An Event in Autumn: A Kurt Wallander Mystery

Chapter 19

They carried on working hard until December 2. The weather in Skåne continued to be bad. Nonstop wind and rain. Wallander spent most of his time on the telephone or at the computer, which now, at last, after many years of trying, he had finally learned how to use. On the morning of December 2 he had tracked down one of Richard and Irina Pettersson’s grandchildren. Her name was Katja Blomberg and she lived in Malmö. When he rang her it was a man who answered. Katja Blomberg was not at home, but Wallander left his telephone number and said it was urgent. He did not spell out any details.

He was still waiting for her to call back when he was contacted by reception.

“You have a visitor,” said a receptionist whose voice he did not recognize.

“Who is it?”

“She says her name’s Katja Blomberg.”

Wallander held his breath.

“I’m coming.”

He went out to the reception desk. Katja Blomberg was in her forties, heavily made up, and wore a short skirt and high-heeled boots. A few traffic police officers glanced enviously at Wallander as they passed. He shook hands with her. Her grip was strong.

“I thought I might just as well come here.”

“That was kind of you.”

“Of course it was kind of me. I could have just said bollocks, couldn’t I? What is it you want?”

Wallander led her to his office. On the way he glanced in at Martinson’s office: it was empty, as usual. Katja Blomberg sat down on the visitor chair and took out a packet of cigarettes.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” said Wallander.

“Do you want to talk to me or don’t you?”

“I do, yes.”

“Then I shall smoke. Just to put you in the picture.”

Wallander felt that he didn’t have the strength to argue with her. And in any case, cigarette smoke didn’t irritate him all that much. He stood up to look for something that could serve as an ashtray.

“You needn’t bother. I have an ashtray with me.”

She placed a small metal beaker on the edge of the desk and lit her cigarette.

“It wasn’t me,” she said.

Wallander frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard what I said. I said it wasn’t me.”

Wallander raised an eyebrow. He realized she must be referring to something he knew nothing about.

“Who was it then?”

“I don’t know.”

Wallander reached for a notepad and a pencil.

“Just a few formalities,” he said.

“620202-0445.”

It was clear that Katja Blomberg had been in police custody before. He noted down her address, then excused himself and left the room. Martinson still wasn’t in his office, but Wallander managed to contact Stefan Lindman and passed on the information.

“I want to know what we have on this woman.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

He explained briefly. Lindman understood. Wallander returned to his own office. It was heavy with tobacco smoke. Katja Blomberg smoked cigarettes without filters. He opened the window.

“It wasn’t me,” she said again.

“We’ll come to that later,” said Wallander. “Just now there’s something else I want to talk to you about.”

He could see that she was immediately on her guard.

“What?”

“I want to talk to you about your maternal grandmother and grandfather. Richard and Irina Pettersson.”

“What the hell have they got to do with it?”

She stubbed out her cigarette and immediately lit a new one. Wallander noted that she had an expensive lighter.

“For various reasons I want to know what happened that time when they disappeared. You weren’t born then. You were born twenty years later. But you must have heard about it.”

She stared at him as if he was not quite right in the head.

“Have you got in touch with me to talk about that?”

“Not only that.”

“But it was a hundred years ago.”

“Not quite. Only a little short of sixty.”

She looked him straight in the eye.

“I want some coffee.”

“By all means. Milk and sugar?”

“Not milk. Cream and sugar.”

“We don’t have any cream. You can have milk. And sugar.”

Wallander fetched some coffee. As there was something wrong with the machine it was nearly ten minutes before he returned. The room was empty. He cursed aloud. When he went back into the corridor he saw her approaching from the toilet.

“Did you think I’d escaped?”

“You’ve not been charged or arrested, so you can’t escape.”

They drank the coffee. Wallander waited. He wondered what it was she thought he wanted to talk to her about.

“Richard and Irina,” he said again. “What can you tell me about them?”

Before she had time to reply the telephone rang. It was Stefan Lindman.

“That went quickly. Shall I tell you over the phone?”

“Yes, do.”

“Katja Blomberg has been found guilty twice of assault. She’s done time in Hinseberg. She also robbed a bank with a man she was married to for a few years. Now she’s apparently one of several suspects in connection with a robbery from a grocer’s shop in Limhamn. Shall I go on?”

“Not for the moment.”

“How’s it going?”

“We can talk about that later.”

Wallander hung up and looked at Katja Blomberg, who was studying her nails: they were painted bright red, the shade varying from finger to finger.

“Your grandfather and your grandmother,” he said. “Somebody must have told you about them. Not least your parents. Your mother. Is she still alive?”

“She died twenty years ago.”

“Your father?”

She looked up from her nails.

“The last I heard of him was when I was six or seven years old. He was in jail for fraud. I’ve never been in touch with him. Nor him with me. I don’t know if he’s still alive. As far as I’m concerned I don’t mind if he’s dead. If you understand what I mean.”

“I understand what you mean.”

“Do you?”

“This will be over more quickly if you let me ask the questions. Surely your mother must have told you something about your grandparents?”

“There wasn’t much to say.”

“But they disappeared. Without trace. Isn’t that something to talk about?”

“But good Lord! They came back again!”

Wallander stared at her.

“What do you mean by that?”

“What do you think I mean?”

“I want to know what you mean!”

“They came back. They left the caravan during the night, took some essentials with them, and disappeared. I think they lived on a farm up in Småland for a few years. Then when everything had quietened down they came back, changed their names, altered their hairstyles, and nobody asked any questions about the thefts anymore.”

“Thefts?”

“Don’t you know anything?”

“The reason you’re here is so that you can explain it to me.”

“They had burgled a farmer near here. But then they got cold feet. They took whatever they could carry, pretended to have disappeared, and kept out of the way. I think Richard called himself Arvid and Irina called herself Helena. I only saw them a few times. But I liked them. Grandad died at the beginning of the seventies, and Grandma a few years later. They’re buried in the cemetery at Hässleholm. But not under their real names.”

Wallander said nothing. He didn’t doubt for a moment that what he had just heard was true. Every single word.

The abandoned horse and caravan in October 1942 had been a red herring. It had remained a red herring for sixty years.

There was disappointment, but at the same time relief in the knowledge that they hadn’t wasted a lot of energy unnecessarily.

“Why are you asking about all this?”

“An investigation that has to be concluded. Two skeletons have been discovered in somebody’s garden. Perhaps you’ve read about it in the newspapers? I’ll leave the business of the grocer’s shop in Limhamn to my colleagues in Malmö for the time being.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“I heard you say that.”

“Can I go now?”

“Yes, you can.”

He accompanied her to reception.

“I liked them,” she said before leaving. “Both Grandad and Grandma. They were odd people, both secretive and open at the same time. I just wish I could have spent more time with them than turned out to be possible.”

Wallander watched her walk away in her high-heeled boots. It occurred to him that she was somebody he would never meet again in this life. But not somebody he would forget all about.

Shortly before twelve he talked briefly to Martinson and Lindman. He explained that the lead had gone cold. They could drop it and move on. Then he informed the prosecutor.

Wallander took the rest of the day off. He bought a new shirt in a shop down in the square, had a pizza at the restaurant next door, then went home to Mariagatan.

When Linda came in that evening, he was already asleep.