“Hmm,” said Wallander. “It’s odd.”
“I’ve talked to the Lieutenant-Coloneclass="underline" his name’s Hernberg,” said Bjork. “He’s sending two busloads of conscripts, at seven o’clock. I think we might as well start right away. Martinson’s done all the spadework.”
Wallander nodded appreciatively. Martinson was good when it came to line searches.
“I thought we’d call a press conference for ten o’clock,” said Bjork. “It would help if you could be there. We’ll have to have a photo of her by then.”
Wallander gave him the one he had in his inside pocket. Bjork contemplated Louise Akerblom’s picture.
“Nice girl,” he said. “I hope we find her alive. Is it a good likeness?”
“Her husband thinks it is.”
Bjork put the photo into a plastic wallet he carried in one of his raincoat pockets.
“I’m going to their house,” said Wallander. “I think I can be of more use there.”
Bjork nodded. As Wallander made to walk over to his car, Bjork grabbed him by the shoulder.
“What do you think?” he asked. “Is she dead? Is there some crime behind all this?”
“It can hardly be anything else,” said Wallander. “Unless she’s been hurt and is lying in agony somewhere or other. But I don’t think so.”
“It doesn’t look good,” said Bjork. “Not good at all.”
Wallander drove back to Ystad. The gray sea was looking very choppy.
When he entered the house in Akarvagen, two little girls stood staring at him, wide-eyed.
“I’ve told them you’re a cop,” said Robert Akerblom. “They know Mom’s lost, and you’re looking for her.”
Wallander nodded and tried to smile, despite the lump that came into his throat.
“My name’s Kurt,” he said. “What’s yours?”
“Maria and Magdalena,” answered the girls, one after another.
“Those are lovely names,” said Wallander. “I’ve got a daughter named Linda.”
“They’re going to be at my sister’s today,” said Robert Akerblom. “She’ll be here shortly to pick them up. Can I offer you a cup of tea?”
“Yes, please,” said Wallander.
He hung up his overcoat, removed his shoes, and went into the kitchen. The two girls were standing in the doorway, watching him.
Where shall I start? wondered Wallander. Will he understand that I have to open every drawer, and go through every one of her papers?
The two girls were picked up, and Wallander finished his tea.
“We have a press conference at ten o’clock,” he said. “That means we shall have to make your wife’s name public, and ask for anybody who might have seen her to come forward. As you will realize, that implies something else. We can no longer exclude the possibility that a crime might have been committed.”
Wallander had foreseen the risk that Robert Akerblom might go to pieces and start weeping. But the pale, hollow-eyed man, immaculately dressed in suit and tie, seemed to be in control of himself this morning.
“We have to go on believing there’s a natural explanation in spite of everything,” said Wallander. “But we can no longer exclude anything at all.”
“I understand,” said Robert Akerblom. “I’ve been clear about that all the time.”
Wallander pushed his teacup to one side, said thank you, and got to his feet.
“Have you thought of anything else we ought to know about?” he asked.
“No,” said Robert Akerblom. “It’s a complete mystery.”
“Let’s go through the house together,” said Wallander. “Then I hope you will understand I have to look through all her clothes, drawers, everything that could give us a clue.”
“She keeps everything in orderly fashion,” said Robert Akerblom.
They started upstairs, and worked their way down to the basement and the garage. Wallander noticed that Louise Akerblom was extremely fond of pastel shades. Nowhere was there a dark drape or table cloth to be seen. The house exuded joie de vivre. The furniture was a mixture of old and new. Even when he was drinking his tea, he noticed how well the kitchen was equipped with machines and devices. Obviously, their everyday life was not restricted by excessive puritanism.
“I’ll have to drive down to the office for a while,” said Robert Akerblom when they had finished their tour of the house. “I take it I can leave you here on your own.”
“No problem,” said Wallander. “I’ll save my questions till you get back. Or I’ll give you a call. In any case, I have to leave for the station shortly before ten, for the press conference.”
“I’ll be back before then,” said Robert Akerblom.
When Wallander was on his own, he started his methodical search of the house. He opened all the cupboards and drawers in the kitchen, examined the refrigerator and the freezer.
One thing intrigued him. In a cupboard under the sink was a well-stocked supply of liquor. That didn’t fit in with the impression he had of the Akerblom family.
He continued with the living room, without finding anything of note. Then he went upstairs. He ignored the girls’ room. He searched the bathroom first, reading the labels on bottles from the pharmacist and noting some of Louise Akerblom’s medications in his pocket book. He stood on the bathroom scales, and made a face when he saw how much he weighed. Then he moved on to the bedroom. He always felt uncomfortable going through a woman’s clothes, like somebody was watching him without his knowing it. He went through all the pouches and cardboard boxes in the wardrobes. Then he came to the chest of drawers where she kept her underwear. He found nothing that surprised him, nothing that told him anything he didn’t know already. When he was through, he sat down on the edge of the bed and looked around the room.
Nothing, he thought. Absolutely nothing.
He sighed, and moved on to the next room, which was furnished as a study. He sat at the desk, opening drawer after drawer. He immersed himself in photo albums and bundles of letters. He didn’t come across a single photograph in which Louise Akerblom was not smiling or laughing.
He replaced everything carefully, closed the drawer, and tried the next one. Tax returns and insurance documents, school reports and conveyancing deeds, nothing that struck him as odd.
It was only when he opened the bottom drawer in the last of the chests that he was surprised. At first he thought it contained nothing but plain white writing paper. When he felt the bottom of the drawer, however, his fingers came into contact with a metal object. He took it out and sat there, frowning.
It was a pair of handcuffs. Not toy handcuffs; real ones. Made in England.
He put them on the desk in front of him.
They don’t have to be significant, he thought. But they were well hidden. And I suspect Robert Akerblom would have taken them away, if he knew they were there.
He closed the drawer and put the handcuffs in his pocket.
Then he went down to the basement rooms and the garage. On a shelf over a little workbench he found a few neatly made balsawood model airplanes. He pictured Robert Akerblom in his mind’s eye. Maybe he’d once dreamed of becoming a pilot?
The telephone started ringing in the background. He hurried to answer it right away.
It was nine o’clock by this time.
“Could I speak with Inspector Wallander?” It was Martinson’s voice.
“Speaking,” said Wallander.
“You’d better get out here,” said Martinson. “Right away.”
Wallander could feel his heart beating faster.
“Have you found her?” he asked.
“No,” said Martinson. “Not her, and not the car either. But there’s a house on fire not far away. Or to be more accurate, the house exploded. I thought there might be a link.”
“I’m on my way,” said Wallander.
He scribbled a note for Robert Akerblom and left it on the kitchen table.
On the way to Krageholm he tried to work out the implications of what Martinson had said. A house had exploded? What house?
He overtook three large trucks in succession. The rain was now so heavy the wipers could only keep the windshield partially clear.