“The photo was taken only three months ago,” said Robert Akerblom. “That’s exactly what she looks like.”

“And she’s disappeared, has she?” asked Wallander.

“Last Friday she was at the Savings Bank in Skurup, clinching a property deal. Then she was going to look at a house somebody was putting on the market. I spent the afternoon with our accountant, at his office. I stopped in at the agency on my way home. She’d left a message on the answering machine saying she’d be home by five. She said it was a quarter after three when she called. That’s the last we know.”

Wallander frowned. It was Monday today. She’d already been away for three days. Three whole days, with two small children waiting for her at home.

Wallander felt instinctively that this was no ordinary disappearance. He knew that most people who went missing came back sooner or later, and that a natural explanation would gradually emerge. It was very common for people to go away for a few days or even a week, for instance, and forget to tell anybody. On the other hand, he also knew that relatively few women abandoned their children. That worried him.

He made a few notes on his pad.

“Do you still have the message she left on the answering machine?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Robert Akerblom. “I didn’t think of bringing the cassette with me, though.”

“That’s OK, we’ll sort that out later,” said Wallander. “Was it clear where she was calling from?”

“She used the car phone.”

Wallander put down his pen and contemplated the man on the visitor’s chair. His anxiety gave the impression of being absolutely genuine.

“You can’t think of why she might have had to go away?” Wallander asked.

“No.”

“She can’t be visiting friends?”

“No.”

“Relatives?”