The Fifth Woman kw-6

by Henning Mankell

  “Svedberg just came back from the university. Eugen Blomberg seems to have been the type of person that blended into the woodwork. He wasn’t a particularly prominent researcher. He was loosely affiliated with the children’s clinic in Lund, but what he was working on was considered quite rudimentary. That’s what Svedberg claims, at least.”

  “Go on,” Wallander said, not hiding his impatience.

  “I have a hard time understanding how a man could be so utterly devoid of interests,” Martinsson said. “He seems to have been completely preoccupied with his damned milk. And nothing else. Except for one thing.”

  Wallander waited.

  “He was having a relationship with another woman. I found some letters. The initials K.A. keep showing up. What’s interesting about all this is that she seems to have been pregnant.”

  “How did you find that out?”

  “From the letters. In the most recent it says that she was near the end of her pregnancy.”

  “When was it dated?”

  “There isn’t any date. But she mentions that she saw a movie on TV she liked. And if I remember correctly, it ran a few months back. Of course we’ll have to check that out more exactly.”

  “Does she have an address?”

  “It doesn’t say.”

  “Not even whether it’s in Lund?”

  “No. But she’s probably from somewhere in Skane. She uses several expressions that indicate as much.”

  “Did you ask the widow about this?”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Whether it’s appropriate to do so, or whether I should wait.”

  “Ask her,” Wallander said. “We can’t wait. Besides, I have a strong feeling that she knows about it already. We need that woman’s name and address as fast as we can damn well get it, in fact. Let me know as soon as you’ve got something.”

  Afterwards Wallander sat with his hand on the telephone. A cold wave of aversion passed through him. What Martinsson had said reminded him of something. It had to do with Svedberg, but he couldn’t recall what it was.

  As he waited for Martinsson to call back, Hansson appeared at the door and said he was going to get started on the investigative material from Ostersund that evening.

  “There’s eleven kilos of it,” he said. “Just so you know.”

  “Did you weigh it?” Wallander asked, surprised.

  “I didn’t, but the courier did. Want to know what it cost?”

  “I’d rather not.”

  Hansson left. Wallander imagined a black Labrador sleeping next to his bed. It was 7.40 p.m. He still hadn’t heard from Martinsson. Nyberg called in and said he thought he’d call it a night. Why had Nyberg let him know? So that he could be found at home, or because he wanted to be left in peace?

  Finally Martinsson called.

  “She was asleep,” he said. “I didn’t really want to wake her. That’s why it took so long.”

  Wallander said nothing. He wouldn’t have hesitated to wake Kristina Blomberg.

  “What did she say?”

  “You were right. She knew her husband had other women. But the initials K.A. didn’t mean anything to her.”

  “Does she know where she lives?”

  “She claims she doesn’t. I’m inclined to believe her.”

  “But she must have known if he went out of town.”

  “I asked about that. She said no. Besides, he didn’t have a car. He didn’t even have a driver’s licence.”

  “That sounds like she must live nearby.”

  “That’s what I was thinking too.”

  “A woman with the initials K.A. We have to find her. Drop everything else for the time being. Is Birch there?”

  “He drove back to the station a while ago.”

  “Where’s Svedberg?”

  “He was supposed to talk to someone who knew Blomberg best.”

  “Tell him to concentrate on finding out who the woman is with the initials K.A.”

  “I’m not sure I can get hold of him,” Martinsson replied. “He left his phone here with me.”

  Wallander swore.

  “The widow must know who her husband’s best friend was. It’s important to tell Svedberg.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Wallander put down the receiver, then thought better of it, but it was too late. What he had forgotten had suddenly come back to him. He looked up the phone number of the police station in Lund, and got hold of Birch almost at once.

  “I think we might have hit on something,” Wallander said.

  “Martinsson spoke to Ehren, who’s working with him at Siriusgatan,” Birch said. “As I understand it, we’re looking for an unknown woman who might have the initials K.A.”

  “Not ‘might’, they are her initials,” Wallander said. “Karin Andersson, Katrina Alstrom. . we have to find her, whatever her name is. And there’s one detail that I think is important.”

  “That she was pregnant?”

  Birch was thinking fast.

  “Precisely,” said Wallander. “We should contact the maternity ward in Lund and check up on women who have had children recently or will soon. With the initials K.A.”

  “I’ll take care of it myself,” Birch said. “This sort of thing is always a little sensitive.”

  Wallander said goodbye. He had started to sweat. Something had started moving. He went out into the hall. It was empty. When the phone rang he gave a start. It was Hoglund. She was at Runfeldt’s shop.

  “There’s no blood here,” she said. “Vanja Andersson scrubbed the floor herself. She thought the stain was upsetting.”

  “What about the rag?”

  “She threw it out. And the rubbish was collected long ago, of course.”

  Wallander knew that only the tiniest amount was needed to carry out an analysis.

  “Her shoes,” he said. “What shoes was she wearing that day? There might be a little bit on the sole.”

  “I’ll ask her.”

  Wallander waited.

  “She had on a pair of clogs,” Hoglund said. “But they’re back at her flat.”

  “Go and get them. Bring them here, and call Nyberg at home. He can at least tell us if there’s any blood on them.”

  During the conversation Hamren appeared at his door. Wallander hadn’t seen much of him since he arrived in Ystad. He wondered what the two detectives from Malmo were working on.

  “I’ve taken over matching the data between Eriksson and Runfeldt now that Martinsson’s in Lund. So far there are no matches,” he said. “But I don’t think their paths ever crossed.”

  “Still, it’s important to do a thorough job on it,” Wallander said. “Somewhere these investigations are going to merge. I’m convinced of that.”

  “And Blomberg?”

  “He’ll find a place in the pattern too. Anything else is just implausible.”

  “When was police work ever a matter of plausibility?” Hamren said with a smile.

  “You’re right, of course. But we can hope.”

  Hamren stood there with his pipe in his hand.

  “I’m going out for a smoke. It clears my brain.”

  He left. It was just past 8 p.m. Wallander waited for Svedberg to report in. He got a cup of coffee and some biscuits. Wallander wandered into the canteen and absent-mindedly watched the TV for a while. Beautiful pictures from the Comoro Islands. He wondered where those islands were. At 8.45 p.m. he was back in his chair. Birch called. They had started looking for women who had given birth in recent months or would give birth in the next two months. So far they hadn’t found any with the initials K.A. After he hung up, Wallander thought he might as well go home. They could call him on his mobile phone if they wanted him. He tried to get hold of Martinsson, without success. Then Svedberg called. It was 9.10 p.m.

  “There’s nobody with the initials K.A.,” he said. “At least not known to the man who claims to have been Blomberg’s best friend.”

  “So at least we know
that,” Wallander said, not hiding his disappointment.

  “I’m heading home now,” Svedberg said.

  Wallander had hardly hung up before the phone rang again. It was Birch.

  “Unfortunately,” he said, “there’s no-one with the initials K.A.”

  “Shit,” said Wallander.

  Both of them thought for a moment.

  “She could have given birth somewhere else,” Birch said. “It doesn’t have to have been in Lund.”

  “You’re right,” Wallander said. “We’ll have to keep at it tomorrow.” He hung up.

  Now he knew what it was that was connected with Svedberg. A piece of paper that had landed on his desk by mistake. About something going on at night in the Ystad maternity ward. Had it been an attack? Something about a fake nurse?

  He called Svedberg, who answered from his car.

  “Where are you?” Wallander asked.

  “I haven’t even made it to Staffanstorp.”

  “Come to the station. There’s something we have to check out.”

  “All right,” Svedberg said. “I’m on my way.”

  It took him exactly 45 minutes. It was just before 10 p.m. when Svedberg showed up in the door of Wallander’s office. By that time Wallander had already started to doubt his own idea.

  It was all too probable that he was just imagining things.

  CHAPTER 27

  He didn’t fully comprehend what had happened until the door closed behind him. He went down the few steps to his car and got in behind the wheel. Then he said his own name out loud: Ake Davidsson.

  From now on Ake Davidsson was going to be a very lonely man. He hadn’t expected this to happen to him. He had never thought that the woman he had been in a relationship with for so many years, even though they didn’t live together, would tell him that it was over, and throw him out of her house.

  He started to cry. It hurt. He didn’t understand. But she had been quite firm, telling him to leave and never come back. She’d met another man who wanted to move in with her.

  It was almost midnight on Monday, 17 October. He peered into the darkness. He knew that he shouldn’t drive after dark. His eyes weren’t strong enough. He could really only drive in daylight, with special glasses. He squinted through the windscreen. He could only just make out the contours of the road. But he had no choice, he couldn’t stay here all night. He had to go back to Malmo.

  He started the engine and turned onto the road, still feeling upset. He was really having trouble seeing. Maybe it would get easier when he got on to the motorway. But first he had to get out of Lodinge.

  He took a wrong turn. There were so many side roads, and they all looked alike in the dark. After half an hour he knew that he was completely lost. He reached a courtyard where the road seemed to come to a dead end, and started to turn around. Suddenly he caught sight of a shadow in his headlights. Someone was coming towards the car. He felt relieved at once. There was someone out there who would tell him which way to go. He opened the car door and got out.

  Then everything went black.

  It took Svedberg a quarter of an hour to find the paper Wallander wanted to see. Wallander had made himself quite clear when Svedberg arrived back just before 10 p.m.

  “This might be a shot in the dark,” Wallander had told him. “But we’re looking for a woman with the initials K.A. who recently gave birth or will soon give birth somewhere in Skane. We thought she was in Lund, but that turned out to be wrong. Maybe she’s here in Ystad instead. I’ve been told that Ystad’s maternity ward is known even outside the country for its practices. Something strange has occurred there one night, and then a second time, and I want to know what happened.”

  When Svedberg had found the paper, he went back to Wallander, who was waiting impatiently.

  “Ylva Brink,” Svedberg said. “She’s my cousin, a distant cousin. And she’s a midwife at the maternity ward. She came here to report that an unknown woman had showed up one night in her ward. It made her nervous.”

  “Why is that?”

  “It’s simply not normal for a stranger to be in the maternity ward at night.”

  “We need to take a good look at this,” Wallander said. “When was the first time it happened?”

  “The night of 30 September.”

  “And it made her nervous?”

  “She came over here the following day, a Saturday. I talked with her for a while. That’s when I made these notes.”

  “When was the second time?”

  “The night of 13 October. Ylva happened to be working that night too. That’s when she was knocked to the ground. I was called out there in the morning.”

  “What happened?”

  “The woman showed up again. When Ylva tried to stop her, she was knocked down. Ylva said it felt like being kicked by a horse.”

  “She’d never seen this woman before?”

  “Just that one other time.”

  “She was wearing a uniform?”

  “Yes. But Ylva was positive she wasn’t on the nursing staff.”

  “How could she be sure? There must be a lot of people she wouldn’t recognise who work at the hospital.”

  “She was positive. I’m afraid that I didn’t ask her why.”

  “This woman had an interest in the maternity ward between 30 September and 13 October,” Wallander said. “She made two visits late at night, not hesitating to knock down a midwife. So what was she really up to?”

  “That’s what Ylva wants to know too.”

  “She has no answer?”

  “They went over the ward both times, but everything was in order.”

  Wallander looked at his watch. It was almost 10.45 p.m.

  “I want you to call your cousin,” he said. “Even if you have to wake her up.”

  Svedberg nodded. Wallander pointed at his phone. He knew that Svedberg, generally forgetful, had a good memory for phone numbers. He dialled the number. It rang and rang. No answer.

  “If she’s not home, that means she’s working,” Svedberg said.

  Wallander jumped up.

  “Even better,” he said. “I haven’t been back to the maternity ward since Linda was born.”

  “The old wing was torn down,” Svedberg said. “The whole place is new.”

  It took them only a few minutes to drive to the hospital. Wallander remembered the night several years ago when he’d woken up with violent pains in his chest and thought he was having a heart attack. Since then the hospital had been remodelled. They rang the bell and a guard came at once and opened the door. Wallander showed him his identification, and they took the stairs to the maternity ward. A woman was waiting for them at the door to the ward.

  “My cousin,” Svedberg said. “Ylva Brink.”

  Wallander shook her hand, catching a glimpse of a nurse in the background. Ylva took them to a small office.

  “It’s calm right now,” she said. “But that can change at any minute.”

  “I’ll get right to the point,” Wallander said. “I know that all information on patients is confidential, and I’m not intending to challenge that rule. The only thing I want to know is whether between 30 September and 13 October a woman gave birth here whose initials were K.A. K as in Karin and A as in Andersson.”

  The woman looked uneasy.

  “Has something happened?”

  “No,” Wallander said. “I just need to identify someone, that’s all.”

  “I can’t tell you,” she said. “That information is confidential unless the patient has signed a release form allowing details about her to be divulged. I’m certain that the rule must also apply to initials.”

  “My question will be answered sooner or later,” Wallander said. “My problem is that I need to know right now.”

  “I still can’t help you.”

  Svedberg had been sitting in silence. Wallander saw that he was frowning.

  “Is there a men’s room here?” he asked.

  “Around the corner.
”

  Svedberg nodded to Wallander.

  “You said that you needed to go.”

  Wallander understood. He got up and left the room.

  He waited for five minutes before he went back. Ylva Brink was not there. Svedberg stood leaning over several papers lying on the desk.

  “What did you say to her?” Wallander asked.

  “That she shouldn’t embarrass the family,” Svedberg replied. “I also explained that she could spend a year in jail.”

  “For what?” Wallander asked in surprise.

  “Obstructing the discharge of official duties.”

  “There isn’t such an offence, is there?”

  “She doesn’t know that. Here are all the names. I think we’d better read fast.”

  They went through the list. None of the women had the initials K.A. Wallander realised it was as he had feared. Another dead end.

  “Maybe those weren’t someone’s initials,” Svedberg said thoughtfully. “Maybe K.A. means something else.”

  “What would that be?”

  “There’s a Katarina Taxell here,” Svedberg replied, pointing. “Maybe the letters K.A. are just an abbreviation of Katarina.”

  Wallander looked at the name. He went through the list again. There was no other name with the combination K.A. No Karin, no Karolina.

  “You may be right,” he said. “Write down the address.”

  “It’s not here,” he said. “Only her name. Maybe you’d better wait downstairs while I talk to Ylva one more time.”

  “Stick with the line that she shouldn’t embarrass the family,” Wallander said. “Don’t mention bringing charges. That could cause us trouble later on. I want to know if Katarina Taxell is still here. I want to know if she’s had any visitors. I want to know if there’s anything special about her. Family relationships, that sort of thing. But especially, I want to know where she lives.”

  “This is going to take a while,” Svedberg said. “Ylva is busy with a birth.”

  “I’ll wait,” Wallander said. “All night if I have to.”

  He took a biscuit from a plate and left the ward. When he passed the casualty ward downstairs he caught sight of a drunk man, covered in blood, who was being brought in from an ambulance. Wallander recognised him. His name was Niklasson, and he owned a junkyard outside Ystad. Normally he was sober, but occasionally he went on binges and got into fights.