Before the Frost

Höglund caught the keys in one hand and walked briskly up the stairs. Linda noted she had a hole in her sock but her face was made up — heavily made up. When did she have time to do that? Did she sleep with her makeup on?

“Would you like some coffee?”

“Please.”

Linda thought her father would be the one to talk, but when she came in with the coffee cup and put it on the table in front of Höglund, Wallander nodded at her to begin.

“It’s better for her to hear it from the horse’s mouth,” he said. “Don’t leave out any details, you can count on Inspector Höglund to be a good listener.”

Linda picked up her story with both hands and unfolded it as carefully as she was able, all in the right order. Then she showed Höglund the journal with the page that mentioned Birgitta Medberg. Wallander only broke in when she started talking about the butterfly. Then he took over, changing her story to something that would perhaps form the basis of an investigative narrative. He got up off the sofa and tapped the wall where the butterfly had been hanging.

“This is where the lines intersect,” he said. “Two points, or perhaps three. Birgitta Medberg’s name is in Anna’s journal and they exchange at least one letter, although we haven’t found it. Butterflies figure in both of their lives, although we don’t know yet what the significance of this is. And then there is the most important similarity: they’re both missing.”

Someone outside started shouting in Polish or Russian, most likely a drunk.

“It’s certainly a strange coincidence,” Höglund said. “Who knows Anna best?”

“I don’t know.”

“Does she have a boyfriend?”

“Not right now.”

“But she’s had one?”

“Doesn’t everyone? I think probably her mother knows her best.”

Höglund yawned and ruffled her hair.

“What about all this business with her father? Why did he disappear? Had he done something?”

“Anna’s mother seems to think he was running away.”

“From what?”

“Responsibility.”

“And now he’s back and Anna disappears. And Medberg is murdered.”

“No,” Wallander broke in. “‘Murdered’ isn’t an adequate description of it. She was slaughtered, butchered. Hands clasped as in prayer, head severed, torso and limbs missing. Martinsson has tracked down the Tademans, by the way. Mr. Tademan was extremely intoxicated, according to Martinsson, which is interesting. Anita Tademan — whom Linda and I met — seems to have been much easier to talk to. They haven’t seen any unusual persons in the area, no one knew about the hideout in the forest. She called someone she knows who often hunts around there, but he hadn’t seen any hut or even the ravine, strangely enough. Whoever used the place knew how to keep a low profile while remaining in relatively close proximity to people. I sense this is an important point, that he was invisible but close by.”