He thought about her voice, and what she’d said on the telephone. He was sure the car had been stationary when she made the call. Her voice was steady. It would not have been if she had been concentrating on driving at the same time. Later, when they amplified the sound at the station, he was proven right. Besides, Louise Akerblom was sure to be a careful, law-abiding citizen who would not risk her life nor anybody else’s by using the car phone while driving.
If the times she mentioned are right, she’ll be in Skurup, thought Wallander. She’ll have concluded her business at the bank and be about to set off for Krageholm. But she wants to call her husband first. She’s pleased that everything went well at the bank. Moreover it’s Friday afternoon, and she’s finished work for the day. It’s nice weather. She has every reason to feel happy.
Wallander went back and sat down at her desk once more, leafing through the desk diary. Robert Akerblom handed him a sheet of paper with the details Wallander had asked for.
“I have just one more question for the moment,” said Wallander. “It isn’t really a question. But it is important. What kind of a person is Louise?”
He was very careful to use the present tense, as if nothing had happened. In his own mind, however, Louise Akerblom was already someone who no longer existed.
“Everybody likes her,” said Robert Akerblom straightforwardly. “She’s even-tempered, laughs a lot, finds it easy to talk to people. Actually, she finds it hard to do business. Anything to do with money or complicated negotiations, she hands over to me. She’s easily moved. And upset. She’s troubled by other people’s suffering.”
“Does she have any special idiosyncrasies?” asked Wallander.
“Idiosyncrasies?”
“We all have our peculiarities,” said Wallander.
Robert Akerblom thought for a moment.
“I can’t think of anything,” he said eventually.
Wallander nodded and got to his feet. It was already a quarter to twelve. He wanted to have a word with Bjork before his boss went home for lunch.
“I’ll be in touch later this afternoon,” he said. “Try not to worry too much. See if you can think of anything you’ve forgotten. Something I ought to know about.”
“What happened, do you think?” asked Robert Akerblom as they shook hands.
“Probably nothing at all,” said Wallander. “There’s bound to be a natural explanation.”
Wallander got hold of Bjork just as he was about to leave. He was looking harassed, as usual. Wallander imagined a chief constable’s job wasn’t something to feel envious about.
“Sorry to hear about the burglary,” said Bjork, trying to look sympathetic. “Let’s hope the newspapers don’t get hold of this one. It wouldn’t look good, a detective inspector’s home being broken into. We have a high percentage of unsolved cases. The Swedish police force is pretty low on the international league tables.”
“That’s the way it goes,” said Wallander. “I need to talk to you about something.”
They were standing in the corridor outside Bjork’s office.
“It can’t wait till after lunch,” he added.
Bjork nodded, and they went back into the office.
Wallander put his cards on the table. He reported in detail his meeting with Robert Akerblom.
“A mother of two, religious,” said Bjork when Wallander had finished. “Missing since Friday. Doesn’t sound good.”
“No,” said Wallander. “It doesn’t sound good at all.”
Bjork eyed him shrewdly.
“You think there’s been a crime?”
Wallander shrugged.
“I don’t really know what I think,” he said. “But this isn’t a straightforward missing persons case. I’m sure about that. That’s why we ought to mobilize the right resources from the start. Not just the usual wait-and-see tactics.”
Bjork nodded.
“I agree,” he said. “Who do you want? Don’t forget we’re understaffed as long as Hanson’s away. He managed to pick just the wrong moment to break his leg.”
“Martinson and Svedberg,” replied Wallander. “By the way, did Svedberg find that young bull that was careening around the E14?”
“A farmer got it with a lasso in the end,” said Bjork glumly. “Svedberg twisted his ankle when he tumbled into a ditch. But he’s still at work.”
Wallander stood up.
“I’ll drive out to Skurup now,” he said. “Let’s get together at half past four and sort out what we know. We’d better start looking for her car right away.”
He put a piece of paper on Bjork’s desk.
“Toyota Corolla,” said Bjork. “I’ll see to that.”
Wallander drove from Ystad to Skurup. He needed some time to think, and chose the coastal route.
A wind was picking up. Jagged clouds were racing across the sky. He could see a ferry from Poland on its way into the harbor.
When he got as far as Mossby Beach, he drove down to the deserted parking lot and stopped by the boarded-up hamburger stand. He stayed in the car, thinking about the previous year when a rubber dinghy had drifted into land just here, with two dead men in it. He thought about Baiba Liepa, the woman he’d met in Riga. Interesting that he hadn’t managed to forget her, despite his best efforts.
A year ago, and he was still thinking about her all the time.
A murdered woman was the last thing he needed right now.
What he needed was peace and quiet.
He thought about his father getting married. About the burglary and all the music he’d lost. It felt as if someone had robbed him of an important part of his life.
He thought about his daughter, Linda, at college in Stockholm. He had the feeling he was losing touch with her.
It was too much, all at once.
He got out of the car, zipped up his jacket and walked down to the beach. The air was chilly, and he felt cold.
He went over in his mind what Robert Akerblom had said, tried various theories yet again. Could there be a natural explanation, despite everything? Could she have committed suicide? He thought of her voice on the telephone. Her eagerness.
Shortly before one Wallander left the beach and continued his way towards Skurup.
He couldn’t shake the conclusion he had come to: Louise Akerblom was dead.
Chapter Three
Kurt Wallander had a recurring daydream he suspected he shared with a lot of other people: that he’d pulled off the ultimate bank robbery and astounded the world. He wondered about how much money was generally kept at a normal-sized bank. Less than you might think? But more than enough? He didn’t know precisely how he’d go about it, yet the fantasy kept recurring.
He grinned to himself at the thought. But the grin quickly faded with his guilty conscience.
He was convinced they would never find Louise Akerblom alive. He had no evidence; there was no crime scene, no victim. And yet he knew.
He couldn’t get the photo of the two girls out of his mind.
How do you explain what it’s not possible to explain, he wondered. How will Robert Akerblom be able to go on praying to his God in the future, the God who’s left him and two kids so cruelly in the lurch?
Kurt Wallander wandered around the Savings Bank at Skurup, waiting for the assistant manager who had helped Louise Akerblom with the property deal the previous Friday to come back from the dentist. When Wallander had arrived at the bank a quarter of an hour earlier, he had talked with the manager, Gustav Hallden, whom he had met once before. He also asked Hallden to keep any information confidential.
“After all, we’re not sure if anything serious has happened,” Wallander explained.
“I get it,” said Hallden. “You just think something may have happened.”
Wallander nodded. That’s exactly how it was. How could you possibly be sure just where the boundary was between thinking and knowing?
His train of thought was interrupted by somebody addressing him.
“I believe you wanted to talk to me,” said a man with a fuzzy voice behind him.