Robbery with violence was how the police classified the attack, which was eventually written off. But President de Klerk was not convinced. As far as he was concerned, van Heerden’s death had been his last communique. There was no longer any doubt about it. The conspiracy was a fact.
Whoever was behind the plot meant business.
A Flock of Sheep in the Fog
Chapter Fifteen
On Monday, May 4, Kurt Wallander was ready to turn over responsibility for the investigation into Louise Akerblom’s death to one of his colleagues. It was not because he felt the fact they were getting nowhere reflected badly on his abilities as a policeman. It was down to something quite different. A feeling he had that was getting stronger and stronger. It was quite simply that he couldn’t raise the effort anymore.
The investigation was completely stalled on Saturday and Sunday. It was the May Day holiday weekend, and people were away or unobtainable. It was practically impossible to get any response from the technical guys in Stockholm. The hunt for an unknown man who shot a young policeman in the capital was still going at full throttle.
The investigation into Louise Akerblom’s death was shrouded in silence. Bjork had been struck down by a sudden severe attack of gallstones on Friday night and rushed to the hospital. Wallander visited him early on Saturday to receive instructions.
When he got back from the hospital, Wallander sat down with Martinson and Svedberg in the conference room at the station.
“Today and tomorrow Sweden is closed down,” said Wallander. “The results of the various technical tests we’re waiting for are not going to be here before Monday. That means we can use the next two days to go through the material we already have. I also think it would be a good idea for you, Martinson, to show your face at home and spend some time with your family. I suspect next week might be a bit busy. But let’s keep our wits about us for a while this morning. I want us to go through the whole thing so far just one more time, right from the start. I also want you to answer a question, both of you.”
He paused for a moment before continuing.
“I know this isn’t in accordance with police procedures,” he said, “but throughout this investigation I’ve had the feeling there’s something funny going on. I can’t put it any clearer than that. What I want to know is, have either of you had the same feeling? As if we were up against a crime that doesn’t fit into the usual patterns?”
Wallander had expected a surprised reaction, possibly even skepticism. But Martinson and Svedberg shared his feeling.
“I’ve never seen anything quite like this,” said Martinson. “Of course, I don’t have as much experience as you, Kurt. But I have to admit I’m baffled by the whole business. First we try to catch somebody who’s carried out the horrific murder of a woman. The deeper we dig, the harder it is to understand why she’s been murdered. In the end we come back to the feeling that her death is just an incident on the periphery of something quite different, something bigger. I didn’t get much sleep this last week. That’s unusual for me.”
Wallander nodded and looked at Svedberg.
“What can I say?” he began, scratching his bald head. “Martinson’s already said it, better than I could put it. When I got home last night I made a list: dead woman, well, black finger, blown-up house, radio transmitter, pistol, South Africa. Then I sat staring at that list for over an hour, as if it were a rebus. It’s like we can’t grasp that there just don’t seem to be any connections and contexts in this investigation. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a feeling of wandering around in the dark as I do now.”
“That’s what I wanted to know,” said Wallander. “I guess it’s not insignificant that we all feel the same about this investigation. Nevertheless, let’s see if we can manage to penetrate a bit of this darkness Svedberg is talking about.”
They went through the investigation right from the beginning. It took them nearly three hours; afterward, they felt once again that they hadn’t made any big mistakes, despite everything. But they also hadn’t found any new clues.
“It’s all very obscure, to say the least,” said Wallander, summing up. “The only real clue we have is a black finger. We can also be pretty sure the man who lost his finger was not alone, assuming he’s the one who did it. Alfred Hanson had rented the house to an African. We know that for sure. But we’ve no idea who this man is who calls himself Nordstrom and paid ten thousand kronor up front. Nor do we know what the house was used for. When it comes to the connection between these people and Louise Akerblom or the blown-up house, the radio transmitter, and the pistol, we only have vague and unsubstantiated theories. There’s nothing so dangerous as investigations that invite guessing rather than logical thinking. The theory that seems most likely just now, despite everything, is that Louise Akerblom happened to see something she shouldn’t have seen. But what kind of people turn that into a reason for an execution? That’s what we have to find out.”
They sat around the table in silence, thinking over what he had said. A cleaning lady opened the door and peeked in.
“Not now,” said Wallander.
She shut the door again.
“I think I’ll spend the day going through the tipoffs we’ve had,” said Svedberg. “If I need any help, I’ll let you know. I’m hardly going to have time for anything else.”
“It might be as well to sort out Stig Gustafson once and for all,” said Martinson. “I can start by checking his alibi, in so far as that’s possible on a day like today. If necessary I’ll drive over to Malmo. But first I’ll try and track down that flower seller Forsgard he claims to have met in the john.”
“This is a murder investigation,” said Wallander. “Track these people down even if they’re in their vacation homes trying to get some peace and quiet.”
They agreed to meet again at five to see where they were. Wallander got some coffee, went to his office and called Nyberg at home.
“You’ll have my report on Monday,” said Nyberg. “But you already know the most important parts.”
“No,” said Wallander. “I still don’t know why the house burned down. I don’t know the cause of the fire.”
“Maybe you ought to talk to the chief fire officer about that,” said Nyberg. “He might have a good explanation. We’re not ready yet.”
“I thought we were working together,” said Wallander, irritated. “Us and the fire service. But maybe there’ve been some new instructions I don’t know about?”
“We don’t have an obvious explanation,” said Nyberg.
“What do you think, then? What does the fire service think? What does Peter Edler think?”
“The explosion must have been so powerful that there’s nothing left of the detonator. We’ve discussed the possibility of a series of explosions.”
“No,” said Wallander. “There was only one bang.”
“I don’t mean it quite like that,” said Nyberg patiently. “You can plan ten explosions within a second if you’re smart enough. We’d be talking about a chain with a tenth-of-a-second delay between each charge. But that increases the effect enormously. It has to do with the changed air pressure.”
Wallander thought for a moment.
“We’re not talking about a bunch of amateurs, then?” he said.
“No way.”
“Can there be any other explanation for the fire?”
“Hardly.”
Wallander glanced at his papers before going on.
“Can you say anything else about the radio transmitter?” he ventured. “There’s a rumor that it was made in Russia.”