Sjösten was on the phone. Wallander wondered when the killer would strike next. Sjösten hung up and dialled another number. Wallander went into the kitchen and drank some water, trying to avoid looking at the stove. As he came back, Sjösten slammed the phone down.
“You were right,” he said. “There’s a boat in Logård’s name down at the yacht club. The same one I belong to.”
“Let’s go,” said Wallander, feeling the tension rise.
A dock watchman showed them where Logård’s boat was berthed. Wallander could see that it was a beautiful, well-maintained boat. The hull was fibreglass, but it had a teak deck.
“A Komfortina,” said Sjösten. “Very nice. They handle well, too.”
He hopped on board like a sailor. The entrance to the cabin was locked.
“Do you know Hans Logård?” Wallander asked the watchman. He had a weatherbeaten face and wore a T-shirt advertising canned Norwegian fish-balls.
“He’s not talkative, but we say hello to each other when he comes down here.”
“When was he here last?”
“Last week, I think. But it’s high summer, you know, our busiest time, so I might be mistaken.”
Sjösten had managed to pick the cabin lock. From inside he opened the two half-doors. Wallander clambered clumsily aboard, as though walking on newly polished ice. He crept down into the cockpit and then into the cabin. Sjösten had had the foresight to bring along a torch. They searched the cabin without finding anything.
“I don’t get it,” Wallander said when they were back on the dock. “Liljegren must have been running his affairs from somewhere.”
“We’re checking his mobile phones,” said Sjösten. “Maybe that will produce something.”
They headed back. The man with the T-shirt followed them.
“I expect that you’ll want to take a look at his other boat too,” he said as they stepped off the long dock. Wallander and Sjösten reacted as one.
“Logård has another boat?” Wallander asked.
The man pointed towards the furthest pier.
“The white one, all the way at the end. A Storö class. It’s called the Rosmarin.”
“Of course we want to look at it,” Wallander said.
They ended up in front of a long, powerful, sleek launch.
“These cost money,” said Sjösten. “Lots and lots of money.”
They went aboard. The cabin door was locked. The man on the dock was watching them.
“He knows I’m a policeman,” Sjösten said.
“We don’t have time to wait,” said Wallander. “Break the lock. But do it the cheapest way.”
Sjösten managed it without breaking off more than a piece of the doorframe. They entered the cabin. Wallander saw at once that they had hit the jackpot. Along one wall was a whole shelf of folders and plastic binders.
“Find an address for Hans Logård,” said Wallander. “We can go through the rest later.”
In a few minutes they had found a membership card to a golf club outside Ängelholm with Logård’s name and address on it.
“Bjuv,” Sjösten said. “That’s not far from here.”
As they were leaving the boat, Wallander opened a cupboard. To his surprise there was women’s clothing inside.
“Maybe they had parties on board, too,” Sjösten said.
“I’m not so sure.” Wallander said pensively.
They left the boat and went back to the dock.
“I want you to call me if Logård shows up,” Sjösten told the dock watchman.
He gave him a card with his phone number on it.
“But I shouldn’t let on that you’re looking for him, right?” the man asked, excitedly.
Sjösten smiled.
“Right in one,” he replied. “Pretend that everything’s normal. And then call me. No matter what time.”
“There’s nobody here at night,” said the man.
“Then we’ll have to hope he comes in the day.”
“May I ask what he did?”
“You can,” said Sjösten, “but you won’t get an answer.”
“Should we take more men along?” Sjösten asked.
“Not yet,” Wallander replied. “First we have to find his house and see if he’s home.”
They drove towards Bjuv. They were in a part of Skåne that Wallander didn’t know. The weather had turned muggy. There would be a thunderstorm that evening.
“When’s the last time it rained?” he asked.
“Around Midsummer,” Sjösten said, after thinking for a bit. “And it didn’t rain much.”
They had just reached the turn-off to Bjuv when Sjösten’s mobile phone rang. He slowed down and answered it.
“It’s for you,” he said, handing it to Wallander.
It was Ann-Britt Höglund. She got straight to the point. “Louise Fredman has escaped from the hospital.”
It took a moment before Wallander grasped what she said.
“Could you repeat that?”
“Louise Fredman has escaped from the hospital.”
“When?”
“About an hour ago.”
“How did you find out?”
“The hospital contacted Åkeson. He called me.”
Wallander thought for a moment.
“How did it happen?”
“Someone came and got