Akerblom’s Real Estate was located in a former grocery store. Wallander recalled it from his first year in Ystad, when he’d arrived as a young cop from Malmo. There were a couple of desks, and some stands with photographs and descriptions of properties. There was a table with visitors’ chairs where clients could delve into the details of the various properties they were interested in. On the wall were a couple of ordinance survey maps, covered in pins of various colors. There was a little kitchen behind the office itself.

They entered the back way, but even so, Wallander noticed the handwritten card taped to the front door: “Closed Today.”

“Which is your desk?” asked Wallander.

Robert Akerblom pointed. Wallander sat down at the other desk. It was empty, apart from a diary, a photo of their two daughters, a few files and a pen stand. Wallander had the impression it had recently been tidied up.

“Who does the cleaning?” he asked.

“We have a cleaner who comes in three times a week,” Robert Akerblom replied. “Mind you, we generally do the dusting and empty the wastebaskets every day ourselves.”

Wallander nodded. Then he took a look around the office. The only thing that struck him as being odd was a little crucifix on the wall by the kitchen door.

Then he nodded at the answering machine.

“It’ll come right away,” said Robert Akerblom. “It was the only message we had after three o’clock on Friday.”

First impressions, was what Wallander was thinking. Listen carefully now.

Hi there! I’m just going to take a look at a house at Krageholm. Then I’ll be off to Ystad. It’s a quarter after three. I’ll be home by five.