Nothing. He returned to the inner room again. Something told him that was where he should search. In Simon Lamberg's secret room. He sat in the chair, allowing his gaze to wander around the walls, over the desk and bookcases. Then he stood up and walked over to the developing equipment. Turned on the red light. Everything was as he remembered. The faint smell of chemicals. The empty plastic tubs, the enlarger.

He walked back to the desk, pensive. Remained standing. Where the impulse came from he wasn't sure. But he walked over to the shelf where the radio was and turned it on.

The music was deafening.

He stared at the radio. The volume was at the same level as before.

But the music was not classical. It was loud rock music.

Wallander was convinced that neither Nyberg nor any of the other technicians would have switched the radio station. They did not alter anything unless it was absolutely necessary for their work.

Wallander took a handkerchief out of his pocket and turned off the radio. There was only one possibility.

The unknown man had turned the dial to a different frequency.

He had changed stations.

The question was simply: why?

The squad was finally able to start the meeting at ten o'clock in the morning. The delay was due to the fact that Wallander had not been able to get back from the dentist's before then. Now he was hurrying back for the meeting, his tooth provisionally repaired, with a swollen cheek and a large bandage at his hairline. He was seriously beginning to feel the effects of his lack of sleep. But more serious was the anxiety gnawing at him.

It had now been one day since Hilda Waldén had discovered the dead photographer. Wallander began the meeting by summing up the state of their investigation. He then told them in detail what had happened during the night.

'The changed radio station is strange,' Svedberg said. 'Can there have been anything inside the radio itself?'

'We've examined it,' Nyberg answered. 'In order to remove the cover you have to loosen eight screws. This has not been done. The radio has never been opened since it was assembled at the factory. The finish still covers the screw heads.'

'There is a lot that's strange,' Wallander said. 'Something we shouldn't forget is the album with the distorted images. His widow tells us that Simon Lamberg was a man who had many secrets. Right now we should be concentrating on creating a better picture of who he really was. Clearly, the surface does not match up with what was underneath. The polite, quiet and fastidious photographer must in reality have been someone quite different.'

'The question is just who would know more about him,' Martinsson said. 'If, as seems to be the case, he doesn't have any friends. No one seems to have known him.'

'We have the amateur astronomers in Lund,' Wallander said. 'We have to get in touch with them, of course. Former assistants who worked for him. You can't live your whole life in a town like Ystad without anybody knowing you. And we've barely begun our conversations with Elisabeth Lamberg. In other words, we have a lot to dig into. Everything has to be pursued simultaneously.'

'I spoke to Backman,' Svedberg said. 'You were right about him being up. When I arrived at his apartment his wife was also up and dressed. It felt like the middle of the day, even though it was only four in the morning. Unfortunately he could not give any kind of description of the man who knocked you down. Nothing apart from the man's coat being mid-length and most likely navy blue.'

'Couldn't he even say anything about the man's height? Was he short or tall? What colour was his hair?'

'It all happened very fast. Backman only wanted to say what he felt sure about.'

'We know at least one thing about the man who attacked me,' Wallander said. 'That he ran much faster than I did. My impression was that he was of average height and fairly strong. He was also in much better shape than I am. My sense – even if it's somewhat vague – is that he may have been around my age. But this is really just a guess.'

They were still waiting for the first preliminary report from the medical examiner in Lund. Nyberg and the forensic laboratory in Linköping were in contact. Many fingerprints needed to be run through the various databases.

They all had a lot to do. Wallander therefore wanted to draw the meeting to a close as quickly as possible. It was eleven when they stood up. Wallander hadn't done more than walk into his office when the phone rang. It was Ebba from reception.

'You have a visitor,' she said. 'A man named Gunnar Larsson. He wants to talk to you about Lamberg.'

Wallander had just decided to make another trip out to see Elisabeth Lamberg.

'Can't anyone else deal with him?'

'He wanted to speak to you specifically.'

'Who is he?'

'He used to work for Lamberg.'

Wallander immediately changed his mind. The conversation with the widow would have to wait.

'I'll come out and get him,' Wallander said and got to his feet.

Gunnar Larsson was in his thirties. They went back to Wallander's office. Larsson declined the offer of a cup of coffee.

'I'm glad that you thought of coming in yourself,' Wallander began. 'Your name would have come up sooner or later. But this saves us some time.'

Wallander had flipped open one of his notebooks.

'I worked for Lamberg for six years,' Gunnar Larsson said. 'He let me go about four years ago. I don't think he's employed anyone else since then.'

'Why did he let you go?'

'He claimed that he could no longer afford to keep someone on. I think that was the truth. I think I had actually been expecting it. Lamberg didn't have more business than he could handle on his own. Since he didn't sell cameras or accessories, his profits were not great. And when times are bad people don't go and get their picture taken as often.'

'But you worked there for six years. That means you must have got to know him pretty well?'

'Both yes and no.'

'Let's start with the former.'

'He was always polite and friendly. To everyone: me and the customers alike. He had boundless patience with children. And he was very orderly.'

Wallander was suddenly struck by a thought.

'Would you say that Simon Lamberg was a good photographer?'

'There wasn't anything original about him. The pictures he took were conventional, since that's what people want. Photos that look like any other. And he was good at that. He never cut corners. He wasn't original, since he didn't have to be. I doubt that he cherished any artistic ambitions. At least I never saw any hint of it.'

Wallander nodded.

'I get the impression of a kindly but relatively colourless person. Is that right?'

'Yes.'

'Let us then proceed to why you feel you didn't know him.'

'He was probably the most reserved person I've ever known in my life.'

'In what way?'

'He never talked about himself. Or his feelings. I cannot recall a single instance where he described his own experience of anything. But in the beginning I tried to have regular conversations with him.'

'About what?'

'About anything. But I soon stopped.'

'Didn't he ever comment on current events?'

'I think he was very conservative.'

'Why do you think that?'

Gunnar Larsson shrugged.

'I just do. But on the other hand I doubt that he ever read the papers.'

I think you're wrong there, Wallander thought. He did read newspapers. And he probably knew a great deal about international affairs. He kept his opinions in a photo album of a kind that the world has probably never seen before.

'There was another thing I found strange,' Gunnar Larsson went on. 'During the six years that I worked for him, I never met his wife. Not that I was ever invited to their house, of course. To get a sense of where they lived, I walked past their house one Sunday.'