"It said 'Made in France' on the handle."
"I didn't notice that."
"The text on the one I saw in Lund was more obvious," Nyberg said. "I think we can excuse you."
"I may be wrong," Wallander said, "but I reckon the fact that this container was in Torstensson's car is remarkable. What was it doing there? Are you sure it was unused?"
"When I unscrewed the lid I could see that it was the first time it had been opened since it left the factory. Do you want me to explain how I knew?"
"It's enough to know that you're sure," Wallander said. "I wouldn't understand anyway."
"I can see you believe this container is important," Nyberg said, "but it's not unusual to find unexpected items in crashed cars."
"In this case we can't overlook a single detail," Wallander said.
"But we've never done that."
Wallander stood up. "Thank you for coming back," he said. "I'd like to know what the plastic container was used for sometime tomorrow."
They said goodnight outside the station. Wallander drove home and had a couple of sandwiches before going to bed. He couldn't sleep, and after tossing and turning for some time he got up again and went into the kitchen. He sat at the table without switching on the light. He felt uneasy and impatient. This investigation had too many loose ends. Even though they had decided on a way forward, he was still not convinced it was the right way. Had they overlooked something vital? He thought back to the day when Sten Torstensson came to see him on the Jutland coast. He could recall their conversation word for word. Even so, he wondered if he had missed the real message, whether there had been some other significance behind Sten's words.
It was gone 4.00 by the time he went back to bed. A wind had got up outside, and the temperature had plummeted. He shivered when he slid between the sheets. He did not think he had got anywhere. Nor had he succeeded in convincing himself that he would have to be patient. What he demanded of his colleagues was something he could not manage himself on this occasion.
When Wallander arrived at the station just before 8 a.m. there was a gale blowing. They told him in reception there were forecasts of hurricane-strength gusts before lunch. As he walked to his office he wondered if his father's house in Loderup would survive the winds. His conscience had been nagging him for some time over his failure to have the roof repaired, and there was a real risk that one violent storm would blow it right off. He sat at his desk thinking that he had better phone his father - he hadn't spoken to him since the fight at the off-licence. He was about to pick up the receiver when the phone rang.
"There's a call for you," Ebba said. "And have you noticed how strong the wind is?"
"I can console you with the news that it's going to get worse," Wallander said. "Who is it?"
"Farnholm Castle."
Wallander stretched out in his chair.
"Put them on," he said.
"It's a lady with a remarkable name," Ebba said. "She introduced herself as Jenny Lind."
"It sounds normal enough to me."
"I didn't say it was abnormal, I said it was remarkable. You must have heard of the Swedish Nightingale, the great singer Jenny Lind?"
"Put her through," Wallander said.
The voice he heard was that of a young woman. One more of all those secretaries, Wallander thought.
"Inspector Wallander?"
"Speaking."
"You were here the other day and expressed a wish to have an audience with Dr Harderberg."
"I don't do audiences," Wallander said in irritation. "I need to speak to him in connection with a murder investigation."
"I do realise that. We have received a telex this morning informing us that Dr Harderberg will be back home this afternoon and will be able to receive you tomorrow."
"Where did the telex come from?"
"Does that matter?"
"I wouldn't have asked otherwise," Wallander lied.
"Dr Harderberg is at the moment in Barcelona."
"I don't want to wait until tomorrow," Wallander said. "I need to talk to him as soon as possible. If he gets back to Sweden this afternoon he should be able to see me this evening."
"He has nothing in his diary for this evening," Lind said. "But I shall need to contact him in Barcelona before I can give you an answer."
"Do that if you wish," Wallander said. "Tell him he'll be receiving a visit from the Ystad police at 7 p.m."
"I'm afraid I can't agree to that. Dr Harderberg always decides on the time of visits himself."
"Not in this case," Wallander said. "We'll be there at 7.00."
"There will be someone else with you?"
"Yes."
"Could I ask for that person's name?"
"You may ask, but you won't get it. There will be another police officer from Ystad."
"I'll contact Dr Harderberg," Lind said. "You should be aware that he sometimes changes his plans at very short notice. He could be forced to go somewhere else before coming home."
"I can't allow that," Wallander said, fearing that he was far exceeding his authority in saying so.
"I must say you surprise me," Lind said. "Can a police officer really decide what Dr Harderberg does or doesn't do?"
Wallander continued to exceed his authority. "I have only to speak to a prosecutor - he can issue demands," Wallander said.
He realised his mistake even as he spoke. They had decided to tread carefully. Harderberg would be asked some questions, but as important as his answers was convincing him that their interest in him was purely routine. He tried to tone down what he had said.
"Dr Harderberg is suspected of nothing illegal, let me make that clear," he said. "It's just that we need to speak to him at the earliest possible moment, for reasons to do with our investigation. No doubt a prominent citizen like Dr Harderberg will be anxious to help the police solve a serious crime."
"I'll contact him," Lind repeated.
"Thank you for ringing," Wallander said and replaced the receiver.
A thought had struck him. With Ebba's help he tracked down Martinsson and asked him to come to his office.
"Harderberg has been in touch," he said. "He's in Barcelona, but on his way home. I thought of taking Ann-Britt with me and going to see him this evening."
"She's at home. Her kid's not well," Martinsson said. "She's just phoned."
"You can come instead, in that case," Wallander said.
"That's fine by me," Martinsson said. "I want to see that aquarium with gold dust for sand."
"There's another matter," Wallander said. "What do you know about aeroplanes?"
"Not a lot."
"I had a thought," Wallander said. "Harderberg has a private jet. A Gulfstream, whatever that is. It must be registered somewhere. There must be flight logs showing when he's out on his travels, and where he goes to."
"If nothing else he must have a few pilots," Martinsson said. "I'll look into it."
"Give that job to somebody else," Wallander said. "You've got more important things to do."
"Ann-Britt can do it from her phone at home," Martinsson said. "I think she'll be pleased to be doing something useful."
"She could develop into a good police officer."
"Let's hope so," Martinsson said. "But to tell you the truth, we have no way of knowing. All we know is that she did well at college."
"You're right," Wallander said. "It's awfully hard to imitate reality at a college."
After Martinsson had left, Wallander sat down to prepare for the meeting at 9.00. When he had woken that morning, all the thoughts he had had during the night about the loose ends of the investigation were still in the forefront of his mind. He had decided they would have to write off anything they judged to be of no immediate relevance to the investigation. If eventually they concluded that the route they had decided on was a cul-de-sac, they could always go back to the loose ends. But only then could the loose ends be allowed to occupy their attention.