He arrived at the castle gates at 7.25. He expected Strom to come out and greet him, but nobody did. The bunker appeared to be deserted. Then the gates glided open without a sound. He drove towards the castle. Powerful spotlights lit up the facade and the grounds. It was like a stage set - an image of reality, not reality itself.
He stopped by the steps and switched off his engine. The castle door opened as he climbed out of the car. When he was halfway up the steps a powerful gust made him stumble and he dropped his notebook. It was carried away by the wind. He shook his head and continued up the steps. A young woman with close-cropped hair was waiting to receive him.
"Was that something important?" she asked.
Wallander recognised her voice. "It was only a notebook," he said.
"We'll send somebody out for it," Jenny Lind said.
Wallander contemplated her heavy earrings and the blue ribbons in her black hair.
"There was nothing in it," he said.
She let him in and the door closed behind them.
"You said you would have somebody with you," she said.
"They couldn't make it."
Wallander noticed two men hovering in the shadows by the great staircase. He recalled the shadows he had seen on his first visit. He could not make out their faces, and wondered fleetingly if they really were alive, or just two suits of armour.
"Dr Harderberg will be here in a moment," the girl said. "You can wait in the library."
She led him through a door to the left of the hall. Wallander could hear his footsteps echoing on the stone floor. He wondered how the woman in front of him could move so quietly, then he saw to his surprise that she was barefoot.
"Isn't it cold?" he said, indicating her feet.
"There's under-floor heating," she said impassively, and showed him into the library.
"We'll look for your notes," she said, then left him and closed the door behind her.
Wallander found himself in a large, oval-shaped room lined with bookshelves. In the middle was a group of leather chairs and a serving table. The lights were dim and, unlike the entrance hall, the library had oriental carpets on the floor. Wallander stood quite still and listened. He was surprised to hear no sound from the storm raging outside. Then he realised that the room was soundproof. This was where Gustaf Torstensson had spent the last evening of his life, where he had met his employer and several other, unknown, men.
Wallander looked about him. Behind a column he discovered a large aquarium with strangely shaped fish slowly swimming around. He went closer to see if there was gold dust on the bottom: the sand certainly glittered. He continued his tour of the room. I am no doubt being observed, he thought. I can't see any cameras, but they'll be there, hidden among the books, and they'll be sensitive enough to beam adequate pictures despite the dim lighting. There'll be hidden tape recorders as well, of course. They expected me to have somebody with me. They would have left us alone together for a while in order to listen in on our conversation.
Wallander did not hear Harderberg come into the room, but at a certain moment he knew he was no longer alone. He turned and saw a man standing beside one of the sumptuous leather chairs.
"Inspector Wallander," the man said, and smiled. What Wallander would remember afterwards was that the smile never seemed to leave the man's tanned face. He could never forget it.
"Alfred Harderberg," Wallander said. "I'm very grateful you were able to receive me."
"We all need to do our bit when the police call in," Harderberg said.
The voice was unusually pleasant. They shook hands. Harderberg was wearing an immaculate and no doubt very expensive pinstriped suit. Wallander's first impression was that everything about him was perfect - his clothes, his way of moving, his way of speaking. And that smile never left his face.
They sat down.
"I've arranged for tea," Harderberg said in a friendly tone. "I hope you take tea, Inspector?"
"Yes, please," Wallander said. "Especially in weather like this. The walls here at Farnholm must be very thick."
"You're referring to the fact that we can't hear the wind, I suppose," Harderberg said. "You're right. The walls are indeed very thick. They were built to offer resistance, both to enemy soldiers and to raging gales."
"It must have been rather difficult to land today," Wallander said. "Did you come to Everod or Sturup?"
"I use Sturup," Harderberg said. "You can get straight out into the international routes from there. But the landing was excellent. I have only the best pilots."
The African woman Wallander had met on his first visit emerged from the shadows. They sat in silence while she poured tea.
"This is a very special tea," Harderberg said.
Wallander thought of something he had read that afternoon.
"I expect it's from one of your own plantations," he said.
The constant smile made it impossible to tell whether Harderberg was surprised that Wallander knew that he owned tea plantations.
"I see you are well informed, Inspector Wallander," he said. "It is true that we have a share in Lonrho's tea plantations in Mozambique."
"It's very good," Wallander said. "It's hard for me to imagine what is involved in doing business in all four corners of the world. A policeman's existence is rather different. But then, I suppose you must have found it pretty hard yourself in the early days: from Vimmerby to tea plantations in Africa."
"They were indeed very long strides," Harderberg said.
Wallander noted that Harderberg ended the opening exchanges with an invisible full stop. He put down his teacup, feeling rather insecure. The man opposite radiated controlled but apparently unlimited authority.
"I think we can keep this very brief," Wallander said after a moment's pause, during which he could not hear the slightest whisper from the storm outside. "The solicitor Gustaf Torstensson, who died in a car accident after visiting your castle, was in fact murdered. The accident was contrived in order to conceal the crime. Apart from whoever it was who killed him, you were the last person to see him alive."
"I must admit I find the whole business inconceivable," Harderberg said. "Who on earth would want to kill poor old Gustaf Torstensson?"
"That's precisely the question we are asking ourselves," Wallander said. "And who could be sufficiently cold-blooded to disguise it as a car accident?"
"You must have some idea?"
"Yes, we do, but I'm afraid I can say no more."
"I understand," Harderberg said. "You will realise how disturbed we were by what happened. Old Torstensson was a trusted colleague."
"Things didn't get any easier when his son, too, was murdered," Wallander said. "Did you know him?"
"I never met him. But I am aware of what happened, of course."
Wallander was feeling increasingly insecure. Harderberg seemed unmoved. Normally, Wallander could very quickly surmise whether or not a person was telling the truth, but this man, the man sitting opposite him, was different.
"You have business interests all over the world," Wallander said. "You preside over an empire with a turnover of billions. If I understand it rightly, yours is close to being listed among the world's biggest enterprises."
"We shall overtake Kankaku Securities and Pechiney International next year," Harderberg said. "And when we do, yes, we'll be one of the top one thousand companies in the world."
"I've never heard of the companies you referred to."
"Kankaku is Japanese, and Pechiney is French," Harderberg said.
"It's not a world I am at all familiar with," Wallander said. "It must have been quite unfamiliar to Gustaf Torstensson too. For most of his life he was a simple provincial solicitor. But nevertheless you found a place for him in your organisation."