spoke about some of their memories of Svedberg. Wallander was the only one who had heard Svedberg explain why he had decided to become a police officer.
"He was afraid of the dark," Wallander said. "That's what he said. The fear had been with him since his earliest childhood, and he had never been able to understand it or overcome it. He became a police officer because he thought it would be a way to fight this fear, but it never left him."
A little before 1.30 p.m. they returned to the station. Wallander drove back with Martinsson.
"She handled that very well," Martinsson said.
"Lisa's good at her job," Wallander answered. "But you knew that already, didn't you?"
Martinsson didn't answer.
Wallander suddenly remembered something. "Did you find the Audi?"
"There's a private car park at the back of the building. It was there. I looked it over."
"Did you see a telescope in the boot?"
"There was only a spare tyre and a pair of boots. And a can of insecticide in the glove compartment."
"August is the month for bees," Wallander said glumly.
They went their separate ways when they arrived at the station. Wallander had got a bunch of keys from Nyberg at the lunch, but before he returned to the fiat he drove to Hedeskoga. Sture Björklund's directions were very clear, Wallander thought, as he turned into a little farmhouse that lay just outside the town. There was a fountain in front of the house, and the large lawn had plaster statues dotted all over it. Wallander saw to his surprise that they all looked like devils, all with terrifying, gaping jaws. He wondered briefly what he would have expected a professor of sociology to have in his garden, but his thoughts were interrupted by a man wearing boots, a worn leather coat, and a torn straw hat. He was very tall and thin. Through the tear in the hat Wallander could see one similarity between Svedberg and his cousin: they were both bald.
Wallander was thrown for a moment. He hadn't expected Professor Björklund to look like this. His face was sunburnt, and had a couple of days' worth of stubble. Wallander wondered whether professors in Copenhagen really appeared unshaven at their lectures. But then he reminded himself that the semester had not yet started and that Björklund probably had other business across the strait.
"I hope this isn't too much of an inconvenience," Wallander said.
Sture Björklund threw his head back and laughed. Wallander noted a certain amount of derision in his laughter.
"There's a woman I meet in Copenhagen every Friday," Sture Björklund said. "I suppose you would call her a mistress. Do policemen in the Swedish countryside have mistresses?"
"Hardly," Wallander said.
"It's an ingenious solution to the problems of coexistence," Björklund said. "Each time may be the last. There's no co-dependence, no late-night discussions that might get out of hand and lead to things like furniture buying or pretending that one takes the idea of marriage seriously."
This man in the straw hat with the shrill laugh was starting to get on Wallander's nerves.
"Well, murder is something to take seriously," he said.
Sture Björklund nodded and took off the hat, as if he felt compelled to show a sign of something resembling mourning.
"Let's go in," he said.
The house was not like anything Wallander had ever seen before. From the outside it looked like a typical Scanian farmhouse. But the world that Wallander entered was completely unexpected. There were no walls left on the inside of the house – it was simply one big room that stretched all the way to the rafters. Here and there were little tower-like structures with spiral staircases made out of wrought iron and wood. There was almost no furniture and the walls were bare. One of the walls at the end of the house was entirely taken up by a large aquarium. Sture Björklund led him to a huge wooden table flanked by a church pew and a wooden stool.
"I've always thought that chairs should be hard," Björklund
"He was afraid of the dark," Wallander said. "That's what he said. The fear had been with him since his earliest childhood, and he had never been able to understand it or overcome it. He became a police officer because he thought it would be a way to fight this fear, but it never left him."
A little before 1.30 p.m. they returned to the station. Wallander drove back with Martinsson.
"She handled that very well," Martinsson said.
"Lisa's good at her job," Wallander answered. "But you knew that already, didn't you?"
Martinsson didn't answer.
Wallander suddenly remembered something. "Did you find the Audi?"
"There's a private car park at the back of the building. It was there. I looked it over."
"Did you see a telescope in the boot?"
"There was only a spare tyre and a pair of boots. And a can of insecticide in the glove compartment."
"August is the month for bees," Wallander said glumly.
They went their separate ways when they arrived at the station. Wallander had got a bunch of keys from Nyberg at the lunch, but before he returned to the fiat he drove to Hedeskoga. Sture Björklund's directions were very clear, Wallander thought, as he turned into a little farmhouse that lay just outside the town. There was a fountain in front of the house, and the large lawn had plaster statues dotted all over it. Wallander saw to his surprise that they all looked like devils, all with terrifying, gaping jaws. He wondered briefly what he would have expected a professor of sociology to have in his garden, but his thoughts were interrupted by a man wearing boots, a worn leather coat, and a torn straw hat. He was very tall and thin. Through the tear in the hat Wallander could see one similarity between Svedberg and his cousin: they were both bald.
Wallander was thrown for a moment. He hadn't expected Professor Björklund to look like this. His face was sunburnt, and had a couple of days' worth of stubble. Wallander wondered whether professors in Copenhagen really appeared unshaven at their lectures. But then he reminded himself that the semester had not yet started and that Björklund probably had other business across the strait.
"I hope this isn't too much of an inconvenience," Wallander said.
Sture Björklund threw his head back and laughed. Wallander noted a certain amount of derision in his laughter.
"There's a woman I meet in Copenhagen every Friday," Sture Björklund said. "I suppose you would call her a mistress. Do policemen in the Swedish countryside have mistresses?"
"Hardly," Wallander said.
"It's an ingenious solution to the problems of coexistence," Björklund said. "Each time may be the last. There's no co-dependence, no late-night discussions that might get out of hand and lead to things like furniture buying or pretending that one takes the idea of marriage seriously."
This man in the straw hat with the shrill laugh was starting to get on Wallander's nerves.
"Well, murder is something to take seriously," he said.
Sture Björklund nodded and took off the hat, as if he felt compelled to show a sign of something resembling mourning.
"Let's go in," he said.
The house was not like anything Wallander had ever seen before. From the outside it looked like a typical Scanian farmhouse. But the world that Wallander entered was completely unexpected. There were no walls left on the inside of the house – it was simply one big room that stretched all the way to the rafters. Here and there were little tower-like structures with spiral staircases made out of wrought iron and wood. There was almost no furniture and the walls were bare. One of the walls at the end of the house was entirely taken up by a large aquarium. Sture Björklund led him to a huge wooden table flanked by a church pew and a wooden stool.
"I've always thought that chairs should be hard," Björklund
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