They proceeded through the facts slowly and methodically. Most of the case was still very unclear. They were waiting for many answers or had not yet managed to put the information they did have in order. But Wallander wanted everything on the table even now. He knew from experience that detectives on an investigative squad needed to get access to information at the same time. One of his own worst policing sins was that he often kept information to himself. As the years went by he had managed to get a little better in this regard.

'We have a fair number of fingers and shoes,' Nyberg said when Wallander as usual turned to him first. 'We also have a good thumb on the hymn book. I don't know yet if it matches any of the prints we recovered in the studio.'

'Is there anything to say about the hymn book?' Wallander asked.

'It gives the impression of frequent use. But there is no name in it. Nor is there a stamp of any kind to indicate that it belongs to a particular parish or church.'

Wallander nodded and looked at Hansson.

'We aren't quite done with the neighbours yet,' he began. 'But no one that we've talked to has reported hearing or seeing anything unusual. No nightly tumult inside the studio. Nothing out on the street. No one could remember seeing anyone behaving in an unusual manner outside the studio either that night or on any earlier occasion. Everyone has assured us that Simon Lamberg was a pleasant person, although reserved.'

'Have any calls come in?'

'Calls are constantly coming in. But there's nothing of any im mediate interest.'

Wallander asked about the letters that Lamberg had written in which he complained about police performance.

'They're archived in some central location in Stockholm and are being retrieved. There was only one that marginally touched on our district.'

'I have trouble evaluating that album,' Wallander said. 'If it's of any significance or not. It may of course be because I'm included in it. At first I found it disturbing. Now I just don't know any more.'

'Other people sit at the kitchen table and write scathing missives to various political leaders,' Martinsson said. 'Simon Lamberg was a photographer. He didn't write. Symbolically, the darkroom was his kitchen table.'

'You may be right. Hopefully, we'll come back to this when we know more.'

'Lamberg was a complicated person,' Svedberg said. 'Pleasant and reserved. But also something else. We just can't articulate what this something else might be.'

'No, not yet,' Wallander said. 'But a picture of him will eventually take shape. It always does.'

For his part, Wallander told them about his trip to Malmö and the conversation with Peter Linder.

'I think we can discard the rumours about Lamberg as a gambler,' he concluded. 'It doesn't seem to have been anything other than just that: rumours.'

'I don't see how you can put stock in anything that man says,' Martinsson objected.

'He's smart enough to know when he should tell the truth,' Wallander said. 'He's smart enough not to lie when he doesn't need to.'

Then it was Svedberg's turn. He talked about the Stockholm travel agency that was no longer in existence, but he declared firmly that they would be able to locate the driver who had worked on the trip to Austria in March 1981.

'Markresor used a bus company in Alvesta,' he said. 'And that company is still there. I've checked that.'

'Can it really be of any importance?' Hansson asked.

'Maybe,' Wallander said. 'Or maybe not. But Elisabeth Lamberg was adamant. Her husband was a changed man when he returned.'

'Maybe he fell in love,' Hansson suggested. 'Isn't that what happens on charter trips?'

'For example, something like that,' Wallander said and suddenly wondered if that had happened to Mona in the Canary Islands last year.

He turned back to Svedberg.

'Find out about the driver. That may give us something.'

Svedberg then told them about his visit to Matilda Lamberg. The mood turned melancholy when they learned that Simon Lamberg had never visited his daughter. The fact that an unknown woman had turned up from time to time was met with less interest. Wallander, however, was convinced that this could be a lead. He had no thoughts about how she fitted into the picture. But he was not planning to drop her until he knew who she was.

Finally they discussed the public image of Simon Lamberg. With every step, the impression of a man living a well-ordered life was reinforced. There were no blemishes either on his finances or elsewhere in his exemplary existence. Wallander reminded the group that someone needed to pay a visit soon to the association of amateur astronomers in Lund that Lamberg had been a member of. Hansson took on this task.

Martinsson was busy with his computer searches. He could only confirm his earlier observations that Simon Lamberg had never had anything to do with the police.

It was past one o'clock. Wallander brought the meeting to a close.

'This is where we are right now,' he said. 'We still have no motive or any clear indication of who the perpetrator can be. The most important thing, however, is that we are now sure that the killing was planned. The perpetrator had his weapon with him. That means that we can disregard all earlier speculations that it was a burglary gone wrong.'

Everyone got up and went his own way. Wallander had decided to go out to the care facility where Matilda Lamberg lived. He was already dreading what would confront him. Sickness, suffering and lifelong handicaps were things he had never dealt with very well. But he wanted to know more about the unknown woman. He left Ystad and took Svartevägen out towards Rydsgård. The sea glittered temptingly on his left. He rolled down the window and drove slowly.

Suddenly he started to think about Linda, his eighteen-year-old daughter. Right now she was in Stockholm. She wavered between various ideas about what work she should pursue. Furniture refurbisher or physical therapist, or even actress. She and a friend rented an apartment in Kungsholmen. Wallander was not completely clear how she supported herself, but he did know that she waited tables at various restaurants from time to time. When she wasn't in Stockholm, she was with Mona in Malmö. And then she came often but irregularly to Ystad and visited him.

He could tell he was getting worried. At the same time there was so much in her character that he himself lacked. Deep down he had no doubt she would manage to find her own way through life. But the worry was there nonetheless. He couldn't do anything about it.

Wallander stopped in Rydsgård and ate a late lunch at the inn. Pork chops. At the table behind him, some farmers were loudly discussing the pros and cons of a new type of manure-spreading device. Wallander ate, trying to focus completely on his food. It was something that Rydberg had taught him. When he ate, he should think only of what was on his plate. Afterwards it felt as if his head had been aired out, like a house that is opened up after having been shut for a long time.

The care facility was near Rynge. Wallander followed Svedberg's directions and had no trouble finding it. He turned into the car park and stepped out of his car. The facility consisted of a mixture of old and new buildings. He went in through the main entrance. From somewhere a shrill laughter could be heard. A woman was in the middle of watering flowers. Wallander walked over to her and asked to speak to the director.

'That would be me,' the woman said and smiled. 'My name is Margareta Johansson. And I already know who you are, I've seen you so often in the papers.'

She continued watering the flowers. Wallander tried not to pay any attention to her comment about him.

'Sometimes it must be terrible to be a policeman,' she went on.

'I can agree with that,' Wallander answered. 'But I don't think I would want to live in this country if there were no police.'