the table.
"I have to call his cousin," she said. "If she's the closest living relative."
"I can do it," Wallander said. "After all, I already know her."
"Give me an overview of the events. What happened here?"
"I'll need Martinsson for that. I'll get him."
Wallander went out onto the stairs. The door to the next flat was slightly ajar. He knocked and went in. Martinsson was in the living room with four people. One of them was fully dressed, the others were still in their dressing gowns. There were two women and two men. He signalled for Martinsson to come with him.
"Please remain here for now," he told the others.
They went into the kitchen. Martinsson was very pale.
"Let's start from the beginning," Wallander said. "When was the last time anyone saw Svedberg?"
"I don't know if I was the last one," Martinsson said. "But I caught a glimpse of him in the canteen on Wednesday morning at around 11 a.m."
"How did he seem?"
"Since I didn't think about it, I suppose he must have been like he always was."
"You called me that afternoon. We decided to have a meeting on Thursday morning."
"I went into Svedberg's office straight after our conversation, but he wasn't there. At the front desk they told me he'd gone home for the day."
"What time did he leave?"
"I didn't ask."
"What did you do then?"
"I called him at home and left a message about the meeting. Then I called back a couple of times but I didn't get an answer."
Wallander thought hard. "Sometime on Wednesday, Svedberg leaves the police station. Everything seems normal. On Thursday he doesn't show up, which is unusual, regardless of whether he heard your message. Svedberg never stayed away without letting someone know."
"That means it could have happened as early as Wednesday," Lisa Holgersson said.
Wallander nodded. At what point does the normal suddenly become the abnormal? he thought. That's the moment we have to find.
Another thought struck him – Martinsson's remark about his own answerphone not working.
"Wait here a minute," he said and left the kitchen.
He walked into Svedberg's study. His answerphone was on the desk. Wallander went into the living room where Nyberg was kneeling beside the shotgun, and took him back into the study.
"I'd like to listen to the answerphone, but I don't want to destroy any clues."
"We can get the tape to return to the same place," Nyberg said. He was wearing plastic gloves. Wallander nodded and Nyberg pressed the play button. There were three messages from Martinsson. Each time he stated the time of day. There were no other messages.
"I'd also like to hear Svedberg's greeting," Wallander said.
Nyberg pressed another button.
Wallander flinched when he heard Svedberg's voice. Nyberg also seemed upset by it.
I'm not here, but please leave a message. That was all.
Wallander went back into the kitchen. "Your messages are still on the machine," he said. "But we can't tell if anyone listened to them or not."
The room was quiet. Everyone was thinking about what Wallander had said.
"What do the neighbours say?" he asked.
"No one heard anything," Martinsson answered. "It's quite strange. No one heard a shot and almost everyone was at home."
Wallander frowned. "It's not possible that no one heard anything."
"I'll keep talking to them."
Martinsson left. A police officer came into the kitchen.
"There's a reporter outside," he said.
Goddamn it, Wallander thought. Someone had already contacted the press. He looked at Holgersson.
"We have to notify his relatives first," she said.
"We can't put it off any longer than midday," Wallander said.
He turned to the waiting police officer. "No comment right now," he said. "But we'll issue a statement later this morning."
"At 11 a.m.," Holgersson said.
The officer disappeared. Nyberg shouted at someone in the living room. Then everything was quiet again. Nyberg had a bad temper but his outbursts were always brief. Wallander went out into the study and picked up a phone book
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