephone. The emergency number for the Malmö police was staring him in the face. He switched the phone off and established that it had not been damaged by the blast or by being dropped on the road.
The fire engine had arrived. He watched as they put out the flames, covering the car with white foam. Nyberg appeared at his side. Wallander could see that he was sweating and afraid.
"That was a close call," he said.
"Yes," Wallander said. "But not close enough."
Nyberg looked at him in surprise.
At that moment a senior officer from the Malmö police came up to Wallander. They had met before but Wallander could not remember the man's name.
"I gather it was your car that got torched," he said. "Rumour had it you'd left the force. But you come back, and your car gets burned out."
Wallander was not sure if the man was being ironic, but he decided he wasn't, that it was a natural reaction. At the same time he wanted to ensure that there were no misunderstandings.
"I was on my way home with a colleague," he said.
"Ann-Britt Höglund," said the man from Malmö. "I've just spoken to her. She passed me on to you."
Well done, Wallander thought. The fewer people who comment, the easier it is to keep the thing under control. She's learning fast.
"I had the feeling something wasn't as it should be," Wallander said. "We stopped and got out. I phoned my colleague Nyberg here. The car blew up almost as soon as he got here."
The high-up from Malmö eyed him sceptically. "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 7.00," 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 bristle 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 sort out first.
Björk slapped his hands down on the table and looked round 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 on earth I should say because I haven't the slightest idea what's going on. What's 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 being going on. But the fact is that I'm a good deal 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 registration numbers. Martinsson gets on the trail of those numbers. While Ann-Britt and I are talking to Mr and Mrs Forsdahl, who used to run the Linden Hotel that's closed down now, somebody plants explosives in our petrol 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 noticed straight away 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 offices. 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 solicitors' 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 it's 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 fetched another cup of coffee and went back to his office to work out what to do next. Nyberg stuck his head round 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 have a go."
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 straight to the point.
"Can you get hold of a car for me, please? I have to go to Malmö in a few minutes. Then I'd like you to phone Farnholm Castle and get them to send me a copy of their overview of Alfred Harderberg's business empire. I did have a file but it got burned up in the car."
"I'd better not tell them that," Ebba said.
"Maybe not. But I need that file as quickly as they can manage it."
He hung up. Then a thought struck him. He went down the corridor to Svedberg's office, and found him just starting to go through Martinsson's notes about the cars from the previous night.
"Kurt Ström," he said. "Does that name mean anything to you?"
Svedberg thought for a moment. "A police officer in Malmö? Or am I wrong?"
"That's right," Wallander said. "I'd like you to do something for me when you've finished with the cars. Ström left the force many years ago. There was a rumour that he resigned before he was sacked. Try and find out what happened. Be discreet."
Svedberg made a note of the name. "Might I ask why? Has it anything to do with the solicitors? The car that got blown up? The mine in the garden?"
"Everything has to do with that," Wallander said. "Ström is working now as top security guard at Farnholm Castle. Gustaf Torstensson had been there the night he died."
"I'll look into it" Svedberg said.
Wallander went back to his office and sat down at his desk. He was very tired. He didn't even have the strength to think about how close he and Höglund had been to getting killed. Later, he thought. Not now. Borman dead is more important just now than Wallander alive.
He looked up the Malmöhus County Offices in the phone book. He knew from past experience that it was located in Lund. He dialled the number and got a reply immediately. He asked the operator to put him through to one of the bosses in the finance department.
"They're not available today," the operator said.
"There must be somebody available, surely?"
"They're in a budget meeting all day," the girl explained patiently.
"Where?"
"At the conference centre in Höör," the girl said. "But there's no point in phoning there."
"What's the name of the man in charge of auditing? Is he there as well?"
"His name's Thomas Rundstedt," the girl said. "Yes, he's in Hoor too. Perhaps you could try again tomorrow?"
"Many thanks for your help," Wallander said, and hung up.
He had no intention of waiting until the next day. He fetched yet another cup of coffee and thought through all he knew about Lars Borman. He was interrupted by Ebba who called to say there was a car waiting for him outside the police station.
It was 9.15. A clear autumn day, blue skies, and Wallander noted that the wind had died down. He found himself looking forward to his drive.
It was just turning 10.00 when he drove up to the conference centre near Höör. He parked the car and went to reception. A notice on a blackboard and easel informed him that the big conference hall was occupied by the County Offices Budget Conference. A red-haired man behind the desk gave Wallander a friendly smile.
"I'm trying to get hold of some people taking part in the budget conference," he said.
"They've just had their coffee break," the receptionist replied. "They'll be in session now right through until lunch at 12.30. I'm afraid it's not possible to disturb them before then."
Wallander produced his police ID. "I'm afraid it's sometimes necessary to disturb people," he said. "I'll write a note for you to take in."
He pulled over a notepad and started writing.
"Has something happened?" the receptionist said, sounding worried.
"Nothing too serious. But it can't wait, I'm afraid." He tore off the page. "It's for a man called Thomas Rundstedt, the chief auditor," he said. "I'll wait here."
The receptionist went out. Wallander yawned. He felt hungry. He could see a dining room through a half-open door. He went to investigate. There was a plate of cheese sandwiches standing on a table. He took one and ate it. Then another. Then he went back to the sofa in reception.
It was another five minutes before the receptionist reappeared. He was accompanied by a man Wallander assumed was the person he was looking for, Mr Rundstedt.
The man was tall and broad-shouldered. It occurred to Wallander that he had always thought accountants were short and thin. The man facing him could have been a boxer. He was also bald, and eyed Wallander up and down suspiciously.
"My name's Kurt Wallander and I'm a detective inspector with the Ystad police," he said, reaching out his hand. "I take it you're Thomas Rundstedt and Auditor-in-Chief at the Malmöhus County Offices."
The man nodded abruptly. "What's this all about?" he said. "We specifically asked not to be disturbed. The financial affairs of the County Offices are not to be trifled with. Especially just now."
"I'm sure they're not," Wallander said. "I won't keep you long. Does the name Lars Borman mean anything to you?"
Rundstedt raised his eyebrows in surprise. "That was before my time," he said. "Borman was an accountant at the County Offices, but he's dead. I've only been working there for six months."
Shit, Wallander thought. I've come here for nothing.
"Was there anything else?" Rundstedt said. "Who did you replace?" Wallander asked. "Martin Oscarsson," Rundstedt said. "He retired." "And he was Lars Borman's boss?" "Yes."
"Where can I get hold of him?"
"He lives in Limhamn. On the Sound. In Möllevägen. I can't remember the number. I assume he'll be in the phone book."
"That's all, thank you very much," Wallander said. "I apologise for disturbing you. Do you know how Borman died, by the way?"
"They say it was suicide," Rundstedt said.
"Good luck with the budget," Wallander said. "Will you be putting the council tax up?"
"Who knows?" Rundstedt said, and went back to his meeting.
Wallander waved a salute to the receptionist and went back to his car. He phoned Directory Enquiries and wrote down Martin Oscarsson's address, Möllevägen 32.
He was there before noon.
The house was stone-built, around the turn of the century - it said 1912 over the big entrance. He went through the gate and rang the bell. The door was opened by an old man in a tracksuit. Wallander explained who he was, showed his ID and was invited in. In contrast to the dreary facade, the house inside was filled with light-coloured furniture, had pretty curtains in pastel shades, and large,
uncluttered spaces. Music could be heard from another room. Wallander thought he recognised the voice of Ernst Rolf, the popular variety artist. Oscarsson showed him into the living room and asked if Wallander might like a cup of coffee. He declined.
"I've come to talk to you about Lars Borman," he said. "I was given your name by Thomas Rundstedt. About a year ago, shortly before you retired, Borman died. The official explanation was suicide."
"Why do you want to talk about Lars Borman?" Oscarsson said, and Wallander noted the unfriendly tone in his voice.
"His name has cropped up in a criminal investigation we're dealing with," Wallander said.
"What sort of criminal investigation?"
Wallander decided that he might as well not beat about the bush.
"You'll have seen in the newspapers that a solicitor in Ystad was murdered a few days ago," he said. "The questions I need to ask are about Borman's connection with that investigation."
Oscarsson stared at him for some time before replying. "Although I'm an old man, tired but perhaps not yet quite finished, I admit to being curious. I'll answer your questions, if I can."
"Borman was an accountant at the County Offices," Wallander said. "What exactly did he do? And how long had he been working there?"
"An accountant is an accountant," Oscarsson said. "The job title tells you what he did. He kept the books, in this case the County Council books. He checked that all the regulations were being observed, that budgets laid down by the appropriate authority were not exceeded. He also checked to make sure people were paid what they should be paid. You have to remember that a county office is like a large business, or rather an industrial empire associated with a small duchy. Its main responsibility is health spending, but it oversees a lot of other things as well. Education, culture, and so on. Borman wasn't our only accountant, of course. He came to the County Offices from the municipal corporation at the beginning of the '8os."