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Wallander couldn't remember seeing any algae when he'd inspected the raft himself.
"There was no sign of any algae when we found it."
The man thought for a moment.
"It must have been washed off when I towed it towards theshore. The raft was bobbing up and down in my wash."
"How long do you think it had been in the water?"
"Maybe a week. Hard to say."
Wallander sat watching the man. He was restless and seemed to be straining to hear any sound as they spoke.
"Is there anything else you want to tell me?" Wallander asked him. "Every little thing could be significant."
"I think the raft had drifted from one of the Baltic countries."
"Why do you think that? Why not Germany?"
"I know these waters. I reckon that raft had come from the Baltic states."
Wallander tried to picture a map of the region.
"That's a long way," he said. "Past the whole of the Polish coast, and right into German waters. I find that hard to believe."
"During the Second World War mines could drift a very long way in a short time. The winds we've had lately would make it quite possible."
The light from the lantern suddenly started to die down.
"I've got nothing more to say," the man said, folding up the chart. "You remember what you promised?"
"I know exactly what I promised. I have one more question, though. What are you frightened of? Why did we have to meet in the middle of the night?"
"I'm not frightened," the man said, as he put the chart away. "And if I was, that would be my business."
Wallander tried to think of any other questions he should ask before it was too late.
Neither of them noticed the slight movement of the boat. It was a gentle dip, so gentle it was no wonder that it passed u
Wallander climbed up from the engine room, and shone his torch quickly over the walls of the wheelhouse. He couldn't see anything that would make it easy to identify the boat again later.
"Where can I get in touch with you if I need to?" he asked when they were back on the quay.
"You can't," the man said. "And in any case, you won't need to. There's nothing more I can tell you."
Wallander counted his paces as he walked along the quay. When he put his foot down for the 73rd time he felt the gravel of the harbour square. The man had been swallowed up by the shadows: he'd taken his torch and disappeared without another word. Wallander sat in his car without switching on the engine. For a moment he thought he saw a shadow moving in the darkness, but then decided he'd imagined it. It dawned on him that he was meant to drive away first. When he came out onto the main road he slowed down, but no headlights appeared in his rear-view mirror.
It was 2.45 a.m. when he reached home. He sat at his kitchen table and noted down the details of the conversation he had had in the fishing boat. The Baltic states, he thought. Can the life-raft really have drifted all that way? He went to the living room and found his tattered school atlas in a cupboard among piles of old magazines and opera programmes. Southern Sweden and the Baltic Sea. The Baltic states seemed quite close and yet far away at the same time. I know nothing about the sea, he thought, about currents and winds. Perhaps the man was right? And why would he have told me something he knew was untrue? Once again, he thought of the man's fear, and the other crew member, the unknown man, of whom he was so afraid.
It was 4 a.m. by the time he went back to bed. He lay awake for a long time before he managed to fall asleep.
He awoke with a start. The clock on his bedside table said 7.46 a.m. He cursed, jumped out of bed and dressed. He stuffed his toothbrush and toothpaste in his jacket pocket, and parked outside the station just before 8 a.m. In reception, Ebba beckoned to him.
"Björk wants to see you," she said. "You look a sight! Did you oversleep?"
"And how," Wallander said, darting into the lavatory to brush his teeth. At the same time he tried to gather his thoughts in preparation for the meeting. How on earth was he to deal with his nocturnal excursion to a fishing boat in Brantevik harbour?
When he got to Björk's office, there was nobody there. He made his way to the largest of the station's conference rooms, and knocked on the door, feeling like a schoolboy turning up late for classes.
There were six people sitting round the oval table, and they all stared at him.
"I'm a few minutes late, I'm afraid," he said, sitting down on the nearest empty chair. Björk was looking at him sternly, but Martinsson and Svedberg gri
"I'm from serious crime," Lovén said. "Sture's from narcotics."
"Kurt is our most experienced officer," Björk said. "Please help yourselves to coffee."
When everybody had fetched a cup, Björk started the meeting.
"Needless to say, we're grateful for all the help we can get," he began. "None of you can have failed to notice the stir caused in the media by the discovery of these bodies. That is why we need to conduct this investigation with extra vigour and commitment. Birgitta Törn has joined us primarily as an observer and to be of assistance when it comes to making contacts with countries where Interpol has no influence, but that doesn't prevent us from taking advantage of her expertise."
Then it was Wallander's turn. Everybody had copies of the case documents, so he didn't bother to go into detail, but simply summarised what had happened. He spent some time on the results of the forensic examination. When he'd finished, Lovén asked for clarification on a few points. That was all. Björk looked round the room.
"Well," he said, "what next?"
Wallander could feel himself getting a
Björk was deferring to the woman from the foreign ministry and the two Stockholm detectives. He couldn't resist firing a shot across their bows, and indicated to Björk that he wanted to speak.
"Too much of this is unclear," he said, "and I don't just mean the case itself. I don't understand why the foreign ministry has considered it necessary to send Birgitta Törn to Ystad. I can't believe the ministry simply wants to help us in establishing contacts with the Russian police. It seems to me that the foreign ministry has decided to keep an eye on our investigation, and if so, I'd like to know just what is going to be watched. And most of all, of course, why the ministry has reached such a decision. For obvious reasons I can't help feeling that Stockholm knows something we don't. Or perhaps it isn't the foreign ministry that has reached this conclusion – maybe it's somebody else?"
There was a deathly silence when Wallander had finished. Björk was staring at him in horror.
Finally Birgitta Törn spoke.
"There's no reason to doubt the explanation we've given for our coming to Ystad," she said. "The unstable situation in Eastern Europe requires us to keep a very close eye on developments there."
"We don't even know for sure that the men are from an Eastern bloc country," Wallander said, interrupting her. "Or do you know something we don't? In that case, I'd like to be put in the picture."
"I think perhaps we should calm down a bit," Björk said.
"I want an answer to my questions," Wallander said. "I'm not going to be fobbed off with waffle about the unstable political situation."
The inscrutable mask was suddenly gone from Birgitta Tom's face. She glared at Wallander, her expression indicating an increasing contempt and a wish to keep him at bay. Hmm, I'm awkward, Wallander thought, one of those ever-so-troublesome peasants.