"What did the woman have to say?" he asked.

Martinsson shrugged.

"Mrs Forsell," he said. "A widow. Lives in Mossby. She's a retired teacher from the grammar school in Angelholm. Lives here all the year round with her dog, TegneY. Fancy naming a dog after a poet! Every day they go out for some fresh air on the beach. When she walked along the cliffs last night, there was no sign of a life-raft; but it was there this morning. She saw it at about 10.15 a.m., and called us straight away."

"10.15 a.m.," Wallander said thoughtfully. "Isn't that a bit late to be walking a dog?"

Martinsson nodded.

"That occurred to me as well, but it turned out she'd been out at seven o'clock too, but they walked along the beach in the other direction."

Wallander changed the subject. "The man who rang yesterday," he asked, "what did he sound like?"

"Like I said. Convincing."

"Did he have an accent? Could you tell how old he was?"

"He had a local accent. Like Svedberg's. His voice was hoarse; I wouldn't be surprised to find he's a smoker. In his 40s or 50s, I'd say. He spoke simply and clearly. He could be anything from a bank clerk to a farmer."

Wallander had one more question.

"Why did he ring?"

"I've been wondering that," Martinsson answered. "He might have known the boat would drift ashore because he'd been mixed up in it himself. He might have been the one who did the shooting. He might have seen something, or heard something. There are several possibilities."

"What's the logical explanation?"

"The last one," Martinsson answered without hesitation. "He saw or heard something. This doesn't seem to be the type of murder where the killer would choose to set the police on his trail."

Wallander had come to the same conclusion.

"Let's go a step further," he said. "Seen or heard something? Two men dead in a life-raft? If he isn't involved, he can hardly have seen the murder or murders. That means he must have seen the raft."