"Can you?" Wallander said. "Threatening letters are threatening letters."
"Some more serious than others," she said. "Perhaps we should not have overlooked that Torstensson did not in fact take them seriously. He did not record them, he did not turn to the police or to the Bar Council. He just hid them away. The most dramatic discovery can sometimes be finding that an incident wasn't really very dramatic. The fact that Lundin wasn't mentioned might be because he did not know she existed."
"Good thinking," Wallander said. "Your speculations are no worse than any others. On the contrary. But there's just one thing you don't explain. The most important detail of all. Borman's murder. A carbon copy of Gustaf Torstensson's death. Executions disguised as something else."
"I think you might have given the answer yourself," she said. "Their deaths were similar."
Wallander thought for a moment. "You could be right," he said. "If we suppose that Gustaf Torstensson was already suspect in Alfred Harderberg's eyes. If he was being watched. Then what happened to Lars Borman could be a copy of what nearly happened to Mrs Duner."
"That's exactly what I was thinking," she said.
Wallander stood up. "We can't prove any of this," he said.
"Not yet," she said.
"We don't have much time," Wallander said. "I suspect Per Akeson will switch on the red light and demand that we broaden the investigation if nothing happens. Let's say we have a month in which to concentrate on our so-called prime suspect, Alfred Harderberg."
"That might be long enough," she said.
"I'm having a bad day today," Wallander said. "I think the whole investigation's going off the rails. That's why it's good to hear what you have to say. Detectives whose resolve starts to falter have no business to be in the force."
They went to fetch some coffee, but paused in the corridor.
"The private jet," Wallander said. "What do we know about that?"
"Not a great deal," she said. "It's a Grumman Gulf-stream dating from 1974. Its Swedish base is at Sturup. It gets serviced in Germany, in Bremen. Harderberg employs two pilots. One's from Austria and is called Karl Heider. He's been with Harderberg for many years and lives in Svedala. The other pilot has only been in the post a couple of years. His name is Luiz Manshino, originally from Mauritius. He has a flat in Malmo."
"Where did you get all that information from?"
"I pretended to be from a newspaper running a feature on the private jets of Swedish business executives. I spoke to somebody in charge of PR at the airport. I don't think Harderberg will be suspicious, even if he gets to hear about it. Obviously, though, I couldn't start asking if there were logbooks that recorded his travels."
"The pilots interest me," Wallander said. "People who travel that often with each other and spend so much time together must have a special relationship. They know a lot about each other. Don't they have to have some kind of stewardess with them? For safety reasons?"
"Evidently not," she said.
"We'll have to try to make contact with the pilots," Wallander said. "Hit on some way of finding out about the flight documentation."
"I'd be happy to continue with that," she said. "I promise to be discreet."
"Go ahead," Wallander said. "But get a move on. Time's at a premium."
That same afternoon Wallander called a meeting of his investigative team, without Bjork being there. They crammed into Wallander's office as the conference room was occupied by a meeting of police chiefs from all over the district, chaired by Bjork. After they had heard what Hoglund had to report about her meeting with the Bormans, Wallander informed them about his meeting with Harderberg at Farnholm Castle. Everybody listened intently, trying to find a lead, something he might himself have overlooked.
"My feeling that these murders and all the other incidents are linked to Harderberg is stronger now than it was before," Wallander said in conclusion. "If you agree with me, we'll go on following this line. But we can't rely on my feelings, we must acknowledge that we haven't solved anything yet. We could be wrong."
"What else do we have to go on?" Svedberg said.
"We can always go looking for a madman," Martinsson said. "A madman who doesn't exist."
"It's too cold-blooded for that," Hoglund said. "It all seems to be so well planned. There's nothing to suggest a madman at work."
"We must continue to take every precaution," Wallander said. "Somebody is keeping an eye on us, whether it's Harderberg or somebody else."
"It's a pity we can't count on Kurt Strom," Svedberg said. "What we need is a contact inside the castle. Somebody who can move around among all those secretaries without drawing attention to himself."
"I agree," Wallander said. "It would be even better if we could find somebody who worked for Harderberg until recently. Especially somebody with a grudge."
"The fraud squad people maintain that there are only a handful of people who are close to Harderberg," Martinsson said. "And they've all been with him for many years. The secretaries are not very important. I don't think they know much about what goes on."
"Even so, we ought to have somebody there," Svedberg insisted. "Somebody who could tell us about daily routines."
The meeting was drifting towards stalemate.
"I have a proposal," Wallander said. "Let's shut ourselves away somewhere different tomorrow. We need peace and quiet to work our way through all the material. We have to define where we stand one more time. We need to use our time efficiently."
"At this time of year the Continental Hotel is practically empty," Martinsson said. "I'd have thought they'd have a conference room we could rent for next to nothing."
"I like it," Wallander said. "The symbolism is attractive. That's where Gustaf Torstensson met Harderberg for the first time."
They met on the first floor of the Continental Hotel. Discussions continued through lunch and every coffee break. Come evening, they agreed to go on the next day as well. Somebody phoned Bjork, who gave his blessing. They shut out the outside world and worked their way through all the material yet again. They were well aware that time was running out. It was Friday, November 19.
It was late afternoon when they finally broke up. Wallander thought that Hoglund had summed up the state of the investigation best.
"I get the feeling everything is here," she said, "but we can't see how it hangs together. If it is Harderberg pulling the strings, he's doing it very skilfully. Whichever way we turn he moves the goalposts and we have to start all over."
They were all exhausted when they left the hotel. But this was no vanquished army beating a retreat. Wallander knew something important had happened. Everybody had shared all they knew with everybody else. Nobody needed to be unsure about what ideas or doubts their colleagues had.
"Let's have a break this weekend," Wallander said. "We need some rest. We need to be fit and raring to go again by Monday."
Wallander spent Saturday with his father in Loderup. He managed to repair the roof, then sat for hours with his father in the kitchen, playing cards. Over dinner Wallander could see quite clearly that Gertrud was genuinely enjoying life with his father. Before he left, Wallander asked her if she was familiar with Farnholm Castle.
"They used to say it was haunted," she said. "But perhaps they say that about all castles?"
It was midnight when Wallander set off for home. The temperature was below freezing, and he was not looking forward to winter.
He slept in on Sunday morning. Then he went for a walk, and inspected the boats in the harbour. He spent the afternoon cleaning his flat. Yet another Sunday wasted on unproductive matters.