Firewall (14 page)

The photograph of the group of men against the white stone wall was gone. He bent over and looked under the desk. One by one he lifted the pieces of paper that had fallen on the ground. But it was nowhere to be seen. And something else was gone too. The diary. He took a step back and held his breath. Someone knew I was here, he thought. Someone saw me come and go. Was it an instinctive sense of this that had made him walk to the windows twice and look out at the street? There had been someone out there he hadn't been able to see. Someone hidden deep within the shadows.

His thoughts were interrupted by Martinsson. "The woman opposite is a widow by the name of Håkansson. She hasn't seen or heard anything unusual."

Wallander thought about the time he was drunk and had ended up spending the night in the flat below.

"Talk to everyone who lives here. Find out if anyone has seen anything."

"Can't we get someone else to do it? I have more than enough to do as it is."

"It's important it be done right," Wallander said. "Not so many people live here anyway."

Martinsson departed again and Wallander waited. One of Nyberg's team turned up after 20 minutes.

"Nyberg is on his way," he said. "But he was doing something out at the substation that was apparently important."

Wallander nodded. "Take a look at the answering machine," he said. "I want everything you can find on it."

The officer made a note.

"The whole flat should be videotaped," Wallander said. "I want it examined down to the last detail."

"Are the people who live here away?"

"The person who lived here was the man who was found dead by the cash machine," Wallander said. "It's very important that the forensic investigation is thorough."

He left the flat and walked out on to the street. There were no clouds in the sky. Mrs Falk was smoking in her car. When she saw Wallander she got out.

"What happened?"

"There's been a break-in."

"I wouldn't have believed anyone could have such utter disrespect for the dead."

"I know you were divorced, but were you familiar with his flat?"

"We were on good terms. I visited him here many times."

"I'm going to ask you to return later today," Wallander said. "When the forensic team has finished, I want you to go through the flat with me. You may be able to notice something that's gone."

"Oh, I doubt that," she said, without hesitation.

"Why do you say that?"

"I was married to him for many years. I knew him fairly well then, but not later on."

"What happened?"

"He just changed."

"In what way?"

"I didn't know what he was thinking any more."

Wallander looked at her thoughtfully.

"But even so, you may be able to see if something's been taken. You said yourself that you visited him here many times."

"I could probably tell you if a lamp or a painting was missing, but nothing else. Tynnes had many secrets."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Just what it says. I didn't know what he was thinking or what he did. I tried to explain this to you during our first telephone conversation."

Wallander was reminded of what he had read in Falk's diary the night before.

"Do you know if your husband kept a diary?"

"I'm sure he didn't."

"Did he ever keep one?"

"Never."

She's right on one score, he thought.

"Was your ex-husband interested in outer space?"

Her surprise seemed genuine.

"Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering."

"We used to look up at the stars, when we were young, but I can't think of any sign of interest after that."

Wallander switched to a new topic. "You said that your husband had many enemies, and that he appeared worried."

"Yes, he actually said that to me."

"What else did he say?"

"That people like him always had enemies."

"Was that all?"

"Yes."

"People like me always have enemies?" he repeated.

"Yes."

"What did you think he meant?"

"I've already told you, I no longer understood him."

A car drew up where they were standing and Nyberg got out. Wallander decided to end the conversation for now and wrote down her phone number. He said he would be in touch later in the day.

"One last question: can you think of any reason why someone would steal his body?"

"Of course not."

Wallander had no more questions. When she had climbed into her car and backed out of her parking space, Nyberg came over.

"What's happened?" he said.

"A break-in."

"Do we really have time for this right now?"

"It's connected to the other events. I don't know exactly how yet, but I'd like to see if you find anything in there."

Nyberg blew his nose. "You were right," he said. "Once our colleagues in Malmö brought in that relay it was obvious. The substation workers were able to show us exactly where it belonged."

Wallander suppressed his excitement. "No room for doubt?"

"None at all."

Nyberg went into the building. Wallander looked down the street in the direction of the department stores and the cash machine. The connection between Hökberg and Falk was confirmed. But what it meant he didn't yet know. He started back to the police station. After only a few yards he picked up his pace. Anxiety drove him on.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

When he got back to the station, Wallander set about constructing a reliable outline of the now chaotic mix of details, but the key events remained sharply separated in his mind. They collided only to continue on their separate ways.

Shortly before 11 a.m. he went to the gents' and rinsed his face in cold water. That too was something he had picked up from Rydberg. Nothing is better for you when your impatience is threatening to take over your mind. Nothing is ever better than cold water.

Then he went on to the canteen to get more coffee, but the machine was broken, as it often was. Martinsson had at some point suggested that they all pitch in to buy a new one. His argument was that no-one could reasonably expect good work from police officers without dependable access to coffee. Wallander looked unhappily at the machine and remembered that he had a tin of instant coffee somewhere in his desk. He returned to his room and started looking for it. He found it in the bottom drawer with some shoe-cleaning equipment and a pair of frayed gloves.

Then he compiled a list of the events of the case. He made a time line in the margin. He was trying to break through the surface of the case to the layer in which all the events were connected. He knew it had to be there.

When he had finished he felt as if he were looking at a nasty and incomprehensible fairy tale. Two girls went out and had some beers. One of the girls was so young she had no business being served in the first place. Some time during that evening they changed places. This happened at the same time as an Asian man came into the restaurant and sat down at a nearby table. This man paid with a fake credit card in the name of Fu Cheng, with a Hong Kong address.

After a couple of hours the girls ordered a taxi, asked to be driven to Rydsgård and in due course attacked the driver. They took his money and left, each going to their separate homes. When they were taken in by the police they at once owned up, sharing the blame and saying that their motive was money. The older of the two girls took advantage of a momentary lapse in security and escaped from the police station. Later her charred corpse was found at the power substation outside Ystad. In all likelihood she was murdered. The substation in turn is an important link in the power distribution grid for southern Sweden. When Hökberg died, much of the region of Skåne was plunged into darkness. After this event Persson retracted her earlier confession and changed her story.

At the same time, a parallel story was unfolding. There is a possibility that this parenthesis, this minor story, is in fact connected to the very heart of the other occurrence somehow. A divorced computer consultant by the name of Tynnes Falk cleaned his flat one Sunday, and then went for an evening walk. He was later found dead in front of a cash machine. After a preliminary investigation that included a conclusive autopsy report, the police eliminated any suspicion of a crime and considered the case closed. Later the man's body was removed from the morgue and an electrical relay from the Ystad substation was left in its place. Falk's flat was also broken into and – at the least – a diary and a framed photograph were taken. At the periphery of all these events, appearing in a group photograph and as a customer in a restaurant, was an Asian man.

Wallander read through all that he had written. It was still early in the investigation, but while he had been laying out his summary he had seen a new connection. If Hökberg had been murdered it had to be because someone wanted to be sure she didn't talk. Falk's body had been removed to conceal something. This was the common denominator. The question is what needs to be covered up, Wallander thought, and by whom?

Wallander was about to push his notes aside when something popped into his head. It was something Erik Hökberg had said, something about the vulnerability of modern society. Wallander looked again at his notes.

What happened if he placed the power substation at the centre? With the grisly aid of a human body, someone had managed to disrupt the power in large areas of southern Sweden. It could therefore be viewed as sabotage. And why had the electrical relay been placed on the gurney when Falk's body was stolen? The only reasonable explanation was that someone had wanted the connection between Hökberg's fate and Falk to be made perfectly clear. But what did this connection mean?

Wallander pushed his notes aside in irritation. It was too early to think of reaching a conclusion. They had to keep searching for more clues, without preconceived ideas.

He drank his coffee absent-mindedly, rocking back and forth in his chair. Then he reached for the page he had torn from the newspaper and kept looking through the personal ads. What would I say in an ad? he wondered. Who would be interested in a 50-year-old policeman with diabetes and increasing doubts about his career choice? Someone who isn't particularly interested in walks in the forest, evenings in front of the fire or sailing? He put the page down and started writing.

His first attempt was somewhat disingenuous:
50-year-old police officer, divorced, grown-up daughter, tired of being lonely. Appearance and age not important, but you should enjoy the comforts of home and opera. Send your answer to "Police '97".

Lies, he thought. Appearance does matter. I'm not looking to end my loneliness. I want companionship. That's something completely different. I want someone to sleep with, someone who will be there when I want her. And someone who will leave me alone when I feel like it. He tore up the page and started again. This time the text was more truthful:
50-year-old police officer, diabetic, divorced, grown-up daughter, wishes to meet someone to spend time with. The woman I'm looking for is attractive, has a good figure and is interested in sex. Send your answer to "Old Dog".

Who would respond to something like that? he wondered. Hardly anyone stable.

He turned the page over to start afresh, but was almost immediately interrupted by a knock on the door. It was already midday. It was Höglund. He realised too late that the personal section of the newspaper was still lying face up on his desk. He crumpled it and threw it in the waste-paper basket, but he thought she had seen what he was doing, and it irritated him.

I'm never going to write a personal ad, he thought angrily. The chances are too great that someone like Höglund would answer.

She looked tired.

"I've just finished questioning Persson," she said and sat down heavily.

Wallander pushed all thoughts of personal ads aside.

"How was she?"

"She didn't change her story. She insists that Hökberg used both the knife and the hammer."

"I asked how she was."

Höglund thought about it before answering. "She was different. She seemed more prepared for the questions."

"What made you think that?"

"She spoke faster. Many of her answers seemed prepared in advance. It was only when we got to the questions she wasn't expecting that she started speaking in that slow, apathetic way. That's how she protects herself, giving herself time to think. I don't know how intelligent she is, but she's not confused. She keeps track of her lies. I didn't catch a single instance of her contradicting herself in the two hours that we were at it. That's pretty impressive."

Wallander reached for his notepad. "We'll take the most important stuff now, your impressions. The rest I'll read about in your report."

"I am convinced that she's lying. Quite honestly I don't understand how a 14-year-old girl can be so hard-boiled."

"Because she's a girl?"

"I think it would be unusual even for a boy her age."

"You didn't manage to budge her at all?"

"No, not really. She sticks to her new story that she is innocent and only said what she said because she was afraid of Hökberg. I tried to get her to tell me why she was afraid, but she wouldn't. All she said was that Hökberg could be very tough on her."

"She's probably right about that."

Höglund looked at her notes. "She denied taking any calls from Hökberg, or anyone else, after Hökberg's escape from the station."

"When did she find out Hökberg was dead?"

"Erik Hökberg called her mother."

"Did Hökberg's death come as a shock to her?"

"She claims it did, but I certainly couldn't tell. Maybe she was surprised. She had no explanation as to why Hökberg would have gone out to the substation, nor any idea who could have taken her there."

Wallander got up and walked over to the window. "Did she really have no reaction? No regret, no pain?"

"In my opinion she was in control and utterly cold. Many of her answers were prepared in advance, some pure lies. But I got the impression that she wasn't surprised by what had happened, though she claims she was."

Wallander was struck by a thought that seemed important. "Did she seem afraid of anything happening to her?"

"No, I thought about that. I don't think what happened to Hökberg made her worried for her own life."

Wallander returned to the desk. "Let's assume that's the case. What does that mean?"

"It means Persson is at least partly telling the truth. Not about Lundberg's murder, since I'm convinced she had a hand in it. But I don't think she had much idea what else Hökberg was involved in."

"And what would that be?"

"I don't know."

"Why did they switch seats in the restaurant?"

"Because Hökberg complained of a draught. She won't change her line on that."

"And the man sitting behind them?"

"She claims not to have seen him or anyone else. She also says she didn't notice Hökberg having contact with anyone other than her."

"She didn't notice anyone as they were leaving the restaurant?"

"No. That may even be true. I don't think she would qualify for the title of the World's Most Observant Person."

"Did you ask her if she had ever heard of Tynnes Falk?"

"She said she had never heard the name."

"Was that true?"

Höglund paused. "There might have been a very slight hesitation on her part, but I can't be sure."

I should have talked to her myself, Wallander thought helplessly. If Eva Persson had been holding something back, I would have seen it.

Höglund seemed to be reading his thoughts.

"I don't have your certainty about these things. I wish I could have given you a better answer."

"We'll get to the bottom of this sooner or later. If the main entrance is closed, you try the back door."

"I've been trying to make sense of it," Höglund said. "But nothing hangs together."

"It will take time," Wallander said. "I wonder if we shouldn't get reinforcements. We don't have the manpower we need, even if we shelve our other duties and concentrate on this case."

Höglund looked at him with surprise. "I never thought I'd hear you say that. Usually you insist on us carrying out the investigation alone."

"Maybe I've changed my mind. I just want to make sure we're able to carry out the footwork necessary in this investigation. I'll talk to Lisa about it. If she hasn't already suspended me, that is."

"Persson is sticking to that story as well – that you hit her without provocation."

"Of course she is. If she's lying about everything else she might as well lie about that too."

Wallander got up. He told her in a nutshell about the break-in at Falk's flat.

"Has the body been found?"

"Not as far as I know."

Höglund was still in her chair. "Do you understand any of this?"

"No," Wallander said. "It worries me. Don't forget that a large area of Skåne was left without power."

They walked into the corridor together. Hansson put his head out of his door to say that the police in Växjö had found Persson's father.

"They say he lives in a run-down shack somewhere between Växjö and Vislanda. They're wondering what it is we want to know."

"Nothing for now," Wallander said. "We have more important questions to cover."

They decided to meet again at 1.30 p.m., when Martinsson was back. Wallander went to his office to call the garage. His car was ready. He walked down Frihemsgatan towards Surbrunn's Torg. A gusting wind came and went.

The mechanic's name was Holmlund and he had worked on several of Wallander's cars over the years. He was especially fond of motorcycles. He had a number of teeth missing and spoke with such a strong Skåne accent that Wallander had trouble understanding him. His appearance hadn't changed a bit since he first met him. Wallander still couldn't have said if he was 50 or 60.

"It's going to cost you," Holmlund said and smiled his gap-toothed smile. "But you'll recoup some of the cost if you sell the car pretty soon."

When Wallander drove away, the erratic noise from the engine was gone. The thought of a new car excited him. The only question was would he stick with a Peugeot or try a new make. He decided to ask Hansson, who knew as much about cars as horse racing.