
Martinsson stopped talking.
Wallander reflected on what he had said. "What could possibly have gone wrong?" he asked.
"I have no idea."
"Is there any indication of anything out of the ordinary in relation to their disappearance?"
"Not really."
Wallander leaned back in his chair. "The only thing we have is Eva Hillström's anxiety," he said. "A worried mother."
"She claims her daughter didn't write the cards."
Wallander nodded. "Does she want us to file a missing persons report?"
"No. She wanted us to do something. That was how she put it: 'You have to do something.'"
"What can we really do other than file the report? We've alerted Customs."
They fell silent. It was already 8.45 a.m. Wallander looked questioningly at Martinsson.
"Svedberg?"
Martinsson picked up the receiver and dialled Svedberg's number, then hung up.
"The answerphone again."
Wallander pushed the postcard back across the table to Martinsson. "I don't think we're going to get much further," he said. "But I think I'll have a talk with Eva Hillström. Then we'll evaluate what action to take from here. But we have no grounds for declaring this a missing persons case, at least not yet."
Martinsson wrote her number on a piece of paper. "She's an accountant."
