Wallander turned round.

“Are you Moberg, the assistant manager?”

The man nodded. He was young, surprisingly young according to Wallander’s idea of how old an assistant manager should be. But there was something else that immediately attracted his attention.

One of the man’s cheeks was noticeably swollen.

“I still have some trouble speaking,” sputtered Moberg.

Wallander couldn’t understand what the man was saying.

“We’d better wait,” Moberg said. “Shouldn’t we wait until the injection has worn off?”

“Let’s try anyway,” said Wallander. “I’m short on time, I’m afraid. If it doesn’t hurt too much when you talk.”

Moberg shook his head and led the way into a small conference room at the back.

“This is exactly where we were,” explained the assistant manager. “You’re sitting in Louise Akerblom’s chair. Hallden said you wanted to talk about her. Has she disappeared?”

“She’s been reported missing,” said Wallander. “I expect she’s just visiting relatives and forgot to tell them at home.”

He could see from Moberg’s swollen face that he regarded Wallander’s reservations with great skepticism. Fair enough, thought Wallander. If you’re missing, you’re missing. You can’t be half-way missing.

“What was it you want to know?” asked the assistant manager, pouring a glass of water from the carafe on the table and gulping it down.

“What happened last Friday afternoon,” said Wallander. “In detail. Exact time, what she said, what she did. I also want the name of the parties buying and selling the house, in case I need to contact them later. Had you met Louise Akerblom before?”

“I met her several times,” answered Moberg. “We were involved in four property deals together.”

“Tell me about last Friday.”

The assistant manager took out his diary from the inside pocket of his jacket.

“The meeting had been set for a quarter after two,” he said. “Louise Akerblom turned up a couple of minutes early. We exchanged a few words about the weather.”