perpetrator exited that way. The back of the house is more protected from prying eyes.'
'Any other evidence?' Hemberg said.
'Nothing out of the ordinary.'
Hemberg pushed away the papers that were spread out in front of him.
'Then all we can do is keep going,' he said. 'The medical examiner will have to hurry up. The best possible outcome is if Hålén can be bound to the crime. Personally, that is what I believe. But we will have to keep talking to neighbours and digging around in background material.'
Then Hemberg turned to Wallander.
'Do you have anything to add? You found her, after all.'
Wallander shook his head and noticed that his mouth was dry.
'Nothing?'
'I didn't notice anything that you haven't already commented on.'
Hemberg drummed his fingers against the tabletop.
'Then we have no need to sit here any longer,' he said. 'Does anyone know what the lunch is today?'
'Herring,' Hörner said. 'It's usually good.'
Hemberg asked Wallander to join him for lunch. But he declined.
His appetite was gone. He felt that he needed to be alone to think. He went to his office to get his coat. He could see through the window that it had stopped raining. Just as he was about to leave his office, one of his colleagues from the patrol squad came in and threw his police cap on a table.
'Shit,' he said, and sat down heavily in a chair.
His name was Jörgen Berglund and he came from a farm outside
Landskrona. Wallander sometimes had trouble understanding his dialect.
'We've cleaned up two blocks,' he said. 'In one of them we found some runaway thirteen-year-old girls who had been missing for weeks.
One of them smelled so bad we had to hold our noses. Another one bit Persson on the leg when we were going to lift them out. What is happening in this country, anyway? And why weren't you there?'
'I was called in by Hemberg,' Wallander said. As to the other question, about what was happening in Sweden, he had no answer.
He took his coat and left. In the reception area he was stopped by one of the girls who worked in the call centre.
'You have a message,' she said and she handed him a note through the window. There was a phone number on it.
'What is this?' he asked.
'Someone called and said he was a distant relative to you. He wasn't sure you would even remember him.'
'Didn't he say what his name was?'
'No, but he seemed old.'
Wallander studied the telephone number. There was an area code:
0411. This can't be true, he thought. My father calls and introduces himself as a distant relative. One I may not even remember.
'Where is Löderup?' he asked.
'I think that's the Ystad police district.'
'I'm not asking about the police district. Which area code is it?'
'It's Ystad.'
Wallander tucked the note in his pocket and left. If he had had a car he would have driven straight out to Löderup and asked his father what he had meant by calling like that. When he had got an answer, he would let him have it. Say that from this point on all contact between them would be severed. No more poker evenings, no phone calls.
Wallander would promise to come to the funeral, which he hoped was not too far off. But that was all.
Wallander walked along Fiskehamnsgatan. Then he swung onto
Slottsgatan and continued into Kungsparken. I have two problems, he thought. The biggest and most important one is Mona. The other is my father. I have to solve both problems as soon as possible.
He sat down on a bench and watched some grey sparrows bathing in a puddle of water. A drunk man was sleeping behind some bushes.
I should really lift him up, Wallander thought. Put him down on this bench or even make sure he gets picked up and can sleep it off somewhere.
But right now I don't care about him. He can stay where he is.
He rose from the bench and kept going. Left Kungsparken and came out on Regementsgatan. He still wasn't feeling hungry. Even so, he stopped at a hot-dog stand on Gustav Adolf 's Square and bought a grilled hot dog on a bun. Then he
'Any other evidence?' Hemberg said.
'Nothing out of the ordinary.'
Hemberg pushed away the papers that were spread out in front of him.
'Then all we can do is keep going,' he said. 'The medical examiner will have to hurry up. The best possible outcome is if Hålén can be bound to the crime. Personally, that is what I believe. But we will have to keep talking to neighbours and digging around in background material.'
Then Hemberg turned to Wallander.
'Do you have anything to add? You found her, after all.'
Wallander shook his head and noticed that his mouth was dry.
'Nothing?'
'I didn't notice anything that you haven't already commented on.'
Hemberg drummed his fingers against the tabletop.
'Then we have no need to sit here any longer,' he said. 'Does anyone know what the lunch is today?'
'Herring,' Hörner said. 'It's usually good.'
Hemberg asked Wallander to join him for lunch. But he declined.
His appetite was gone. He felt that he needed to be alone to think. He went to his office to get his coat. He could see through the window that it had stopped raining. Just as he was about to leave his office, one of his colleagues from the patrol squad came in and threw his police cap on a table.
'Shit,' he said, and sat down heavily in a chair.
His name was Jörgen Berglund and he came from a farm outside
Landskrona. Wallander sometimes had trouble understanding his dialect.
'We've cleaned up two blocks,' he said. 'In one of them we found some runaway thirteen-year-old girls who had been missing for weeks.
One of them smelled so bad we had to hold our noses. Another one bit Persson on the leg when we were going to lift them out. What is happening in this country, anyway? And why weren't you there?'
'I was called in by Hemberg,' Wallander said. As to the other question, about what was happening in Sweden, he had no answer.
He took his coat and left. In the reception area he was stopped by one of the girls who worked in the call centre.
'You have a message,' she said and she handed him a note through the window. There was a phone number on it.
'What is this?' he asked.
'Someone called and said he was a distant relative to you. He wasn't sure you would even remember him.'
'Didn't he say what his name was?'
'No, but he seemed old.'
Wallander studied the telephone number. There was an area code:
0411. This can't be true, he thought. My father calls and introduces himself as a distant relative. One I may not even remember.
'Where is Löderup?' he asked.
'I think that's the Ystad police district.'
'I'm not asking about the police district. Which area code is it?'
'It's Ystad.'
Wallander tucked the note in his pocket and left. If he had had a car he would have driven straight out to Löderup and asked his father what he had meant by calling like that. When he had got an answer, he would let him have it. Say that from this point on all contact between them would be severed. No more poker evenings, no phone calls.
Wallander would promise to come to the funeral, which he hoped was not too far off. But that was all.
Wallander walked along Fiskehamnsgatan. Then he swung onto
Slottsgatan and continued into Kungsparken. I have two problems, he thought. The biggest and most important one is Mona. The other is my father. I have to solve both problems as soon as possible.
He sat down on a bench and watched some grey sparrows bathing in a puddle of water. A drunk man was sleeping behind some bushes.
I should really lift him up, Wallander thought. Put him down on this bench or even make sure he gets picked up and can sleep it off somewhere.
But right now I don't care about him. He can stay where he is.
He rose from the bench and kept going. Left Kungsparken and came out on Regementsgatan. He still wasn't feeling hungry. Even so, he stopped at a hot-dog stand on Gustav Adolf 's Square and bought a grilled hot dog on a bun. Then he
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