Immediately his thoughts turned to Rydberg. It was less than a month since his old friend and colleague had died of cancer. Wallander had known about the illness the year before, when they were struggling together to solve the murder of an old couple at Lenarp. During the last months of his life, when it was obvious to everybody and not least to Rydberg himself that the end was nigh, Wallander had tried to imagine going to the station knowing that Rydberg wouldn't be there. How would he manage without the advice and judgement of old Rydberg, who had so much experience? It was still too soon to answer that question. He hadn't had any difficult cases since Rydberg had gone on sick leave for the last time, and then passed away. But the sense of pain and loss was still very real.

He switched on the windscreen wipers and drove slowly home. The town was deserted, as if people were preparing to be besieged by the approaching snowstorm. He stopped at a petrol station off Osterleden, and bought an evening paper. Then he parked outside his flat in Mariagatan and went upstairs. He would take a bath and make something to eat. Before going to bed, he'd phone his father, who lived in a little house near Loderup. Ever since his father had become confused and gone wandering through the night in his pyjamas the year before, Wallander had made a habit of ringing him every day. He knew it was as much for his own sake as for his father's -he always felt guilty about not visiting him more often. Still, after that incident the year before, his father had a home helper who visited him regularly. This had improved the old man's moods, which were sometimes unbearable. Even so, Wallander's conscience pricked him: he felt he didn't devote enough time to his father.