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course," he said. "But I'm sure it will go well."
    "I'm calling to see if you have time to talk to some visitors at 10.30 this morning."
    "Visitors at this time of year?"
    "It's a group of retired marine officers who meet in Skåne every August. They have some sort of society. I think they call themselves 'The Sea Bears'."
    Wallander thought about his doctor's appointment. "I think you'll have to ask someone else this time," he answered. "I'm going to be out between 10.30 and midday."
    "Then I'll ask Ann-Britt. These old sea captains might enjoy talking to a woman police officer."
    "Or else they'll think just the opposite," Wallander said.
    By 8 a.m. Wallander had not managed to do anything more than rock back and forth in his chair and look out the window. Tiredness gnawed at his body, and he was worried about what the doctor would find. Were the fatigue and cramps signs of a serious illness?
    He got up out of his chair and walked to one of the conference rooms. Martinsson was already there, looking clean-cut and tanned. Wallander thought about the time, two years earlier, when Martinsson had come very close to giving up his career. His daughter had been attacked in the playground because her father was a policeman. But he had stuck it out. To Wallander he would always be the young man who had just joined the force, despite the fact that he had worked in Ystad longer than most of them.
    They sat down and talked about the weather. After five minutes Martinsson said, "Where the hell is Svedberg?"
    His question was justified, since Svedberg was known for his punctuality.
    "Did you talk to him?"
    "He had already gone when I tried to reach him. But I left a message on his answerphone."
    Wallander nodded in the direction of the telephone that stood on the table.
    "You should probably give him another call."
    Martinsson dialled the number.
    "Where are you?" he asked. "We're waiting for you."
    He put the receiver down. "I'm just getting the machine."
    "He must be on his way," Wallander said. "Let's start without him."
    Martinsson leafed through a stack of papers. Then he pushed a postcard over to Wallander. It was an aerial shot of central Vienna.
    "This is the card that the Hillström family found in their letter box on Tuesday, 6 August. As you can see, Astrid Hillström says that they're thinking of staying a little longer than they had originally planned. But everything is fine and they all send their regards. She asks her mother to call around and tell everyone that they're well."
    Wallander read the card. The handwriting reminded him of Linda's. It was the same round lettering. He put it back.
    "Eva Hillström came here, you said."
    "She literally burst into my office. We knew she was the nervous type, but this was something else. She's clearly terrified and convinced that she's right."
    "What's she so sure of?"
    "That something's happened to them. That her daughter didn't write that postcard."
    Wallander thought for a moment. "Is it the handwriting? The signature?"
    "It resembles Astrid Hillström's writing. But her mother claims it's a very easy style to copy, as is her signature. She's right about that."
    Wallander pulled over a notebook and a pen. In less than a minute he had perfected Astrid Hillström's handwriting and signature.
    "Eva Hillström is anxious about her daughter's welfare and turns to the police. That's understandable. But if it isn't the handwriting or the signature that's worrying her, then what is it?"
    "She couldn't say."
    "But you did ask her."
    "I asked her about everything. Was there something about the choice of words? Or was there something in the way she put it? She didn't know. But she was certain that her daughter hadn't written the card."
    Wallander made a face and shook his head. "It must have been something."
    They looked at each other.
    "Do you remember what you said to me yesterday?" Wallander asked. "That you were starting to get worried yourself?"
    Martinsson nodded. "Something doesn't add