"No. Neither one of us."
"Is there another Lundberg who might have called?"
"Who would that be?"
Wallander looked thoughtfully at the man in front of him. There was no reason to doubt he was telling the truth. So someone else had called the hospital. Someone who knew that Isa was in close contact with the Lundbergs. Someone who also knew that she was there. But what had that person wanted to know? That Isa was getting better, or if she had died?
"I just don't understand. Who would pretend to be me?" Lundberg asked.
"You're the one who can best answer that question," Wallander said. "Who knew that Isa used to come to you when she had problems with her parents?"
"Everyone in the village knew," Lundberg said. "But I can't think of anyone who would have called and used my name."
"Someone could have seen the ambulance," Martinsson said. "Did no one call to ask what had happened?"
"Karin Persson called," Lundberg said. "She lives in the hollow down by the main road. She's very curious and keeps tabs on everyone. But I can't imagine she can make herself sound like a man on the phone."
"Was there no one else?"
"Ake Nilsson dropped by on his way back from work. He brought some pork chops. We told him what had happened, but he didn't even know Isa so he wouldn't have called."
"Anyone else?"
"The postman came by with some unexpected news. We won 300 kronor in the Lottery. He wanted to know if the Edengrens were home. We told him that Isa was in the hospital, but what reason would he have to call?"
"There was no one else?"
"No."
"You did the right thing in telling us about this," Wallander said firmly, ending the conversation. Lundberg went back down the stairs, pulled his boots back on and left.
"When I was out at the nature reserve last night," Wallander said, "I had the feeling that I was being watched by someone in the darkness. I thought I'd imagined it, but now I'm starting to wonder. This morning I even asked Edmundsson to examine the spot with his dog. Is someone keeping an eye on us?"
"I know what Svedberg would have said."
Wallander looked at Martinsson with surprise. "What would he have said?"
"It was something he said when we were working on the smuggling case, during the spring of 1988, if you remember. That we should stop from time to time and look back over our shoulders. Like the Indians."
"What would we see?"
"Someone who shouldn't be there."
"That would mean we should station men out here to keep watch over the house, in case someone decides to search Isa's room. Is that what you mean?"
"Something like that."
"There's no 'something' about it. You either think that's what we should do, or you don't."
"I'm just telling you what I think Svedberg would have said."
Wallander realised how tired he felt. His irritation lay just below the surface. He knew he should apologise to Martinsson, just as he should have explained himself to Hoglund at the nature reserve. But he didn't.
They went back to Isa's room. The wig was lying on the desk next to Wallander's phone. He knelt down and looked under the bed, but found nothing. When he stood up he felt dizzy. He grabbed Martinsson's arm to steady himself.
"Don't you feel well?"
Wallander shook his head. "It's been years since I could stay up this many nights in a row without really feeling it. It'll happen to you, too."
"We should ask Lisa for extra staff."
"She's already talked to me about it." Wallander said. "I told her we'd get back to her. Is there anything else we need to look at here?"
"I don't think so. There's nothing unusual in the cupboard."
"How about anything that seems to be missing? Anything that should be in a young woman's cupboard that isn't there?"
"Nothing that I can think of."
"Then let's get going."
It was close to 9.30 a.m. when they returned to their cars.
"I'll call Isa's parents myself," Wallander said. "The rest of you will have to take on Boge, Norman and Hillstrom's parents. I don't want to be responsible for what might happen if we don't get hold of Isa. They may know something, and so might the others in the photo that we found at Svedberg's flat."
"Do you think something's happened?"
"I don't know."
They drove away. Wallander thought back to the conversation with Lundberg. Who had made that call? He had a gnawing feeling that Lundberg had said something else that was important, but he couldn't think what it was. I'm tired, he thought. I don't listen to what people say and then I have the feeling that I missed something important.
When they arrived back at the station, they went off in separate directions. Ebba stopped him as he walked past the reception desk.
"Mona called you," she said.
Wallander came to a complete stop. "What did she want?"
"She didn't tell me."
Ebba gave him her phone number in Malmo. Wallander already knew it by heart, but Ebba was very thoughtful. She also handed him a number of other phone messages.
"Most of them are from reporters," she said consolingly. "You don't have to get back to them."
Wallander got some coffee and went into his office. He had just taken off his jacket and sat down when the phone rang. It was Hansson.
"There's nothing new to report," he said. "Just so you know."
"I want either you or Ann-Britt to come back to the station," Wallander said. "Martinsson and I can't quite keep up with everything that has to be done. For example, who's in charge of searching for the cars?"
"I am. I'm working on it. Has anything happened?"
"Isa Edengren escaped from the hospital this morning. It worries me."
"Which one of us would you rather have?"
Wallander would have preferred Hoglund. She was a better police officer than Hansson. But he didn't say so.
"It doesn't matter. Just one of you."
He hung up and dialled Mona's number in Malmo. Every time she called, which wasn't often, he feared that something had happened to Linda. She answered on the second ring. Wallander always felt a twinge of sorrow when he heard her voice. Was it his imagination or was the feeling getting weaker? He wasn't sure.
"I hope I'm not bothering you," she said. "How are you?"
"I'm the one who called you," he said. "I'm fine."
"You sound tired."
"I am tired. You've probably seen in the papers that one of my colleagues is dead. Svedberg. Do you remember him?"
"Barely."
"What did you want?"
"I wanted to tell you that I'm going to get married again."
Wallander was quiet. For a moment he nearly hung up, but he stayed as he was, speechless.
"Are you there?"
"Yes," he said. "I'm still here."
"I'm telling you that I'm getting remarried."
"Who to?"
"Clas-Henrik. Who else would it be?"
"Should you really be marrying a golfer?"
"That's not a very nice thing to say."
"Then I should apologise. Does Linda know?"
"I wanted to tell you first."
"I don't know what to say. Perhaps I should congratulate you."
"That would be nice. We don't have to continue this conversation. I just wanted you to know."
"Why the hell would I want to know? What the hell do I care about you and your fucking golfer?"
Wallander was enraged. He didn't know exactly where it came from. Perhaps it was the tiredness, or the last remnant of pain at realising that now Mona was leaving him for good. The first time he had felt such pain was when she told him she wanted to leave him. And now, when she told him she was getting married again, he discovered that it was still there.
He slammed down the phone so hard that it broke. Martinsson was walking into his office as it happened, and he jumped when the receiver fell apart. Wallander pulled the phone out
of the jack and threw the whole mess in the rubbish. Martinsson watched this, obviously afraid to incur Wallander's wrath. He raised his hands up in front of his chest and turned to leave.
"What did you want?"
"It can wait."
"My anger is a private matter," Wallander said. "Tell me what you want."
"I'm going to see Norman's family. I thought I'd start with them. Lillemor Norman may know where Isa has gone."
Wallander nodded. "Either Hansson or Ann-Britt will be in soon. Tell them to take care of the other families."
Martinsson nodded, then remained in the doorway. "You'll need a new phone," he said. "I'll see to it."
Wallander didn't answer. He waved for Martinsson to leave. He didn't know how long he sat there doing nothing. Once more he'd been forced to face the fact that Mona was still the woman he was closest to in his life. It was only when someone showed up at his door with a new phone that he got up and left. Without knowing why, he ended up wandering down the hall and coming to a halt outside Svedberg's office. The door was open slightly and he looked in. The sun coming in through the window revealed a thin layer of dust on the desk. Wallander closed the door and sat down in Svedberg's chair.
Hoglund had already gone through all his papers. She was very thorough. It would be a waste of time to go over them again. Then he remembered that, like all of them, Svedberg had a locker in the basement. Hoglund had probably checked it, but she had never mentioned having done so. Wallander went out to the reception area and asked Ebba for the keys.
"His spare keys are right here," she said with obvious distaste.
Wallander took them and was about to leave when she stopped him.
"When is the funeral going to be?"
"I don't know."
"It's not going to be easy."
"At least we don't have to face a widow and crying children," said Wallander. "But you're right. It's not going to be easy."
He went down the stairs and found Svedberg's locker. He didn't know what he was looking for; there was probably nothing to find. There were some towels, soap and a shampoo bottle, for Svedberg's Friday night saunas. There was also a pair of old trainers. Wallander felt with his hand along the top shelf. There was a thin plastic folder containing some papers. He took it out, put on his glasses, and looked through it. Inside was a reminder from Svedberg's mechanic to bring his car in for a tune. There were some handwritten notes that looked like shopping lists. But there were also some ticket stubs for the bus and the train. On 19 July Svedberg, or somebody, had taken the morning train to Norrkoping. He had returned to Ystad on 22 July. He could tell from the way that the ticket was stamped that it had been used. The stubs from the bus were very blurry. He held them up to the light but couldn't read them. With the help of a magnifying glass he could just decipher the price and the words "Ostgota Public Transit". He called Ylva Brink, who was at home for once, but she had no idea what Svedberg would be doing in Ostergotland. He had no family there as far as she knew.
"Maybe this Louise person lives there," she said. "Have you found out who she is yet?"
"Not yet, but you may be right."
Wallander got another cup of coffee. His mind kept returning to his conversation with Mona. He still couldn't comprehend how she could marry that skinny little golfer who supported himself by importing sardines. He returned to his office and kept staring at the ticket stubs. Suddenly he froze, the cup halfway to his mouth.
He should have thought of it at once. What was that island in Isa Edengren's photo album called? Barnso? Hadn't Martinsson said that Barnso was off the coast of Ostergotland? He put the coffee cup down so roughly that some of the liquid spilled, and tried out his new phone by calling Martinsson.
"Where are you?"
"I'm having coffee with Lillemor Norman. Her husband will be home soon."
Wallander could hear from Martinsson's voice that the visit was difficult.
"I want you to ask her something," he said. "Now, while I'm still on the line. I want to know if she's heard of an island called Barnso, and if she knows of any connection between the island and Isa Edengren."
"Just that?"
"Just that. Do it now."
While Wallander was waiting, Hoglund appeared in the doorway. Perhaps Hansson had sensed that Wallander would rather have her with him. She pointed to his coffee cup and disappeared. Martinsson came back on the phone.
"Well, that was unexpected," he said. "She says that the Edengrens not only have houses in Spain and France, but also one on Barnso Island."
"Good," Wallander said. "Finally things are starting to make some sense."
"Wait, there's more. Apparently the others have been there with her many times. Lena Norman, Boge and Hillstrom."
"I know someone else who's been out there," Wallander said.
"Who?"
"Svedberg. Between 19 and 22 July."
"What the hell? How do you know that?"
"I'll tell you when you get here. Now go back to what you were doing."
Wallander hung up, carefully this time. Hoglund came in again. She sensed at once that something was up.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Wallander was right. It had not occurred to Hoglund to go down into the basement and look through Svedberg's things. He couldn't help feeling a sense of satisfaction that she had missed this. He thought of her as good at her job. But the fact that she had forgotten about the storage locker meant she wasn't infallible.
They quickly compared notes. Isa Edengren was gone. Wallander wanted the search for her to be their top priority. Hoglund encouraged him to spell out what he thought might have happened to Isa. He couldn't get past the facts. Isa was supposed to have been at that party. She had tried to commit suicide. And now she had run away.
"There's a possibility we haven't considered," Hoglund said. "Although it's unpleasant and rather improbable."
Wallander sensed what she was thinking. "You mean the possibility that Isa killed her friends? I've considered that, but she was genuinely ill on Midsummer's Eve."
"If that's when it really happened," Hoglund said. "We still don't know that for sure."
Wallander knew she was right. "In that case we have even more reason to try to find her as soon as possible. We also shouldn't forget that someone called for her at the hospital posing as Lundberg."
She left his office to visit the Hillstrom and Boge families, as well as the young people from the photograph they'd found in Svedberg's flat. She promised that she'd ask about Barnso Island. Nyberg called just after she had gone. Wallander immediately thought they must have located the place where the bodies had been buried.
"Not yet," Nyberg said. "This process can take a long time. I'm calling because we've received some information on the gun that was found in Svedberg's flat."
Wallander reached for a notebook.
"The national register is a blessing," Nyberg continued. "The gun that was used to kill Svedberg was stolen two years ago in Ludvika."
"Ludvika?"
"The report was filed on the 19 February 1994 to the Ludvika police. It was handled by an officer called Wester. The man who reported the gun stolen was Hans-Ake Hammarlund. He was an avid hunter who kept all his weapons securely locked up in accordance with the law. On 18 February, he went into Falun on business. That night someone broke into his house. His wife, who was sleeping in an upstairs bedroom, didn't hear anything. When Hammarlund returned from Falun the next day, he discovered that a number of his guns were missing and filed the report the same day. The shotgun was a Lambert Baron, a Spanish make. The numbers match perfectly. None of the missing guns ever turned up, nor were they ever able to identify any suspects."
"So other weapons were stolen as well?"
"The intruder left behind a very valuable shotgun designed for shooting elk, but took two revolvers, or rather one pistol and one revolver. It's not clear from the report how the intruder entered the property, but I take it you understand what this may mean?"
<
br /> "That one of the other weapons might have been the one used in the nature reserve? Yes, we'll have to get that question answered as soon as possible."
"Ludvika is in the Dalarna region," Nyberg said. "That's quite far away from here, but weapons have a way of turning up where you least expect them."
"You don't think Svedberg stole the gun that was used to kill him?"
"When it comes to stolen weapons, the connections are rarely so straightforward," Nyberg replied. "Weapons are stolen, sold, used and resold. I think there may have been a very long chain of owners before this shotgun ended up in Svedberg's flat."
"It's still important," Wallander said. "I feel as though I'm trying to navigate through thick fog."
Nyberg promised to make the identification of the stolen guns a priority. Wallander was leaning over his notebook, trying to make an outline of recent events, when the phone rang again. This time it was Dr Goransson.
"You didn't come to your appointment this morning," he said sternly.
"I'm sorry," Wallander said. "I don't have much of an excuse."
"I know you're very busy. The papers are full of this terrible crime. I worked at a hospital in Dallas for a few years, and I think the headlines in the Ystad papers are getting frighteningly like those in Texas."
"We're working around the clock," Wallander said. "It's just the way it is."
"I still think you'll have to give your health a little of your time," Goransson said. "A mismanaged case of diabetes is no laughing matter."
Wallander told him about the blood test he had had in the hospital.
"That just emphasises what I'm saying. We have to do a complete check-up on you to see how well your liver, kidneys and pancreas are functioning. I really don't think it can wait any longer."
Wallander knew he'd have to go in. They decided that he would return the following morning at 8 a.m. He promised to come in on an empty stomach and to bring a urine sample.
Wallander hung up and pushed the notebook away. He saw clearly how badly he had been abusing his body these last few years. It had started when Mona told him she wanted a divorce, almost seven years ago. He was still tempted to blame her for it, but he knew deep down that it was his own doing.
He stared at the notebook for a moment longer, then started looking for the Edengrens. He checked the country codes in the phone book and saw that Isa Edengren's mother had been in Spain when he had talked to her last. He dialled the number again and waited. He was about to hang up when a man answered.
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