“You can hardly be expected to think of everything yourself.”
“Any other details we should ignore?”
“No. We just need to proceed carefully and evaluate the events as they come up. Decide if they’re important or not.”
Nyberg rose to his feet, signaling the end of the conversation. He walked over to the sink to wash his plate. The last thing Wallander heard before leaving the lunchroom was Nyberg complaining about the old bristles on the brush.
Wallander continued to Hansson’s office. His door was open, and Wallander saw that he was busy filling in his tip sheets. Wallander knocked in order to give Hansson a moment to put them away before he walked in.
“I saw your note,” he said.
“The Mercedes van has turned up,” he said.
Wallander leaned against the doorjamb while Hansson searched through his growing piles of paper.
“I did like you said and went through the programs again yesterday. A small-car rental company in Malmö finally reported a stolen vehicle. A dark-blue Mercedes van which should have been returned on Wednesday.”
“What was the name it was rented under?”
“You’ll like this,” Hansson replied. “It was a man named Fu Cheng.”
“Who paid with American Express.”
“Exactly.”
Wallander nodded grimly.
“He must have given them a local address.”
“Hotel Saint Jörgen. But the rental company already checked with them and they have no record of a guest with that name.”
Wallander frowned.
“That’s strange. You would think this Fu Cheng wouldn’t run the risk of being exposed like that.”
“There’s a possible explanation,” Hansson said. “There was a man of Asian appearance who was staying at the Hotel Saint Jörgen, only his name was Andersen and he came from Denmark. But the rental company checked his description with the hotel personnel and are convinced it was the same man.”
“How did he pay for his room?”
“Cash.”
Wallander thought for a moment.
“He would have had to give them his home address.”
Hansson searched for another piece of paper in his pile. A tip sheet fell to the ground without his noticing and Wallander kindly ignored it.
“Here we go. Andersen gave them a street address in Vedbæk.”
“Has anyone checked it out?”
“The rental company has been extremely persistent. I guess the van was valuable. It turns out the street he wrote down doesn’t exist.”
“And that’s where the tracks stop,” Wallander said.
“The car hasn’t been found, either. Do we keep looking for it?”
Wallander didn’t take long to make up his mind.
“Hold off on that for now. You have more important things to do. We’ll get back to it.”
Hansson gestured toward the heaps of paper.
“I don’t know how we’re supposed to be able to get all this other work done at the same time.”
Wallander didn’t have the energy to be pulled into yet another discussion of chronic police understaffing.
“We’ll talk later,” he said and left. He cast a quick eye on the latest papers to have landed on his own desk, then grabbed his coat and got ready to go down to Runnerstrom Square to check out Alfredsson. He was curious how the encounter between him and Robert Modin would go.
But after he got behind the wheel, he did not immediately start up the engine. His thoughts went to his dinner with Elvira the night before. It was a long time since he had felt so good. He still had trouble believing that it was true. But Elvira Lindfeldt was real. She was no mirage.
He couldn’t resist the impulse to call her up. He took out his cell phone and quickly dialed the number he had already memorized. She picked up after the third ring. Although she said she was happy to hear from him, Wallander got the distinct impression that he had interrupted her. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he knew there was something there. A wave of unexpected jealousy came over him, but he kept it out of his voice.
“I wanted to thank you again for coming out here last night.”
“Oh, there’s no need to do that. But it’s sweet of you.”
“Was the drive home all right?”
“I almost ran over a rabbit. But apart from that it was fine.”
“I’m here in my office and I was trying to imagine what you do on Saturday mornings. But I must be disturbing you.”
“Not at all. I was in the middle of cleaning my apartment.”
“This is probably not a good time, so I won’t keep you. But I wonder if you have any time to get together later this weekend?”
“Tomorrow would be best for me. Could you call back later this afternoon?”
Wallander promised to do so.
Afterward, he sat and stared at the phone. He knew he had disturbed her. He could hear it in her voice. I’m imagining things, he thought. I once made that mistake with Baiba. I even went to Riga Without telling her in advance just to see if my suspicions were correct. But there wasn’t another man in her life. I ruas zurong.
He decided to take her at her word. She was in the middle of cleaning up, nothing more. When he called back later in the afternoon she would be back to normal.
Wallander drove down to Runnerström Square. He stayed in the car after turning off the engine, lost in thought until suddenly someone knocked on the windowpane. He jumped. It was Martinsson, who was smiling and holding up a bag of Danishes in his hand. Wallander felt almost happy to see him. Normally he would have talked to him about the events of the day. But he didn’t say anything. He just got out of the car.
“Were you napping?”
“I was thinking,” Wallander said curtly. “Is Alfredsson here?”
Martinsson laughed.
“The funny thing is, he actually looks like his namesake. But that’s just the surface. I don’t think he’s much of a comedian at heart.”
“Is Modin here as well?”
“I’ve arranged to pick him up at one o’clock.”
They walked across the street and up the stairs, where they paused.
“Alfredsson is a thorough sort,” Martinsson said. “I’m sure he’s very good. He’s still working his way through what we’ve done so far. His wife keeps calling every so often and chastizing him for not being at home.”
“I’m just going to say hello,” Wallander said. “Then I’ll leave you two alone until Modin gets here.”
“What was it he claimed to have done, by the way?”
“I don’t know exactly, but I think he said he had broken the rest of the codes.”
They walked in. Martinsson was right. Alfredsson bore an unnatural resemblance to the comedian. Wallander couldn’t help smiling a little. It lifted his mood, if only for the moment.
“We’re grateful you could come down here on such short notice,” Wallander said.
“I wasn’t aware of having a choice,” Alfredsson replied sourly.
“I’ve bought some Danishes,” Martinsson said. “That may help some.”
Wallander decided to leave immediately. It was only once Modin was in place that it would be worth his while.
“Call me when Modin gets here,” he said to Martinsson. “I’ll be back then.”
Alfredsson made an exclamation. He was sitting in front of the computer.
“There’s a letter to Falk,” he said.
Wallander and Martinsson walked over to take a look. A small cursor indicated that there was mail. Alfredsson retrieved it.
“It’s for you,” he said in a surprised tone of voice and looked at Wallander.
Wallander put on his glasses and read the brief message.
It was from Robert Modin.
They have traced me. I need help. Robert.