They saw each other at the same time. She was at a table in the far corner. Apart from a few men at the bar there were not many guests, and she was the only woman alone. Wallander caught her gaze and she smiled. When she stood up to greet him he saw that she was very tall. She was wearing a dark blue suit. Her skirt came to just above her knees and he saw that she had beautiful legs.

  "Am I right?" he said, as he stretched out his hand.

  "If you are Kurt Wallander, I am Elvira."

  He sat down across the table from her.

  "I don't smoke," she said. "But I do drink."

  "So do I," Wallander said. "But not tonight. I'm driving, so I'll have to stick to mineral water."

  He craved a glass of wine. Or better still, several glasses. But since that time many years ago when he had been stopped by his colleagues Peters and Norén after having had one or two too many he had been very careful. They had said nothing, but Wallander knew he had been so drunk that it would have meant immediate dismissal if they had. It was one of the ugliest memories of his career. He couldn't risk anything like that again.

  The waiter came to the table and took their order. Elvira ordered another glass of white wine.

  Wallander felt self-conscious. Since he was a teenager he had had the idea that he looked best in profile. Now he turned his chair sideways to the table.

  "Do you not have room for your legs?" she asked. "I can pull the table over if you like."

  "Not at all," Wallander said. "I'm fine." What the hell do I say now? he wondered. Do I tell her I fell in love with her from the moment I stepped in the room? Or rather when I first read her letter?

  "Have you ever done this before?" she said.

  "Never."

  "I have," she said, cheerfully. "But it's never led to anything."

  Wallander noticed that she was very direct, in contrast to himself. He was still chiefly concerned about the angle at which he was sitting.

  "Why didn't it work out before?"

  "Wrong person, wrong sense of humour, wrong attitude, wrong expectations. Some have been pompous or had too many drinks. A lot can go wrong."

  "Perhaps I've already done something wrong too?"

  "You look nice enough," she said.

  "That's a word only rarely applied to me," he said. "But I suppose I'm no ogre."

  At that moment he thought of the picture of Persson that had appeared in the papers. Had she seen it? Did she know he was accused of assaulting a juvenile? But it never came up in their conversation. Wallander began to believe that she hadn't seen it. Perhaps she didn't read the evening papers. Wallander sat nursing his mineral water and longed for something stronger. She went on drinking wine. She asked him what it was like to be a policeman and Wallander tried to answer her questions truthfully. But he noticed that he kept touching on the tougher aspects of his work, as if he were trying to elicit her sympathy.

  Her questions were well considered, sometimes unexpected. He had to keep his wits about him to give her meaningful answers.

  She told him about her own work. The shipping company she worked for did a lot of moving of household goods for Swedish missionaries who were either setting off abroad or coming home. He began to realise that she held a position of some responsibility since her boss was often away on business. She obviously enjoyed her work.

  The time flew by. Shortly after 11 p.m. Wallander was in the middle of telling her about his failed marriage with Mona. She listened attentively, seriously but also supportively.

  "And afterwards?" she said, when his story trailed off. "You have been divorced for some time now. There must have been someone else."

  "I've been alone for long periods of time," he said. "For a while I was seeing a woman from Latvia, from Riga. Her name was Baiba. I had high hopes of the relationship and I thought she shared those hopes. But it didn't work out."

  "Why not?"

  "She wanted to stay in Riga, and I wanted to stay here. I had made all kinds of plans. We were going to live in the country, start over."

  "Perhaps your dreams were too ambitious," she said. "You got burned."

  Wallander had the feeling that he had talked too much, that he had said too much about himself and perhaps about Mona and Baiba. But the woman was easy to confide in.

  She told him her own history. It was much the same as his, except that in her case it was two failed marriages rather than one. She had one child from each of them. She said nothing explicit, but Wallander had the impression that her first husband had been physically abusive. Her second husband had been Argentinian and she told him with equal measures of insight and irony how his passionate nature which at first had been a breath of fresh air had finally become stifling.

  "He vanished two years ago," she said. "The last I heard he was in Barcelona, penniless. I helped him with his ticket back to Argentina. I haven't heard from him for a year. His daughter, of course, is distraught."

  "How old are the children?"

  "Alexandra is 17, Tobias 21."

  They paid their bill at 11.30 p.m. Wallander wanted to treat her, but she insisted on splitting it.

  "It's Friday tomorrow," Wallander said once they were out on the street.

  "I've never been to Ystad. Isn't that odd?"

  Wallander wanted to ask if he could call her. He didn't really know what he was feeling, but she seemed not to have found too many faults in him yet. For now that was plenty.

  "I have a car" she said. "I could even take the train. Do you have any time?"

  "I'm up to my neck in a difficult homicide case right now," he said. "But even policemen need time off occasionally."

  She lived in a Malmö suburb, towards Jägersro. Wallander offered to give her a lift, but she said she wanted to walk for a while and then would take a taxi.

  "I take as many long walks as I can," she said. "I hate jogging."

  "Me too," Wallander said.

  But he had said nothing about his diabetes, the reason he was now an avid walker.

  They shook hands and said good night.

  "It was nice to meet you," she said.

  "Yes," Wallander said, "same here."

  He watched her until she had rounded the corner of the hotel. Then he drove back to Ystad. He put on a cassette of arias by the tenor Jussi Björling. Music filled the car. As he passed the turning to Stjärnsund where Widén's ranch was he reckoned that his recent sting of jealousy was not as strong any more.

  It was almost 1 a.m. by the time he parked the car. He walked up to his flat and sat down on the sofa. It had been a long time since he had felt as happy as he did this evening. The last time must have been when he had begun to sense that Baiba reciprocated his feelings. He went to bed without even thinking about the case.

  Wallander arrived at the station on Friday morning with explosive energy. The first thing he did was to cancel the surveillance on Falk's flat on Apelbergsgatan. He did, however, want the surveillance at Runnerströms Torg to continue. Then he walked over to Martinsson's office. It was empty. Hansson was not in yet either. But he bumped into Höglund in the corridor. She looked unusually tired and grumpy. He ought to say something encouraging, but he could not find the words.

  "Hökberg's address book still hasn't turned up," she said. "The one she carried in her bag."

  "Have we established that she had one?"

  "Persson has corroborated Hökberg's mother's claim. It was a small, dark blue book with a rubber band around the middle."

  "Then we're assuming that whoever killed her and threw away the handbag had first pinched the book?"

  "It seems plausible."

  "The question is: what phone numbers were in there? And what names?"

  Höglund shrugged. Wallander looked more closely at her.

  "How are things with you anyway?"

  "Things are as they are," she said. "But they sure as hell could be better."

  She went into her office and closed the door. Wallander hesitated but then knocked at her door. When he heard her voice, he went in.

  "We have one or two other things to discuss," he said.

  "I know. I'm sorry."

  "Don't be."

  He sat down. As usual her office was perfectly tidy.

  "We have to sort out this business of the rape," he said. "I haven't spoken to Hökberg's mother yet. I have a meeting with Viktorsson at 8.30 a.m., but then I'm going to their house. I take it she's back from her sister's?"

  "They're planning the funeral. It's very hard on them."

  Wallander got up. "What's going to happen to Persson?" he asked.

  "I don't know."

  "Even if she manages to lay the blame on Hökberg, her life has been destroyed."

  Höglund made a face. "I don't know if I would go that far. Persson seems like one of those people who can let everything run over her and not let it get to her. How you get like that, I can't imagine."

  Wallander thought about what she had said. Perhaps he would understand it better later.

  "Have you seen Martinsson?" he said, as he was leaving.

  "I saw him come in."

  "He wasn't in his office."

  "I saw him go into Lisa's office."

  "I didn't think she was ever in this early?"

  "They had a meeting."

  Something in her voice made him stop. She saw his hesitation and seemed to make a decision. Then she gestured for him to come back and close the door.

  "A meeting about what?"

  "Sometimes you really surprise me," she said. "You see and hear everything. You're a great policeman and you know how to keep your investigative team motivated. But at the same time it's as if you see nothing that's going on around you."

  Wallander felt something cramp up in his gut, but he said nothing, just waited for her to go on.

  "You always speak well of Martinsson, and he always follows where you lead. You work well together."

  "I'm forever worried that he's going to get fed up and leave."

  "He won't, believe me."

  "It's what he always tells me. And it would be a shame. He is a good police officer."

  She looked squarely at him. "I shouldn't be telling you this, but I will anyway. You trust him far too much."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean that he's going behind your back. What do you think is going on in Lisa's office right now? They may very well be talking about it being high time for some changes around here. Changes that would be to your detriment but not to Martinsson's."

  Wallander couldn't believe it. "How do you mean 'going behind my back'?"

  She threw her letter opener across her desk in annoyance.

  "It took me a while to see it," she said. "But Martinsson is smart. He's manipulative, and good at it. He complains to Lisa about the way you're handling this investigation."

  "He tells her I'm incompetent?"

  "I don't think he would express himself so bluntly. He rather implies certain deficiencies: weak leadership, strange priorities. He went straight to Lisa when you brought in Modin, for example."

  Wallander was amazed. "I can't believe this."

  "You should. But I hope you understand that I'm telling you this in confidence."

  Wallander nodded. His stomach was hurting now.

  "I just thought you should know. That's all."

  Wallander looked at her. "Do you agree with him?"

  "If I did I would tell you to your face. Not go behind your back."

  "What about Hansson? Nyberg?"

  "This is Martinsson's game. No-one else's. He's going after the throne."

  "But what about his endless complaints about work? He doesn't even know if he wants to stay in the force."

  "Aren't you the one who's always telling us to look past the surface to the very bottom? You always take Martinsson at face value. But I can tell you, I've seen what's underneath, and I don't like what I see."

  Wallander felt almost paralysed. The energy and joy he had felt when he woke this morning had evaporated. Inside him, anger was starting to bubble up.

  "I'm going to get him for this," he said. "I'm going to confront him right now and see what he has to say for himself."

  "That is not a good idea."

  "How am I supposed to keep working with someone like that?"

  "I can't tell you. But you have to wait for a better opportunity to confront him. If you say anything now, you'll just give him more reason to complain about you being unbalanced. He also thinks that the slap you gave Persson was no coincidence."

  "Maybe you know that Lisa is thinking of suspending me."

  "It wasn't Lisa's idea," Höglund said grimly. "It was Martinsson's."

  "How do you know all this?"

  "He has a weakness," she said. "He trusts me. He thinks I'm on his side, even though I've told him that he should stop going behind your back."

  Wallander got up from the chair.

  "Don't do anything rash," she said. "Try to think of this information as having one up on him. Save it for when the time comes."

  She was right. Wallander went back to his office. His anger was tainted with sadness. He could have believed it about almost anyone but Martinsson. Not Martinsson. He was interrupted in his thoughts by the phone. It was Viktorsson, calling to see where he was since he hadn't turned up for the meeting. Wallander walked over to the prosecutors' department, nervous about running into Martinsson. But he had probably already left to be at Modin's side in Falk's office.

  The conversation with Viktorsson did not take long. Wallander forced himself to put all other thoughts aside and focus on the case. He told Viktorsson where they thought they were and what direction they were planning to take. Viktorsson asked a few questions, but he raised no objections.

  "What do you expect to find in Falk's computer?"

  "I don't know, but I believe it may help us unravel the motive."

  "Did Falk commit any kind of a crime?"

  "Not as far as we know."

  Viktorsson scratched his head. "Do you know enough about these things? Shouldn't specialists from the National Police be brought in?"

  "We have a local expert working with us. But we have decided to be in touch with Stockholm."

  "I would urge you to do that as soon as possible. They can be touchy about these kinds of things. Who is this local expert?"

  "His name is Robert Modin."

  "And he's very good?"

  "Better than most."

  Wallander realised he should tell Viktorsson the truth about Modin's criminal past, but before he had gathered himself to do so the moment was past. Wallander had in effect chosen to safeguard the investigation rather than himself. He had taken the first step on a path that could lead straight into personal disaster. Even if he escaped suspension for the business with Persson, this could settle it, and Martinsson would have more than enough grounds to crush him.

  "I take it you have been informed about the internal investigation that is now under way?" Viktorsson said abruptly. "The girl's lawyer has filed a complaint with the Justice Department ombudsman on top of charging you with assault."

  "That picture tells a lie," Wallander said. "Whatever anyone says, I was simply protecting the mother."

  Viktorsson didn't answer. Is there anyone who believes me? Wallander thought. Anyone?

  Wallander left the station at 9 a.m. He drove to the Hökbergs' house. He had not called them to say he was coming. What mattered was to get away from the station for a while. He wouldn't now run into Martinsson, but it would happen sooner or later, and he didn't trust his ability to control himself.

  As he got out of his car his mobile rang. It was Siv Eriksson.

  "I'm sorry to have to bother you," she said.

  "No problem."

  "I'm calling because I need to talk to you."

  He suddenly heard that she was upset. He pressed the phone closer to his ear and tried to turn out of the wind.

  "Has anything happened?"

  "I don't want to talk about it over the phone. I'd be grateful if you could come as soon as possible."

  It must be urgent. He said he would drive over straight away. The conversation with Hökberg's mother would have to wait. He drove back to Ystad and parked in Lurendrejargränd. The sharp east wind was making it much colder in Skåne. Wallander pressed the bell to her flat. She buzzed him in and was on the landing to meet him. He could see that she was frightened. As they walked into the living room, she stopped to light a cigarette. Her hands were shaking.

  "What happened?" he asked.

  It took several tries to light her cigarette. She inhaled deeply, then stubbed it out.

  "I often go to see my mother," she said. "She lives in Simrishamn and I went there yesterday. It got late and I decided to spend the night. When I got back this morning I saw what had happened."

  She stopped and walked into her study. Wallander followed her. She pointed to her computer.

  "I had just sat down to work, but when I turned on the computer nothing happened. At first I thought the computer had been unplugged, but then I realised what had happened."

  She pointed to the screen.

  "I don't follow you," Wallander said.

  "Someone has deleted all my files" she said. "My hard drive is empty. But it gets worse."

  She walked over to a cabinet and opened the doors.

  "Every one of my back-up disks is gone. Nothing is left. Nothing. I even have a reserve hard drive. That's gone too."

  Wallander looked around. "So someone broke into your flat last night?"

  "But there are no signs of it. And how did they know I wasn't going to be here?"

  "Did you leave a window open? Were there any marks on the front door?"

  "No, I checked."

  "Does anyone else have the keys to your flat?"

  Her answer came slowly. "Yes and no," she said. "I gave Tynnes a spare key."

  "Why did you do that?"

  "So he would have access to my flat when I was away. In case anything happened. But he never used them, as far as I know."

  Wallander nodded. He understood why she was so upset. Someone had used her spare keys when she was away, and the only person who had had those keys was dead.

  "Do you know where he kept them?"

  "He said he was going to keep them in his flat on Apelbergsgatan."

 

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