"Damn," Martinsson said.
Wallander swallowed and forced himself to breathe deeply. He thought of Louise Akerblom's daughters. And of Robert Akerblom. He wondered how they would be able to keep on believing in a good, all-powerful God when their mother and wife had been murdered and dropped into a well.
He stood up and went back to the well.
"It's her," he said. "No doubt about it."
Martinsson ran to his car, called Bjork, and requested a full-scale call-out. They would need the fire brigade to get Louise Akerblom's body out of the well. Wallander sat down with Hanson on the dilapidated veranda, and listened to his story. Occasionally he asked questions. He knew that Hanson was telling the truth. The police had reason to be grateful that he had set out that morning to steal old water pumps. If he hadn't, it might have been a long time before they found Louise Akerblom.
"Take his personal details," Wallander said to Svedberg, when he had finished with Hanson. "And let him go. But make sure this Morell backs up his story. Who's the prosecutor on duty?" Wallander wondered.
"I think Bjork said it was Akeson," Svedberg said.
"Get hold of him," Wallander said. "Tell him we've found her and that it's murder. I'll give him a report later this afternoon."
"What do we do about Gustafson?" Svedberg said.
"You'll have to keep on looking for him by yourself for the time being," Wallander said. "I want Martinsson to be here when we get her up and make the first examination."
"I'll be only too glad to miss that," Svedberg said.
He drove off in one of the cars.
Wallander took a few more deep breaths before approaching the well once more. He did not want to be on his own when he told Akerblom where they had found his wife.
It took the same two young firemen who had dragged the pond two hours to get Louise Akerblom's corpse out of the well. They pulled her up using a rescue harness, and put the body in an investigation tent that had been pitched alongside the well. As they were pulling up the body, Wallander could see how she had died. She had been shot in the forehead. Once again he was struck by the thought that nothing in this investigation was straightforward. He still had not met Stig Gustafson, if he really was the one who killed her. But would he have shot her from the front? There was something that didn't add up.
He asked Martinsson for his first reaction.
"A bullet straight into the forehead," Martinsson said. "That doesn't make me think of uncontrolled passion or unrequited love. It makes me think of a cold-blooded execution."
"Exactly what I was thinking," Wallander said.
The firemen pumped the water out of the well. Then they went down again, and when they came back up they had with them Louise Akerblom's handbag, her briefcase, and one of her shoes. The other was still on her foot. The water was pumped into a hastily constructed plastic pool. Martinsson found nothing else of interest when they filtered it.
The firemen went down to the bottom of the well one more time. They shone powerful lamps all around, but found nothing apart from what turned out to be the skeleton of a cat.
The doctor looked pale when he emerged from the tent.
"It's terrible," she said to Wallander.
"Yes," he said. "We know the key thing, namely that she was shot. I want the pathologists in Malmo to find out two things for me right away: first the bullet, second a report on any other injuries which might suggest she had been beaten or held prisoner. Anything you can find. And of course, whether she's been subjected to sexual assault."
"The bullet's still in her head," the doctor said. "There is no exit hole."
"One other thing," Wallander said. "I want her wrists and ankles examined. I want to know if there is any sign of her having been put in handcuffs."
"Handcuffs?"
"That's right," Wallander said. "Handcuffs."
Bjork had been staying in the background while they worked to lift the corpse out of the well. Once the body had been placed on a stretcher and driven off to the hospital in an ambulance, he took Wallander aside.
"We have to inform her husband," he said.
We? Wallander thought. You mean, I'll have to do it.
"I'll take Pastor Tureson with me," he said.
"You'll have to try and find out how long it will take him to inform all her close relatives," Bjork said. "I'm very much afraid we won't be able to keep this quiet for very long. And then, I really don't understand how you could just let that thief go. He can run to some evening tabloid or other and earn himself a fortune if he spills the beans on this story."
Wallander was irritated by Bjork's niggling tone. On the other hand, he had to admit that there was a very real risk.
"Yes," he said. "That was stupid. My fault."
"I thought it was Svedberg who let him go," Bjork said.
"It was Svedberg," Wallander said. "But it's my responsibility in any case."
"Please don't be angry with me for saying this," Bjork said.
Wallander shrugged. "I'm angry at whoever did this to Louise Akerblom," he said. "And to her daughters. And to her husband."
They sealed off the house and grounds, and the investigation continued. Wallander got into his car and called Pastor Tureson, who answered more or less right away. Wallander told him what they had found. Tureson was silent for quite some time before answering. He said he would wait for Wallander outside the church.
"Will he break down?" Wallander said.
"He has faith in God," Pastor Tureson said.
We'll see about that, Wallander thought. We'll see if that's enough.
But he said nothing.
Pastor Tureson was standing on the street, his head bowed.
Wallander found it difficult to collect his thoughts as he drove into town. There was nothing he found more difficult than telling relatives that someone in their family had died. There was no real difference whether the death was caused by an accident, a suicide or a violent crime. No matter how hard he tried to express himself carefully and considerately, his words were cruelty itself. It had occurred to him that he was the ultimate herald of tragedy. He remembered what Rydberg, his friend and colleague, had said a few months before he died. "There will never be an appropriate way for a policeman to tell somebody of a sudden death. That's why we have to do it ourselves, and never delegate the job to anybody else. We're probably more resilient than the others - we've seen more of what nobody ought ever to see."
On the way into town he had also the persistent feeling that something was utterly wrong, absolutely incomprehensible; the whole investigation was totally misguided, and some explanation or other must soon come to light. He would ask Martinsson and Svedberg straight out if they felt as he did. Was there a possible link between that black finger and Louise Akerblom's disappearance and death? Or was it just a combination of coincidences?
There might also be a third explanation, he thought: that somebody had manufactured the confusion.
But why had this death taken place at all? he asked himself. The only motive we have been able to find so far is unrequited love. But it is a pretty big step from there to a charge of murder. Not to mention murder so cold-blooded that the car was hidden in one place and the body several kilometres away.
Maybe we haven't found a single stone worth turning over, he thought. What do we do if we find that Stig Gustafson is not worth following up?
He thought of the handcuffs. Of Louise Akerblom's constant smile. Of the happy family that had been destroyed. But was it the image that had collapsed? Or was it the reality? Pastor Tureson got into the car. He had tears in his eyes. Wallander immediately felt a lump in his throat.
"We've found her at an empty house some way outside of Ystad. I can't tell you any more, for the time being," Wallander said.
"How did she die?"
Wallander thought for a moment before replying. "She was shot," he said.
"I have one more question," Tureson said. "Apart from wanting to know who could have carried out such a crazy act. Did she suffer a lot before she died?"
"I don't know yet," Wallander said. "But even if I did know, I would tell her husband that death came very quickly, and hence painlessly."
They drew up outside the house. On the way to the church Wallander had stopped at the station and taken his own car. He did not want to arrive in a police car.
Akerblom answered almost as soon as they rang the doorbell. He's seen us, Wallander thought. The moment a car brakes in the street outside, he hurries to the nearest window to see who it is.
He ushered them into the living room. Wallander listened to see if there was any noise. The two girls did not appear to be home.
"I'm afraid I have to tell you your wife is dead," Wallander said. "We've found her at an abandoned house some way outside of town. She was murdered."
Akerblom stared at him, his face motionless. It seemed he was waiting for more.
"I very much regret this," Wallander said. "But the best I can do is to tell you exactly how it is. I'm afraid I shall also have to ask you to identify the body. But that can wait. It doesn't need to be done today. And it would be all right if Pastor Tureson were to do it."
Akerblom kept on staring at him.
"Are your daughters at home?" Wallander said, cautiously. "This must be awful for them."
He turned to Tureson, appealing for help.
"We'll do all we can to help," Tureson said.
"Thank you for letting me know," Akerblom said, all of a sudden. "All this uncertainty has been so difficult to bear."
"I am terribly sorry things have turned out so badly," Wallander said. "All of us on the case were hoping it would be otherwise."
"Who?" Akerblom said.
"We don't know," Wallander said. "But we shall not rest until we do know."
"You'll never know," Akerblom said.
Wallander looked at him inquiringly. "Why do you think that?" he said.
"Nobody could have wanted to kill Louise," Akerblom said. "So how could you possibly find whoever is guilty?"
Wallander did not know what to say. Akerblom had put his finger on their biggest problem.
A few minutes later he stood up. Tureson accompanied him into the hall. "You have a few hours in which to contact all the closest relatives," Wallander said. "Call me if you can't locate them. We won't be able to keep the news to ourselves for very long."
"I understand," Tureson said.
Then he lowered his voice. "Stig Gustafson?" he asked.
"We're still looking," Wallander said. "We don't know if it is him."
"Have you any other leads?"
"Could be," Wallander said, "but I'm afraid I can't answer that either."
"For technical reasons?"
"Exactly."
Wallander could see that Tureson had one more question. "Well," he said. "Fire away!"
Tureson lowered his voice so far that Wallander could hardly hear what he was saying. "Rape?" he said.
"We don't know that yet," Wallander said.
Wallander felt a strange mixture of hunger and uneasiness when he left the Akerbloms' house. He stopped on the Osterleden highway and struggled to eat a hamburger. He couldn't remember when he had last eaten. Then he hurried to the police station. When he got there he was met by Svedberg, who informed him that Bjork had been forced to improvise a press conference at short notice. As he knew Wallander was busy informing relatives of Louise Akerblom's death and he didn't want to disturb him, he had enlisted the help of Martinsson.
"Can you guess how the news leaked out?" he asked.
"Yes," Wallander said. "Peter Hanson?"
"Wrong! Try again!"
"One of us?"
"Not this time. It was Morell. He saw the chance to squeeze some money from one of the evening papers if he tipped them off. He's obviously a real bastard. At least the force in Malmo have something to pin on him now. Commissioning somebody to steal four water pumps is a criminal offence."
"He'll only get probation," Wallander said.
They went to the canteen and poured a mug of coffee each.
"How did Akerblom take it?" Svedberg said.
"I don't know," Wallander said. "It must feel as if half your life has been taken away. No-one can imagine what it's like unless they've been through something similar. I can't. All I can say just now is that we'll have to have a meeting as soon as the press conference is over. I'll be writing a summary in my office until then."
"I will try to put together an overview of the tip-offs we've had," Svedberg said. "Somebody might have seen Mrs Akerblom on Friday with a man who could be Stig Gustafson."
"Do that," Wallander said. "And let us have all you know about that man."
The press conference dragged on for an hour and a half. By then Wallander had tried to compose a summary under various headings and draw up a plan for the next phase of the investigation.
Bjork and Martinsson were exhausted when they came to the meeting which was in Bjork's room.