look at yourself in the mirror every morning?”
“What do you think when you look in the mirror?”
“That at least I’m not making a living by lying on my back for anyone who happens to have enough cash. Do you take credit cards?”
“Go to hell.”
She made a move to get up and leave. Wallander was annoyed at the way he was needling her. She might still be useful.
“Please forgive me,” Sjösten said, still just as friendly. “Let’s forget about your private life. Hans Logård? Is that name familiar?”
She looked at him without replying. Then she turned and looked at Wallander.
“I asked you a question,” Sjösten said.
Wallander understood her glance. She wanted to give only him the answer. He signalled to Sjösten to follow him into the hall. There he explained that Sjösten had destroyed Elisabeth Carlén’s trust.
“Then we’ll arrest her,” said Sjösten. “I’ll be damned if I’ll let a whore give me trouble.”
“Arrest her for what?” asked Wallander. “Wait here, I’ll go in and get the answer. Calm down, damn it!”
Sjösten shrugged. Wallander went back in and sat down behind the desk.
“Logård used to hang out with Liljegren,” she said.
“Do you know where he lives?”
“In the country somewhere.”
“Do you know where?”
“Only that he doesn’t live in town.”
“What does he do?”
“I don’t know that either.”
“But he was at the parties?”
“Yes.”
“As guest or host?”
“As the host. And as a guest.”
“Do you know how I can get hold of him?”
“No.”
Wallander still believed she was telling the truth. Probably they wouldn’t be able to track down Logård through her.
“How did they get along?”
“Logård always had plenty of money. Whatever he did for Liljegren, he was well paid.”
She stubbed out her cigarette. Wallander felt as if he had been granted a private audience with her.
“I’m going,” she said, getting to her feet.
“Let me see you out,” said Wallander.
Sjösten came sauntering down the hall. She looked straight through him as they passed. Wallander waited on the steps until he saw someone follow her, then went back up to the office.
“Why were you needling her?” he asked.
“She stands for something I despise,” Sjösten said.
“We need her. We can despise her later.”
They got coffee and sat down to go over what they knew. Sjösten brought in Birgersson to help out.
“The problem is Fredman,” said Wallander. “He doesn’t fit. Otherwise we now have a number of links that seem to hang together, fragile points of contact.”
“Or maybe it just looks that way,” Sjösten said thoughtfully.
Wallander could tell that Sjösten was worried about something. He waited for him to continue, but he didn’t.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
Sjösten kept staring out of the window.
“Why couldn’t this be possible?” he said. “That he was killed by the same man, but for a completely different reason.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” said Birgersson.
“Nothing makes sense in this case.”
“So you mean that we should be looking for two different motives,” said Wallander.
“That’s about it. But I could be wrong. It was just an idea, that’s all.”
Wallander nodded. “We shouldn’t disregard that possibility”
“It’s a sidetrack,” said Birgersson. “A blind alley, a dead end. It doesn’t seem likely at all.”
“We can’t rule it out,” Wallander said. “We can’t rule out anything. But right now we have to find Logård. That’s the priority.”
“Liljegren’s villa is a very strange place,” said Sjösten. “There wasn’t one piece of paper there. No address book. Nothing. And no-one has had the opportunity to go in and clean up.”
“Which means we haven’t searched hard enough,” Wallander replied. “Without Logård we’re not going to get anywhere.”
Sjösten and Wallander had a quick lunch at a restaurant next to the station, and drove to Liljegren’s villa. The cordons were still up. An officer opened the gates and let them in. Sunlight filtered through the trees. Suddenly the case seemed surreal. Monsters belonged in the cold and dark. Not in a summer like this one. He recalled Rydberg’s joke. It’s best to be hunting insane killers in the autumn. In the summer give me a good old-fashioned bomber. He laughed at the thought. Sjösten gave him a funny look, but he didn’t explain.
Inside the huge villa the forensic technicians had finished their work. Wallander took a look in the kitchen. The oven door was closed. He thought of Sjösten’s idea about Björn Fredman. A killer with two motives? Did such birds exist? He called Ystad, and Ebba got hold of Ekholm for him. It was almost five minutes before he came to the phone. Wallander watched Sjösten wandering through the rooms on the ground floor, drawing back the