Kurt Wallander had a recurring daydream he suspected he shared with a lot of other people: that he’d pulled off the ultimate bank robbery and astounded the world. He wondered about how much money was generally kept at a normal-sized bank. Less than you might think? But more than enough? He didn’t know precisely how he’d go about it, yet the fantasy kept recurring.

He grinned to himself at the thought. But the grin quickly faded with his guilty conscience.

He was convinced they would never find Louise Akerblom alive. He had no evidence; there was no crime scene, no victim. And yet he knew.

He couldn’t get the photo of the two girls out of his mind.

How do you explain what it’s not possible to explain, he wondered. How will Robert Akerblom be able to go on praying to his God in the future, the God who’s left him and two kids so cruelly in the lurch?

Kurt Wallander wandered around the Savings Bank at Skurup, waiting for the assistant manager who had helped Louise Akerblom with the property deal the previous Friday to come back from the dentist. When Wallander had arrived at the bank a quarter of an hour earlier, he had talked with the manager, Gustav Hallden, whom he had met once before. He also asked Hallden to keep any information confidential.

“After all, we’re not sure if anything serious has happened,” Wallander explained.

“I get it,” said Hallden. “You just think something may have happened.”

Wallander nodded. That’s exactly how it was. How could you possibly be sure just where the boundary was between thinking and knowing?

His train of thought was interrupted by somebody addressing him.

“I believe you wanted to talk to me,” said a man with a fuzzy voice behind him.