When he was alone again he walked over to the window and stared out into the rain. He wondered absently when spring was going to come. And how it would feel to experience it without Mona. Then he noticed that his tooth had started to ache again. He checked the time. It was still too early. He did not think his dentist would be in his office yet. At the same time he wondered how things had gone for Svedberg. To convey the news of a death in the family was one of the most feared tasks. Especially when you had to report an unexpected and brutal killing. But he was sure Svedberg could manage it. He was a good officer. Perhaps without exceptional talent, but diligent and with a fastidiously organised desk. In some ways he was among the best officers Wallander had ever worked with. And Svedberg had always been extremely loyal to Wallander.

He left the window, went out to the break room, and got a cup of coffee. While he walked back down the corridor he tried to understand what could have happened.

Simon Lamberg was a photographer, approaching sixty. A man with regular habits whose way of conducting his business was beyond reproach, photographing confirmations, weddings and children of various ages. According to his cleaning lady he came into the studio two evenings a week. At these times he sat in his inner office and shuffled papers around, listened to music. If the cleaning lady's information was correct he usually left around midnight.

Wallander came back to his office. He took up his former position at the window with the cup of coffee in his hand and stared out into the rain.

Why did Lamberg spend those evenings sitting in the studio? Something about the situation stirred Wallander's curiosity.

He checked his watch. At that moment Ebba called. She had reached his dentist. Wallander could be seen at once.

He decided not to wait. If he was going to lead a murder investigation he couldn't walk around with a toothache. He went over to Martinsson's office.

'I broke a tooth yesterday,' he said. 'I'm going to the dentist. But I'm assuming I'll be back within the hour. Let's have a meeting then. Has Svedberg come back?'

'Not that I know.'

'Try Nyberg and see if he can make it in an hour or so. Then we'll be able to get his initial impression.'

Martinsson yawned and stretched.

'Who can possibly have had anything to gain by killing an old photographer?' he said. 'There doesn't appear to have been any burglary.'

'Old?' Wallander objected. 'He was fifty-six. But other than that I agree with you.'

'He was attacked inside the shop. How did the perpetrator enter?'

'Either with a key or else Lamberg let him in.'

'Lamberg was struck from behind.'

'Which can have many different explanations. And we have none of them.'

Wallander left the station and walked down to the dentist, who had his practice by the Main Square, right next to the electronics shop. As a child, Wallander had always been afraid of the dentist visits he had been dragged to. As an adult the fear had suddenly left him. Now he simply wanted to be free from the pain as quickly as possible. But he realised the broken tooth was a sign of ageing. He was only forty years old. But the deterioration had already started to set in.

Wallander was shown in at once and took his place in the dentist's chair. The dentist was young and worked quickly, with ease. He was done in about half an hour. The pain changed into a dull throbbing.

'It will soon be gone,' the dentist said. 'But you should come back here so that we can remove that tartar. I don't think you brush as well as you should.'

'Probably not,' Wallander said.

He made an appointment to come back in two weeks and returned to the station. At ten o'clock he gathered his colleagues in the conference room. Svedberg had returned, and Nyberg was also present. Wallander sat at his usual place at the head of the table. Then he looked around. He wondered briefly how many times he had sat here, gathering himself to launch into yet another criminal investigation. He had noticed that it took more effort over the years. But he also knew that there was nothing else to do but throw oneself into it. They had a brutal murder to solve. It could not wait.

'Does anyone know where Rydberg is?' he asked.

'Backache,' Martinsson replied.

'Too bad,' Wallander said. 'We could have used him here now.'

He turned to Nyberg, and nodded at him to start.

'It is of course too early to say,' Nyberg said, 'but there are no indications of burglary. No marks on any doors, nothing that appears to have been stolen, at least not at first glance. The whole thing is very strange.'

Wallander had not expected Nyberg to have made any decisive observations at this stage. But he had still wanted him to be present.

He turned to Svedberg.

'As expected, Elisabeth Lamberg got a terrible shock. Apparently they have separate bedrooms. She doesn't normally notice when he comes home if he's out at night. They had dinner at about half past six that night. Shortly before eight he left for the studio. She went to bed a little after eleven and fell asleep at once. She doesn't understand who could have murdered him. She dismissed the idea that he had any enemies.'

Wallander nodded.

'Then this is what we know,' he said. 'We have a dead photographer. But that is also all that we know.'

Everyone knew what this meant. Now the laborious investigations would proceed.

Where this would lead them they had no idea.

The case review that morning, the first in the hunt for the single or multiple perpetrators who for unknown reasons were responsible for the murder of the photographer Simon Lamberg, was of short duration. There were countless routine methods for proceeding that they always followed. They had to wait for the report from the medical examiner's office in Lund, as well as the results of the forensic investigation of the crime scene that Nyberg and his men were conducting. They would now make a study of Simon Lamberg and chart out the life that he had lived. They would also question neighbours and look for others who might have witnessed something. There was naturally also hope that even in these early stages information would come in that would make it possible to clear up the murder in the course of a few days. But Wallander already had an instinctive feeling that they stood on the brink of a complicated case. They had very little – or rather, nothing – to go on.

He noticed as he sat in the conference room that he was anxious. The ache in his tooth was now gone. But instead he had this new worry in his stomach.

Björk came into the room and sat down to listen to Wallander's attempt to make a preliminary review of the events and timeline. No one had any questions when it was over. They assigned the most import ant tasks and then broke up the meeting. Wallander would speak with Lamberg's widow later in the day. First he wanted to do a more thorough inspection of the crime scene. Nyberg said he could let Wallander into the studio and the inner room in a couple of hours.

Björk and Wallander lingered in the conference room after the others had filed out.

'You don't believe this was a burglar who was caught red-handed and got out of control?' Björk asked.

'No,' Wallander answered. 'But I could very well be wrong. We cannot rule out any possibilities. But I wonder what a burglar thought he would be able to get in Lamberg's studio.'

'Cameras?'

'He didn't sell any photographic equipment. He only took pictures. The only items he had for sale were frames and albums. I think a burglar hardly makes an effort for that.'

'What does that leave? A private motive?'

'I don't know. But according to Svedberg, the widow, Elisabeth Lamberg, was apparently adamant that he had no enemies.'