on.
"I have to ask you some questions," he said. "Who were his next of kin? I must admit you're the only one I can think of."
"His parents are gone and he had no siblings. Besides me there's only one cousin. I'm a cousin on his father's side and he has a cousin on his mother's side as well. His name is Sture Björklund."
Wallander noted down the name.
"Does he live here in Ystad?"
"He lives on a farm outside of Hedeskoga."
"So he's a farmer?"
"He's a professor at Copenhagen University."
Wallander was surprised. "I can't recall Svedberg ever mentioning him."
"They hardly ever saw each other. If you're asking which relatives Svedberg had any contact with, then the answer is just me."
"He'll still have to be notified," Wallander said. "As you can understand, this will be making a lot of headlines. A police officer who dies a violent death is big news."
She looked at him carefully. "A violent death? What do you mean by that?"
"That he was murdered."
"Well, what else could it have been?"
"That was going to be my next question for you," Wallander said. "Could it have been suicide?"
"Isn't it always a possibility? Under the right circumstances?"
"Yes."
"Can't you tell by looking at the body if he's been murdered or if he's committed suicide?"
"Yes, we'll probably be able to, but certain questions are a matter of routine."
She thought for a while before answering.
"I've considered it myself during a particularly difficult time. God only knows all that I've been through. But it's never occurred to me that Karl would do anything like that."
"Because he had no reason to?"
"He wasn't what I would call an unhappy person."
"When did you last hear from him?"
"He phoned me last Sunday."
"How did he seem?"
"He sounded perfectly normal."
"Why did he call?"
"We talk to each other once a week. If he didn't get in touch, I did, and vice versa. Sometimes he came over and had dinner, other times I went over to his place. As you may remember, my husband isn't home very often. He works on an oil tanker. Our children are grown up."
"Svedberg could cook?"
"Why wouldn't he be able to?"
"I've never imagined him in a kitchen."
"He cooked very well, particularly fish."
Wallander went back a little. "So he called you last Sunday. That was 4 August. And everything seemed fine?"
"Yes."
"What did you talk about?"
"This and that. I remember him telling me how tired he was. He said he was completely overworked."
Wallander looked at her intently. "Did he really say that he was overworked?"
"Yes."
"But he had just taken his holiday."
"I remember it very clearly."
Wallander thought hard before asking his next question. "Do you know what he did on his holiday?"
"I don't know if you know this, but he didn't like to leave Ystad. He usually stayed home. He might have taken a short trip to Poland."
"But what did he do at home? Did he stay in the flat?"
"He had various interests."
"Such as?"
She shook her head. "You must know as well as I do. He had two big passions: amateur astronomy and Native American history."
"I knew about the Indians, and how he sometimes went to Falsterbo to do some bird-watching. But the astronomy is new to me."
"He had a very expensive telescope."
Wallander couldn't remember seeing one in the flat.
"Where did he keep it?"
"In his study."
"So that's what he did on his holidays? Looked at stars and read about Indians?"
"I think so. But this summer was a little unusual."
"In what way?"
"We usually see a lot of each other over the summer, more so than during the rest of the year. But this year he had no time. He turned down several invitations to dinner."
"Did he say why?"
She hesitated before answering. "It was as if he didn't have the time."
Wallander sensed that he was nearing a crucial point.
"He didn't say why?"
"No."
"That must have puzzled you."
"Not really."
"Did you notice a change in his behaviour? Did something seem to be bothering him?"
"He was just the same as always. The
Gillian Doyle, Susan Leslie Liepitz