“We can’t ignore what we know,” Wallander replied.
At the same time the feeling that kept plaguing him returned. The fear that he was steering the whole investigation into terrain that consisted of nothing but pitfalls. At any moment the trap door could open under their feet.
“We haven’t had many female serial killers in this country,” he said.
“If any,” Wallander said. “Besides, we don’t know if she’s committed the murders. Our clues will either lead us to her alone or to someone who is working behind her.”
“And you think she regularly serves coffee on trains between Stockholm and Malmö?”
Birch’s doubt was unmistakable.
“No,” Wallander replied. “I don’t think she serves coffee. The waitress is probably just the fourth step along the way.”
Birch stopped asking questions. Wallander looked at the clock and wondered if he should call Hansson again. The half hour was almost up. Bergstrand was still busy with his meeting. Birch was reading a brochure.
Another 30 minutes passed. Wallander’s patience was running out.
Bergstrand came back.
“It looks like we’re going to solve it,” he said brightly. “But it’ll take a little while longer.”
“How long?”
Wallander didn’t hide his irritation. It probably wasn’t justified, but he couldn’t help it.
“Maybe half an hour. They’re driving the files over here. That takes time.”
They continued to wait. Birch put down his brochure and dozed off. Wallander went over to the window and looked out at Malmö. To the right he caught a glimpse of the hydrofoil terminal. He thought about the times he had stood there waiting for Baiba. How many? Twice. It felt more than that. He called Hansson. Nothing. The digging was going to take time. Hansson also said it had started to rain. Wallander gloomily realised the extent of this depressing work.
The whole thing is going to hell, he thought suddenly. I’ve steered the whole investigation right into perdition. Birch started snoring. Wallander kept on checking his watch. Bergstrand came back. Birch woke up with a start. Bergstrand had a piece of paper in his hand.
“Margareta Nystedt,” he said. “That’s probably the person you’re looking for. She was the only one handling the serving that day for the departure in question.”
Wallander jumped up from his chair. “Where is she now?”
“I don’t actually know. She stopped working for us about a year ago.”
“Damn,” Wallander said.
“But we have her address,” Bergstrand went on. “She might not have moved just because she stopped working for us.”
Wallander grabbed the piece of paper. It was an address in Malmö.
“Carl Gustaf’s Road,” Wallander said. “Where’s that?”
“Near Pildamm Park,” replied Bergstrand.
Wallander saw that there was a phone number, but he decided not to call it. He would go there himself.
“Thanks for your help,” he said to Bergstrand. “Can I count on this information being correct? Was she the only one on duty that day?”
“Swedish Railways is known for its reliability,” said Bergstrand. “That means that we take care to keep track of our employees. Both in the administration and in the subsidiaries.”
Wallander didn’t understand the connection, but he didn’t have time to ask. “Then let’s go,” he said to Birch.
They left the station. Birch went in Wallander’s car. It took them less than ten minutes to find the address. It was a five-storey block of flats. Margareta Nystedt lived on the fifth floor. They took the lift. Wallander rang the bell before Birch was even out of the lift, waited, and then rang again. No answer. He swore to himself, then he made a quick decision. He rang the bell next door. The door opened almost at once. An elderly man gave Wallander a stern look. His shirt was unbuttoned over his paunch and he was holding a betting form.
He took out his identification. “We’re looking for Margareta Nystedt,” he said.
“What has she done?” the man asked. “She’s a very friendly young woman. Her husband too.”
“We just need some information,” Wallander said. “She’s not home. No-one came to the door. Do you happen to know where we could find her?”
“She works on the hydrofoil,” replied the man. “She’s a waitress.”
Wallander looked at Birch.
“Thanks for your help,” said Wallander. “Good luck with the horses.”
Ten minutes later they braked in front of the hydrofoil terminal.
“I don’t think we can park here,” Birch said.
“To hell with it,” said Wallander.
He felt as if he was running, and that everything would fall apart if he stopped. It took them only a few minutes to find out that Margareta Nystedt was working that morning on
Springaren
. It had just left Copenhagen and was expected to dock in half an hour. Wallander used the time to move his car. Birch sat on a bench in the departure hall and read a tattered newspaper. The terminal manager came over and said they could wait in the staff room. He wondered whether they wanted him to contact the boat.
“How much time does she have?” Wallander asked.
“She’s really supposed to go back to Copenhagen on the next trip.”
“That won’t be possible.”
The man was helpful. He promised to see to it that Margareta Nystedt could stay ashore. Wallander assured him that she wasn’t suspected of any crime. He went out onto the dock as the boat pulled in. The passengers struggled against the wind. Wallander was surprised that so many people were travelling across the Sound on a weekday. He waited impatiently. The last passenger was a man on crutches, and then a woman wearing a uniform came out onto the deck. The manager pointed her out to Wallander. She was blonde, with her hair cropped very short, and she was younger than Wallander had expected. She stopped in front of him and crossed her arms. She was cold.
“Are you the one who wants to talk to me?” she asked.
“Margareta Nystedt?”
“That’s me.”
“Let’s go inside. We don’t have to stand out here freezing.”
“I don’t have much time.”
“More than you think. You’re not going back on the next trip.”
She stopped.
“Why not? Who decided that?”
“I have to talk to you. But you have nothing to worry about.”
He suddenly had a feeling that she was scared. For a brief moment he started to think he was mistaken. That she was the one they were looking for. That he already had the fifth woman at his side, without having met the fourth. Then he realised just as quickly that he was wrong. Margareta Nystedt was young and slender. She wasn’t strong enough. And something about her whole presence told him she wasn’t the murderer.
They went into the terminal building where Birch was waiting, went into the staff room and sat down. The room was empty. Birch introduced himself. She shook hands with him. Her hand was fragile. Like a bird’s foot, Wallander thought to himself.
He studied her face. She was about 27 or 28. Her dress was short, and she had nice legs. She was wearing harsh make-up. He got the impression that she had painted over something on her face that she didn’t like. She was nervous.
“I’m sorry we had to contact you like this,” Wallander said. “But sometimes there are things that can’t wait.”
“Like my boat, for instance,” she replied. Her voice had a strangely hard sound to it. Wallander hadn’t expected that.
“It’s not a problem. I’ve talked to your supervisor about it.”
“What have I done?”
Wallander looked at her thoughtfully. She had no idea why he and Birch were there. There was no doubt about that. The trap door of his doubt creaked and groaned under his feet.
She repeated her question. What had she done?
Wallander glanced at Birch, who was surreptitiously looking at her legs.
“Katarina Taxell,” Wallander said. “Do you know her?”
“I know who she is. Whether I know her is a different story.”
“How did you meet her? What have you had to do with her?”
Suddenly she gave a start. “Has something happened to her?”
“No. Answer my questions.”
“Answer mine! I only have one. Why are you asking me about her?”
Wallander saw that he had been too impatient. He had moved too fast. Her aggression was understandable.
“Nothing has happened to Katarina. And she’s not suspected of committing any crime. Nor are you. But we need to get some information about her. That’s all I can tell you. After you’ve answered my questions, I’ll leave and you can go back to work.”
She gave him a searching look. She was starting to believe him.
“About three years ago you spent time with her. Back then you were working as a waitress on the railway dining cars.”
She seemed surprised that he knew about her past. Wallander had the impression that she was on her guard, which in turn made him sharpen his attention.
“Is that true?”
“Of course it’s true. Why would I deny it?”
“And you knew Katarina Taxell?”
“Yes.”
“How did you meet her?”
“We worked together.”
Wallander gave her a surprised look before he continued.
“Isn’t she a teacher?”
“She was taking a break. That’s when she worked on the train.”
Wallander looked at Birch, who shook his head. He hadn’t heard about this either.
“When was this?”
“In the spring of 1991. I can’t be any more specific than that.”
“And you worked together?”
“Not always. But often.”
“And you also spent time together when you were off?”
“Sometimes. But we weren’t close friends. We had fun. That’s all.”
“When did you last see her?”
“We drifted apart when she stopped waitressing. It wasn’t a close friendship.”
Wallander saw that she was telling the truth. Her wariness was gone.
“Did Katarina have a steady boyfriend during that time?”
“I actually don’t know,” she replied.
“If you worked together and also spent time together, wouldn’t you have known that?”
“I don’t remember her ever mentioning anyone.”
“And you never saw her with any men?”
“Never.”
“Did she have any girlfriends she spent time with?”
Margareta Nystedt thought for a moment. Then she gave Wallander three names. The same names Wallander already had.
“No-one else?”
“Not as far as I know.”
“Have you ever heard the name Eugen Blomberg before?”
She thought about it.
“Wasn’t he the man who was murdered?”
“That’s right. Can you remember Katarina ever talking about him?”
She suddenly gave him a serious look.
“Was she the one who did it?”
Wallander pounced on her question.
“Do you think she could have killed anyone?”
“No. Katarina was a very gentle person.”
“You went back and forth between Malmö and Stockholm,” he said. “I’m sure you had a lot of work to do, but you must have talked to each other. Are you positive she never mentioned any other girlfriend? It’s important.”
“No,” she said. “I can’t remember anyone.”
At that moment Wallander noticed her hesitate for a split second. She saw that he had noticed.
“Maybe,” she said.
“What?”
“It must have been just before she quit. I’d been sick for a week with the flu. When I came back she was different.”
Wallander was on tenterhooks now. Birch had also noticed that something was up.
“Different in what way?”
“I don’t know how to explain it. Her mood seemed to swing between gloom and exhilaration. She had changed.”
“Try to describe the change. This could be crucial.”
“Usually when we didn’t have anything to do we would sit in the little kitchen in the restaurant car. We talked and looked through magazines. But when I came back we didn’t do that any more.”
“What happened instead?”
“She left.”
Wallander waited for her to go on. But she didn’t.
“She left the dining car? She couldn’t very well have left the train. What did she say she was going to do?”
“She didn’t say anything.”
“But you must have asked her. She was different? She didn’t sit and talk any more?”
“Maybe I asked. I don’t remember. But she didn’t say anything. She just left.”
“Did this always happen?”
“No. Just before she quit she was different. She seemed completely closed off.”
“Do you think she was meeting someone on the train? A passenger who was on board each time? It sounds strange.”
“I don’t know.”
Wallander had no more questions. He looked at Birch, who had nothing more to add either.
The hydrofoil was just about to leave the harbour.
“You can have a break now,” Wallander said. “I want you to contact me if you think of anything else.”
He wrote his name and phone number on a piece of paper and handed it to her.
She stood up and left.
“Who would meet Katarina on a train?” Birch asked. “A passenger who travels back and forth between Malmö and Stockholm? Besides, they can’t be serving all the time on the same train. That doesn’t sound logical.”
Wallander was only half listening to what Birch said. An idea had occurred to him that he didn’t want to lose. It couldn’t be a passenger. So it had to be someone else who was on the train for the same reason she was.
Wallander looked at Birch.
“Who works on a train?” he asked.
“I assume there’s an engine driver.”
“Who else?”
“Conductors. One or more.”
Wallander nodded. He thought about what Höglund had discovered. The faint glimmer of a pattern. A person who had irregular but recurring days off. Like people who work on trains. And then there was the timetable in the secret compartment. He stood up.