The Man Who Smiled (27 page)

"What was in it?"

"Nothing."

"Why is it interesting, then?"

Nyberg shrugged and got up to leave. "I've seen a similar one before. Four years ago. When I was on a study visit at the hospital in Lund."

"The hospital?"

"I have a good memory. It was identical." "What was it used for?"

Nyberg was already at the door. "How should I know?" he said. "But the container we found in Torstensson's car was chemically clean. Only a container that's never contained
anything
could be as clean as that one.

Nyberg left. Wallander could hear him stamping down the corridor.

Then he pushed the heap of paper to one side and stood up to go home. He put on his jacket, then paused. There was something Nyberg had said. Just before he left the room. Something about the plastic container.

Then it came to him, and he sat down again.

There's something funny there, he thought. Why would there be a plastic container that has never been used in Torstensson's car? An empty container, but evidently a very special one? There was only one possible answer.

When Torstensson left Farnholm Castle, the container had not been empty. There had been something in it. Which meant that this was not the same container. It had been exchanged for the other one. On the road in the fog. When Torstensson stopped and got out of his car. And was killed.

Wallander checked his watch. After midnight. He waited for a quarter of an hour, then he phoned Nyberg at home.

"What the hell do you want now?" Nyberg said as soon as he recognised Wallander's voice.

"Get yourself over here," Wallander said. "Now, right away."

He expected Nyberg to explode in fury, but he said nothing, just put down the receiver.

At 12.40 a.m., Nyberg was back in Wallander's office once more.

CHAPTER 11

That conversation with Nyberg in the middle of the night was crucial. It seemed to Wallander that yet again he had confirmation of the fact that criminal investigations achieve a breakthrough when it is least expected. Many of Wallander's colleagues thought this proved that even police officers needed a bit of luck now and again to find their way out of a cul-de-sac. Wallander said nothing, but he thought that what it really proved was that Rydberg was right to maintain that a good police officer must always listen to what his intuition tells him - without discarding his critical faculties, of course. He had known - without knowing why he knew - that the plastic container in Torstensson's wrecked car was important. And although he was exhausted, he also knew that he could not wait until the next day to have his suspicions confirmed. That's why he had phoned Nyberg, who had just walked into his office. He had anticipated an angry outburst from his temperamental colleague, but none had been forthcoming. Nyberg had simply sat down in the visitor's chair, and Wallander noted to his surprise that he was wearing pyjamas under his overcoat. He had Wellingtons on as well.

"You must have gone straight to bed," Wallander said. "If I'd known that I wouldn't have phoned."

"Are you telling me you've called me out for nothing?"

Wallander shook his head. "It's the plastic container," he said. "Tell me more about it."

"I've no more to say than I have already," Nyberg said.

Wallander sat down at his desk and looked hard at Nyberg. He knew that Nyberg was not only a good forensic officer, but that he had imagination too, and was blessed with an exceptional memory.

"You said you'd seen a similar container before," he said.

"Not a similar one," Nyberg said. "An identical one."

"That means it must be special," Wallander said. "Can you describe it for me?"

"Wouldn't it be better if I fetched it?"

"Let's go and look at it together," Wallander said, getting up.

The police station was deserted as they walked down the corridor. A radio could be heard in the distance. Nyberg unlocked the room where the police kept objects material to ongoing investigations. The container was on a shelf. Nyberg took it down and handed it to Wallander. It was rectangular, and reminded Wallander of a cool box. He put it on a table and tried to open the lid.

"It's screwed down," Nyberg said. "Notice also that it's perfectly airtight. There's a window on this side. I don't know what it's for, but I suspect there ought to be a thermometer mounted on the inside."

"You saw a similar one at the hospital in Lund," Wallander said, scrutinising the container. "Can you remember where? Which ward?"

"It was moving around," Nyberg said. "It was in a corridor outside the operating theatres. A nurse came with it. I seem to remember she was in a hurry."

"Anything else?"

"No, nothing."

"It reminds me of a cool box," Wallander said.

"I think that's what it is," Nyberg said. "For blood, possibly."

"I need you to find out," Wallander said. "I also want to know what that container was doing in Torstensson's car the night he died."

When they were back in Wallander's office, he remembered something Nyberg had said earlier in the evening.

"You said you thought it was made in France."

"It said 'Made in France' on the handle."

"I didn't notice that."

"The text on the one I saw in Lund was more obvious," Nyberg said. "I think we can excuse you."

"I may be wrong," Wallander said, "but I reckon the fact that this container was in Torstensson's car
is
remarkable. What was it doing there? Are you sure it was unused?"

"When I unscrewed the lid I could see that it was the first time it had been opened since it left the factory. Do you want me to explain how I knew?"

"It's enough to know that you're sure," Wallander said. "I wouldn't understand anyway."

"I can see you believe this container is important," Nyberg said, "but it's not unusual to find unexpected items in crashed cars." "In this case we can't overlook a single detail," Wallander said. "But we've never done that."

Wallander stood up. "Thank you for coming back," he said. "I'd like to know what the plastic container was used for sometime tomorrow."

They said goodnight outside the station. Wallander drove home and had a couple of sandwiches before going to bed. He couldn't sleep, and after tossing and turning for some time he got up again and went into the kitchen. He sat at the table without switching on the light. He felt uneasy and impatient. This investigation had too many loose ends. Even though they had decided on a way forward, he was still not convinced it was the right way. Had they overlooked something vital? He thought back to the day when Sten Torstensson came to see him on the Jutland coast. He could recall their conversation word for word. Even so, he wondered if he had missed the real message, whether there had been some other significance behind Sten's words.

It was gone 4.00 by the time he went back to bed. A wind had got up outside, and the temperature had plummeted. He shivered when he slid between the sheets. He did not think he had got anywhere. Nor had he succeeded in convincing himself that he would have to be patient. What he demanded of his colleagues was something he could not manage himself on this occasion.

When Wallander arrived at the station just before 8 a.m. there was a gale blowing. They told him in reception there were forecasts of hurricane-strength gusts before lunch. As he walked to his office he wondered if his father's house in Löderup would survive the winds. His conscience had been nagging him for some time over his failure to have the roof repaired, and there was a real risk that one violent storm would blow it right off. He sat at his desk thinking that he had better phone his father - he hadn't spoken to him since the fight at the off-licence. He was about to pick up the receiver when the phone rang.

"There's a call for you," Ebba said. "And have you noticed how strong the wind is?"

"I can console you with the news that it's going to get worse," Wallander said. "Who is it?" "Farnholm Castle." Wallander stretched out in his chair. "Put them on," he said.

"It's a lady with a remarkable name," Ebba said. "She introduced herself as Jenny Lind."

"It sounds normal enough to me."

"I didn't say it was abnormal, I said it was remarkable. You must have heard of the Swedish Nightingale, the great singer Jenny Lind?" "Put her through," Wallander said.

The voice he heard was that of a young woman. One more of all those secretaries, Wallander thought. "Inspector Wallander?" "Speaking."

"You were here the other day and expressed a wish to have an audience with Dr Harderberg."

"I don't do audiences," Wallander said in irritation. "I need to speak to him in connection with a murder investigation."

"I do realise that. We have received a telex this morning informing us that Dr Harderberg will be back home this afternoon and will be able to receive you tomorrow."

"Where did the telex come from?"

"Does that matter?"

"I wouldn't have asked otherwise," Wallander lied.

"Dr Harderberg is at the moment in Barcelona."

"I don't want to wait until tomorrow," Wallander said. "I need to talk to him as soon as possible. If he gets back to Sweden this afternoon he should be able to see me this evening."

"He has nothing in his diary for this evening," Lind said. "But I shall need to contact him in Barcelona before I can give you an answer."

"Do that if you wish," Wallander said. "Tell him he'll be receiving a visit from the Ystad police at 7 p.m."

"I'm afraid I can't agree to that. Dr Harderberg always decides on the time of visits himself."

"Not in this case," Wallander said. "We'll be there at 7.00."

"There will be someone else with you?"

"Yes."

"Could I ask for that person's name?"

"You may ask, but you won't get it. There will be another police officer from Ystad."

"I'll contact Dr Harderberg," Lind said. "You should be aware that he sometimes changes his plans at very short notice. He could be forced to go somewhere else before coming home."

"I can't allow that," Wallander said, fearing that he was far exceeding his authority in saying so.

"I must say you surprise me," Lind said. "Can a police officer really decide what Dr Harderberg does or doesn't do?"

Wallander continued to exceed his authority. "I have only to speak to a prosecutor - he can issue demands," Wallander said.

He realised his mistake even as he spoke. They had decided to tread carefully. Harderberg would be asked some questions, but as important as his answers was convincing him that their interest in him was purely routine. He tried to tone down what he had said.

"Dr Harderberg is suspected of nothing illegal, let me make that clear," he said. "It's just that we need to speak to him at the earliest possible moment, for reasons to do with our investigation. No doubt a prominent citizen like Dr Harderberg will be anxious to help the police solve a serious crime."

"I'll contact him," Lind repeated.

"Thank you for ringing," Wallander said and replaced the receiver.

A thought had struck him. With Ebba's help he tracked down Martinsson and asked him to come to his office.

"Harderberg has been in touch," he said. "He's in Barcelona, but on his way home. I thought of taking Ann-Britt with me and going to see him this evening."

"She's at home. Her kid's not well," Martinsson said. "She's just phoned."

"You can come instead, in that case," Wallander said.

"That's fine by me," Martinsson said. "I want to see that aquarium with gold dust for sand."

"There's another matter," Wallander said. "What do you know about aeroplanes?"

"Not a lot."

"I had a thought," Wallander said. "Harderberg has a private jet. A Gulfstream, whatever that is. It must be registered somewhere. There must be flight logs showing when he's out on his travels, and where he goes to."

"If nothing else he must have a few pilots," Martinsson said. "I'll look into it."

"Give that job to somebody else," Wallander said. "You've got more important things to do."

"Ann-Britt can do it from her phone at home," Martinsson said. "I think she'll be pleased to be doing something useful."

"She could develop into a good police officer."

"Let's hope so," Martinsson said. "But to tell you the truth, we have no way of knowing. All we know is that she did well at college."

"You're right," Wallander said. "It's awfully hard to imitate reality at a college."

After Martinsson had left, Wallander sat down to prepare for the meeting at 9.00. When he had woken that morning, all the thoughts he had had during the night about the loose ends of the investigation were still in the forefront of his mind. He had decided they would have to write off anything they judged to be of no immediate relevance to the investigation. If eventually they concluded that the route they had decided on was a cul-de-sac, they could always go back to the loose ends. But only then could the loose ends be allowed to occupy their attention.

Wallander pushed aside all the papers piled up on his desk and put an empty sheet in front of him. Many years ago Rydberg had taught him a way of approaching an investigation in a new light. We have to keep moving from one lookout tower to another, Rydberg had said. If we don't, our overviews become meaningless. No matter how complicated an investigation is, it has to be possible to describe it to a child. We have to see things simply, but without simplifying.

Wallander wrote: "Once upon a time there was an old solicitor who paid a visit to a rich man in his castle. On the way back home somebody killed him and tried to make us believe it had been a car accident. Soon afterwards his son was shot dead in his office. He had begun to suspect there hadn't been a car accident after all, and so he had been to see me to ask for help. He had made a secret trip to Denmark although his secretary was told he had gone to Finland. She had also had a postcard from there. A few days later somebody planted a mine in the garden of the secretary. A wide-awake officer from Ystad noticed that I was being followed by a car as we drove to Helsingborg. The solicitors had received threatening letters from an accountant working for a county council. The accountant later committed suicide by hanging himself in a tree near Malmö, although the probability is that he, too, was murdered. Just as with the car accident, the suicide was contrived. All these incidents are linked, but there is no obvious thread. Nothing has been stolen and there is no sign of passions such as hatred or jealousy running high. All that was left behind was a strange plastic container. And now we start all over again. Once upon a time there was an old solicitor who paid a visit to a rich man in his castle." Wallander put down his pen.

Alfred Harderberg, he thought. A modern-day Silk Knight. Lurking in the background, everybody's background. Flying all over the world and doing his business deals that are so difficult to penetrate, as if it were all a kind of ritual for which only the initiated know the rules.

He read through what he had written. The words were transparent, but there was nothing in them to put the investigation in a new light. Least of all was there anything to suggest that Harderberg might be involved.

This must be something very big, Wallander thought. If my suspicions are right and he really is behind all this, then Gustaf Torstensson - and Borman too - must have discovered something that threatened his whole empire. Presumably Sten did not know what it was or he would have told me. But he came to visit me and he suspected he was being watched, and that turned out to be true. They could not take the risk of him passing on what he knew. Nor could they risk Mrs Dunér knowing anything.

This must be something very big, he thought again. Something so big that might nevertheless fit into a plastic container that reminds you of a cool box.

Wallander went to fetch another cup of coffee. Then he phoned his father.

"It's blowing a gale," Wallander said. "There's a risk your roof might get blown off."

"I'm looking forward to that," his father said. "Looking forward to what?"

"Seeing my roof flying off over the fields like a bird. I've never seen anything like that before."

"I ought to have had it repaired ages ago," Wallander said, "but I'll make sure it's done before winter sets in."

"I'll believe that when I see it," his father said. "It would mean you'd have to come here."

"I'll make time. Have you thought over what happened in Simrishamn?"

"What is there to think over?" his father said. "I just did what was right."

"You can't just attack people at the drop of a hat," Wallander said. "I'm not going to pay any fines," his father said. "I'm not going to prison either."

"There's no question of that," Wallander said. "I'll phone you tonight to find out what's happened to the roof. There might be hurricane-strength gusts."

"Maybe I ought to climb up on the chimney."

"What on earth for?"

"So that I can go flying myself."

"You'll kill yourself. Isn't Gertrud there?"

"I'll take her with me," said his father, and put the receiver down. Wallander was left sitting there with the telephone in his hand. Björk came in at that very moment.

"I can wait if you're going to make a call," Björk said. Wallander put the receiver down.

"I heard from Martinsson that Dr Harderberg has shown signs of life," Björk said.

"Was that a question?" he said. "If so, I can confirm that what Martinsson says is correct. Except that it wasn't Harderberg who phoned. He's in Barcelona and is expected back later today. I asked for a meeting this evening."

Wallander could see Björk was put out.

"Martinsson said that he would be going with you," Björk said. "I wonder if that's appropriate."