An Event in Autumn: A Kurt Wallander Mystery

Chapter 22

The woman behind the counter at the local tax office listened sympathetically to what he had to say, but she was not exactly encouraging once she had heard the whole story.

“It will probably be difficult,” she said. “We’ve had people here before looking for traces of people from the Baltic States who had been in Skåne during the war years. You’re the first police officer, but there have been others — mainly relatives. We very rarely find them.”

“Why’s that?”

“Some probably gave false names. Many of them didn’t have any identity documents at all when they arrived. But of course the most important reason is that so much has happened in the Baltic States, both during and after the war.”

“Have you any idea of how many of these refugees never actually registered?”

“Somebody in Lund wrote a dissertation on that a few years ago. According to the data he uncovered, about seventy-five percent of them actually registered.”

She stood up and left the room. Wallander sat down and looked out through the window. He was already wondering how they were going to get any further with this lead. He concluded that they were going to get nowhere.

He was tempted to leave. Get into his car, leave Skåne and never come back. But it was too late for such a drastic move, he knew that. At best, he might one day find the house he was looking for and buy a dog. And perhaps also find a woman who could become the companion he so badly needed. Linda was right. He really was on the way to becoming a lifeless, bitter old codger.

He dismissed all such thought in annoyance, then leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.

He was woken up by somebody saying his name. When he opened his eyes, the woman was standing there with a sheet of paper in her hand.

“Sometimes it turns out that I’m too pessimistic,” she said. “I think I might have found what you’re looking for.”

Wallander jumped up from his chair.

“Is that really possible?”

“It seems so.”

The woman sat down at her desk, and Wallander sat opposite her. She read out from the paper she had in her hand. Wallander noticed that she was farsighted, but she did not use reading glasses.

“Kaarin, Elmo and Ivar Pihlak came to Sweden from Denmark in February 1944,” she said. “They lived in Malmö at first. Then they had an apartment in Ludvig Hansson’s house, and they were listed as living there in the official national register. In November that same year they requested permission to leave Sweden and return to Denmark. And they duly left Sweden. It’s all recorded here.”

“How can you be so certain of that?”

“Various special notes were made during the war with regard to refugees. It’s their son who notified the authorities of their departure.”

Wallander was confused.

“I’m not completely with you. What son?”

“Ivar. He reported that his parents had left Sweden in November 1944.”

“What did he do then?”

“He stayed on in Sweden and was granted a residence permit. Later on he became a Swedish citizen. In 1954, to be precise.”

Wallander held his breath. He tried to think clearly. Three Estonians come to Sweden in 1944. Father, mother and son. In November that same year the parents go back to Denmark, but the son stays on here. And he’s the one who reports that his parents have left Sweden.

“I take it it’s not possible to say if the son is still alive. Or if he is, where he might be living.”

“I can tell you that, no problem. He’s been registered in Ystad for many years. His current address is recorded as Ekudden. That’s an old people’s home not far from the old prison.”

Wallander knew where it was.

“So he’s still alive, is he?”

“Yes. He’s eighty-six years old, but he’s still alive.”

Just for a moment Wallander stared out into space. Then he left the room.