"Not such a bad idea in fact," Svedberg said, scratching his head ruminatively.
Wallander looked round the room.
"Alfred Harderberg has phoned," he said. "I'm going to Farnholm Castle this evening and taking Martinsson with me. There's a slight possibility that his travel plans may change, but I've made it clear that he cannot count on our unlimited patience."
"Mightn't that make him suspicious?" Svedberg said.
"I've stressed that it's a routine inquiry," Wallander said. "He was the one Gustaf Torstensson had been to see the night he died."
"It's about time," Martinsson said. "But we'd better think pretty carefully about what we're going to say to him."
"We've got all day to do that," Wallander said.
"Where has he been this time?" Svedberg wanted to know.
"Barcelona."
"He owns a lot of property in Barcelona," Svedberg said. "He also has an interest in a holiday village under construction near Marbella. All through a company called Casaco. I've seen the share brochures somewhere. I rather think the whole thing's run by a bank in Macao. Wherever that is."
"I don't know," Wallander said, "but it's not important just now."
"It's south of Hong Kong," Martinsson said. "Didn't anybody do geography at school?"
Wallander poured himself a glass of water and the meeting proceeded on its usual course. They took it in turns to report on what they had been doing since the last time they had met, each one concentrating on their allocated field. Martinsson passed on some messages he had received from Hoglund. The most important of which was that she was going the following day to meet Borman's children, and also his widow who was over from Spain on a visit. Wallander started by reporting on the plastic container. He soon saw that his colleagues could not make out why that particular detail should be so significant. Perhaps that's no bad thing, he thought. It might help me scale down my own expectations.
After half an hour or so the discussion became more general. Everybody agreed with Wallander that loose ends not directly linked with Farnholm Castle should be left dangling for the time being.
"We're still waiting to hear what the fraud squads in Stockholm and Malmo have to say," Wallander said as he drew the meeting to a close. "What we can say for now is that Gustaf and Sten Torstensson were killed for reasons which we have not yet identified. I incline towards robbery rather than revenge. Obviously we have to be prepared to continue investigating all their clients if the Farnholm lead goes cold, but for the moment we have to concentrate on Harderberg and Borman. Let's hope Ann-Britt can squeeze something important out of the widow and the children."
"Do you think she can handle it?" Svedberg said.
"Why ever not?"
"Let's face it, she's not very experienced," Svedberg said. "I was only asking."
"I have no doubt she will cope in exemplary fashion," Wallander said. "If there's nothing else, the meeting is closed."
Wallander went back to his office. He stood for a while looking out of the window, his mind a blank. Then he sat at his desk yet again and went through the material he had on Harderberg and his business empire. He had read most of it before, but he went through it one more time with a fine-tooth comb. There was a lot he did not understand. The most complicated commercial transactions - the way in which a company melted away and became something different, and the complex business of shares and bonds - made him feel that he was entering a world he could not begin to comprehend. Occasionally he broke off to try to get hold of Nyberg, but he had no luck. He gave lunch a miss, and did not leave the station until 3.30. There had been no word from Nyberg, and that was strange. Wallander began to accept that he would not know what that plastic container had been used for until after he had been to Farnholm Castle. He struggled through the gale as far as Stortorget and ordered a kebab. He was thinking all the time about Harderberg.
When he got back to the police station there was a note on his desk saying that someone in the office at Farnholm Castle had phoned and Dr Harderberg would expect him at 7.30 p.m. He went to look for Martinsson. They needed to prepare themselves, go through the questions they were going to ask, and which ones they would save for the time being. In the corridor he bumped into Svedberg, who was on his way out.
"Martinsson wants you to phone him at home," Svedberg said. "He left some time ago. I don't know why."
Wallander went back to his room and dialled Martinsson's number.
"I have to cry off, I'm afraid," Martinsson said. "My wife's ill. I haven't been able to find a babysitter. Can you take Svedberg instead?"
"He's just left," Wallander said. "I've no idea where he's going."
"I'm sorry about this," Martinsson said.
"Don't worry, of course you have to stay at home," Wallander said. "I'll find a solution somehow."
"You could take Bjork," Martinsson said ironically.
"You're right, I could," Wallander said in all seriousness. "I'll think about it."
The moment he put down the phone he decided to go to Farnholm Castle on his own. He realised that was what he had really wanted to do all along. My biggest weakness as a police officer, he thought. I always prefer to go alone. Over the years he had begun to question whether it really was a weakness.
In order to concentrate in peace and quiet, he left the police station without further ado, got into his car and drove out of Ystad. The gale really was gusting up to hurricane strength. The car swayed and rattled. Ragged clouds raced across the sky. He wondered how his father's roof was faring at Loderup. He felt a sudden need to listen to some opera, drove on to the hard shoulder and switched on the inside light. But he couldn't find any of his cassettes - and then it dawned on him that this wasn't his own car. He carried on towards Kristianstad. He tried to think through what he was going to say to Harderberg, but discovered that what he was most looking forward to was the meeting itself. There had not been a single photograph of the man at Farnholm, or in any of the press reports he had read, and Hoglund had said that he actively disliked being photographed. On the few occasions he appeared in public his staff ensured that there were no photographers around. An enquiry to Swedish Television revealed that they did not have a single clip of him in their archives.
Wallander thought back to his first visit to the castle. What had struck him then was that very rich people are characterised by silence and remoteness. Now he could add another characteristic: they were invisible. Faceless people in beautiful surroundings.
Just before he got to Tomelilla he ran over a hare that seemed hypnotised by his headlights. He stopped and got out into a wind that almost blew him over. The hare was lying on the verge, its hind legs kicking. Wallander searched for a big enough stone, but by the time he found one the hare was dead. He toed it into the ditch, and returned to his car with an ugly taste in his mouth. The gusts were so strong that they almost ripped the car door out of his grasp.
He drove on to Tomelilla where he stopped at a cafe and ordered a sandwich and a cup of coffee. It was 5.45. He took out his notebook and wrote down questions that he could use as a framework for his interview. He felt tense. What concerned him was that this must mean he hoped he was going to come face to face with the murderer.
He stayed in the cafe for nearly an hour, refilling his cup and allowing his thoughts to wander. He found himself thinking about Rydberg. For a moment he had trouble conjuring up his face, and that worried him. If I lose Rydberg, he thought, I lose the only real friend I've got. Dead or alive.
He paid and left. A sign outside the cafe had been toppled by the wind. Cars flashed past but he couldn't see any people. A real November storm, he thought, as he drove off. Winter is blowing open its portals.