“I still think there could be a natural explanation,” said Martinson thoughtfully. “It’s like you say yourself, Kurt. She’s not the type to disappear of her own free will. But in spite of everything, assault and murder are still pretty rare. I think we should go about it in the usual way. Let’s not get hysterical.”
“I’m not hysterical,” said Wallander, realizing he was getting mad. “I know what I think, though, and I think certain conclusions speak for themselves.”
Bjork was just about to intervene when the telephone rang.
“I said we shouldn’t be disturbed,” said Bjork.
Wallander quickly put his hand over the receiver.
“It could be Robert Akerblom,” he said. “Maybe it’s best if I talk to him?”
He picked up the phone and gave his name.
“Robert Akerblom here. Have you found Louise?”
“No,” said Wallander. “Not yet.”
“The widow just called,” said Robert Akerblom. “I have a map. I’m going there myself to take a look.”
Wallander thought for a moment.
“I’ll take you there,” he said. “That’ll probably be best. I’ll come right away. Can you make a few copies of the map? Five will do.”
“OK,” said Robert Akerblom.
Wallander thought how truly religious people were usually law-abiding and compliant with authority. Yet nobody could have stopped Robert Akerblom from going out on his own to look for his wife.
Wallander slammed down the receiver.
“We have a map now,” he said. “We’ll take two cars to start with. Robert Akerblom wants to come along. He can ride with me.”
“Shouldn’t we take a few patrol cars?” wondered Martinson.
“We’d have to drive as a column if we did that,” said Wallander. “Let’s take a look at the map first, and draw up a plan. Then we can send out everything we’ve got.”
“Call me if anything happens,” said Bjork. “Here or at home.”
Wallander almost ran down the corridor. He was in a hurry. He had to know if the track just petered out. Or if Louise Akerblom was out there somewhere.
They took the map Robert Akerblom had sketched in accordance with what he’d heard and spread it out over the hood of Wallander’s car. Svedberg had dried it first with his handkerchief, as it had rained earlier that afternoon.
“E14,” said Svedberg, “As far as the exit for Katslosa and Lake Kade. Take a left to Knickarp, then a right, then left again, and look for a dirt road.”
“Wait a minute,” said Wallander. “If you’d been in Skurup, which road would you have taken then?”
There were lots of possibilities. After some discussion Wallander turned to Robert Akerblom.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“I think Louise would have taken a minor road,” he said without hesitation. “She didn’t like all the traffic on the E14. I think she’d have gone via Svaneholm and Brodda.”
“Even if she was in a hurry? If she had to be home by five o’clock?”
“Even then,” said Robert Akerblom.
“You take that road,” said Wallander to Martinson and Svedberg. “We’ll go straight to the house. We can use the car phone if we need to.”
They drove out of Ystad. Wallander let Martinson and Svedberg pass, since they had the longest distance to travel. Robert Akerblom sat staring straight ahead. Wallander kept glancing at him. He was rubbing his hands anxiously, as if he couldn’t make up his mind whether or not to clasp them together.
Wallander could feel Akerbom’s tension. What would they find?
He braked as they approached the exit for Lake Kade, let a truck pass, and recalled how he had driven along the same road one morning two years before, when an old farmer and his wife had been beaten to death in a remote farmhouse. He shuddered at the memory, and thought as he so often did of his colleague Rydberg, who died last year. Every time Wallander was faced with an investigation out of the ordinary, he missed the experience and advice of his elder colleague.
What’s going on in this country of ours, he thought to himself. Where have all the old-fashioned thieves and con men gone? Where does all this senseless violence come from?
The map was lying by the gearshift.
“Are we going the right way?” he asked, in order to break the silence in the car.
“Yes,” said Robert Akerblom, without taking his eyes off the road. “We should take a left just over the top of this next hill.”
They drove into Krageholm Forest. The lake was on the left, shimmering through the trees. Wallander slowed down, and they started looking out for the turnoff.
It was Robert Akerblom who saw it first. Wallander had already driven past. He reversed and came to a halt.
“You stay in the car,” he said. “I’ll go look around.”
The actual turnoff into the dirt road was almost completely overgrown. Wallander got down on one knee and could make out faint traces of car tires. He could feel Robert Akerblom’s eyes on the back of his neck.
He went back to the car and called Martinson and Svedberg. They’d just got as far as Skurup.
“We’re at the start of the dirt road,” said Wallander. “Be careful when you turn in. Don’t spoil the tire marks.”
“Roger,” said Svedberg. “We’re on our way now.”
Wallander turned carefully into the track, avoiding the tire marks.
Two cars, he thought. Or the same one going in and coming back.
They shuddered along the muddy and badly maintained road. It was supposed to be a kilometer to the house that was up for sale. To his surprise, Wallander saw on the map that the house was called Solitude.
After three kilometers the track petered out. Robert Akerblom stared uncomprehendingly at the map and at Wallander.
“Wrong road,” said Wallander. “We couldn’t have avoided seeing the house. It’s right by the roadside. Let’s go back.”
When they emerged onto the main road, they drove slowly forward and came to the next turnoff some five hundred meters further on. Wallander repeated his investigation. Unlike the previous road, this one had lots of tire tracks, one over the other. The road also gave the impression of being better maintained and more often used.
But they could not find the right house here, either. They caught a glimpse of a farmhouse through the trees, but they kept going as it didn’t seem anything like the description they had. Wallander stopped after four kilometers.
“Do you have Mrs. Wallin’s number?” he inquired. “I have the distinct impression she has a very poor sense of direction.”
Robert Akerblom nodded and took a little telephone book from his inside pocket. Wallander noticed there was a bookmark shaped like an angel between the pages.
“Call her,” said Wallander. “Explain that you’re lost. Ask her to give you the directions again.”
The phone rang for some time before the widow answered.
It turned out that Mrs. Wallin was by no means sure how many kilometers it was to the turnoff.
“Ask her for some other landmark,” said Wallander. “There must be something we can use to get our bearings. If not, we’ll have to send a car and bring her here.”
Wallander let Robert Akerblom talk to Mrs Wallin without switching the phone over to the loudspeaker.
“An oak tree struck by lightning,” said Robert Akerblom. “We turn off just before we get to the tree.”
They drove on, and after two more kilometers saw the oak. There was also a turnoff to the right. Wallander called the other car, and explained how to find it. Then he investigated for the third time, looking for tire tracks. To his surprise he found nothing at all to suggest any vehicle had used this road for some time. That wasn’t necessarily significant. The tracks could have been washed away by rain. Nevertheless, he felt something approaching disappointment.
The house was situated where it ought to have been, by the roadside just one kilometer in. They stopped and got out of the car. It had started raining, and the wind was blowing in gusts.
Suddenly Robert Akerblom set off running towards the house, yelling out his wife’s name in a shrill voice. Wallander stayed by the car. It all happened so quickly, he was taken completely by surprise. When Robert Akerblom disappeared behind the house, he ran after him.