Firewall (11 page)

He went on to give a thorough report of the investigation to date.

"Johan Lundberg is murdered in what appears to be a hastily planned and quickly executed robbery. The girls say they needed money, but not for anything in particular. They make no attempts to hide from the police after the attack. When we bring them in, both confess almost immediately. Their stories are consistent and neither shows any remorse. We also find the murder weapons. Then Hökberg escapes from the police station in what looks to have been a spur-of-the-moment decision. Twelve hours later she is found murdered in one of the Sydkraft power substations. Establishing how she got there will be of crucial importance for us. Also we don't know
why
she was murdered. Parallel to these developments, something else happens that is also crucial: Persson retracts her earlier confession. She lays the whole blame for what happened on Hökberg. She gives new information that cannot be checked because Hökberg is dead. The question is: how did Persson know this – she must have known it. News of the murder has not been released. The people who know about it are very few in number; yesterday that number was even smaller. Yet that was when Persson suddenly changed her story."

Wallander leaned back in his chair. The level of attentiveness in the room had risen sharply. Wallander had isolated the decisive issues.

"What did Hökberg do when she left the station?" Hansson said. "That's what we need to find out."

"She didn't walk to the substation," Wallander said. "Even if it will be hard to prove 100 per cent. We have to assume that she was driven."

"Aren't we going a little too fast?" Viktorsson said. "She could have been dead when she got there."

"I haven't finished yet," Wallander said. "That is, of course, a possibility."

"Is there indeed anything that speaks against this assumption?"

"No."

"Isn't it in fact the most logical conclusion? What reason could we have for supposing that she went there of her own volition?"

"Only that she knew the person who drove her there."

Viktorsson shook his head. "Why would anyone seek out a power substation, one located in the middle of a field? Wasn't it raining all this time? Doesn't this tell us that she was in fact killed somewhere else?"

"Hold on," Wallander said. "We're just trying to lay all the alternatives on the table. We shouldn't be homing in on any one of them yet."

"Who drove her?" Martinsson said. "If we know that, we'll know who killed her, even if we won't know why."

"That will have to come later," Wallander said. "My thought is that Persson could not have found out about Hökberg's death other than through the person who killed her. Or at the very least from a witness." He looked at Holgersson. "That means Persson is our key to working out what happened. She's a juvenile and she's lying, and now we have to turn up the heat. I want to know how she learned of Hökberg's death." He stood up. "Since I won't be involved in her interrogation, I'll get on with attending to other matters."

He walked from the room, pleased with his exit. It was a childish display, he knew, but he thought it would hit its mark. He assumed that Höglund would be given the responsibility of talking to Persson. She knew what to ask; he didn't have to prepare her.

Wallander collected his coat and left. He would be using his time to check something else. Before leaving the station he put two photographs from the case file into his pocket. He walked down towards the centre of town. One aspect of the case had continued to bother him. Why had Hökberg been killed, and why in such a way as to cut power to large parts of Skåne? Had that been intended or mere chance?

He crossed the main square and ended up on Hamngatan. The restaurant where Hökberg and Persson had had their beers wasn't yet open. He peered in through a window. Someone was there, and it was a man he recognised. He knocked on the pane. The man went on with his work behind the counter. Wallander knocked harder and the man looked up. When he recognised Wallander, he smiled and came to open the door.

"It's not even nine yet," he said. "Do you want pizza already?"

"Sort of," Wallander said. "A cup of coffee would be nice. I need to talk to you."

István Kecskeméti had come to Sweden from Hungary in 1956. He had run a number of restaurants in Ystad and Wallander had made it a habit to eat at one or other of them when he didn't have the energy to cook for himself. He talked a lot at times, but Wallander liked him. He was also one of the few people who knew of Wallander's diabetes.

"You don't stop by very often," István said. "When you come, we're closed. That means you want something other than food." He raised his arms and sighed. "Everyone comes to István for help. Sports clubs and charities, someone who wants to start a cemetery for animals – all want money. They promise some advertising in return. But how is advertising in a pet cemetery to help a pizzeria? Perhaps you also want something? Is it a donation to the Swedish Police Force?"

"Answers to a couple of questions will do fine," Wallander said. "Last Wednesday – were you here?"

"I'm here always. But last Wednesday is a while ago."

Wallander put the two photographs on the table. The lighting was poor.

"See if you recognise either of these faces."

István took the photographs to the bar. He looked at them for a long time before he said, "I think so."

"Did you hear about the taxi murder?"

"A terrible thing – how can it happen? And such young people." Then István understood the connection. "These two?"

"Yes. And they were here that evening. I badly need you to tell me everything you remember. Where they sat, who they were with, that kind of thing."

István strained to remember the evening, while Wallander waited. He picked up the photographs and walked around the restaurant. He walked slowly and seemed to be searching. He's looking for his guests, Wallander thought. He's doing what I would have done. The question is: will he find them?

István stopped at a table by the window. Wallander walked over to it.

"I think here," István said.

"Who sat in which seat?"

István looked troubled. Wallander waited again while István walked around the table a couple of times. Then, as if he were handing out menus, he put the photographs of Hökberg and Persson in front of their seats.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

But Wallander saw him wrinkle his brow. He was still trying to remember something.

"There was something that happened that evening," he said. "I remember them because I had doubts about one of them being 18."

"She wasn't," Wallander said. "But forget it."

Wallander waited. He saw how István was struggling to remember.

"Something happened that evening," he said, again. Then he remembered what it was. "They changed places," he said. "At some point that evening they switched seats."

Wallander sat in the chair where Hökberg had spent the first part of the evening. From that seat, he could see a wall and the window over the street. Most of the restaurant was behind him. When he changed seats he saw the front door. Since a pillar and a booth hid much of the rest of the room, he had a clear view of only one table, a table for two.

"Did anyone sit there?" he said, pointing to the table. "Did anyone sit there when the girls changed places?"

"Actually, yes," István said. "Someone did come in and sit there, but I'm not sure if it was when they changed seats or not."

Wallander realised he was holding his breath. "Can you describe him? Did you know him?"

"I had never seen him before, but he's easy to describe."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he was Chinese. Or at least he looked Asian."

Wallander was close to something important.

"Did he stay on after the girls left in the taxi?"

"Yes, an hour at least."

"Did they seem to make contact?"

István shook his head. "I don't know. I didn't notice anything, but it's possible."

"Do you remember how the man paid his bill?"

"I think it was by credit card, but I'm not sure."

"Good," Wallander said. "I want you to find that charge slip."

"I will have sent it in. American Express, if I remember rightly."

"Then we'll find your copy," Wallander said.

He felt a sense of urgency. Sonja Hökberg saw someone walking down the street, he thought. She changed places in order to see him. He was Asian.

"What is it you're looking for?" István said.

"I'm just trying to understand what must have happened," Wallander said. "I haven't got any further than that."

He said goodbye to István and left the restaurant. A man of Asian descent, he thought. A powerful wave of anxiety overtook him. He began to walk faster.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Wallander was out of breath by the time he arrived at the station. He had walked rapidly because he knew that Höglund was interrogating Persson. He had to tell her what he had learned at István's restaurant so she could ask questions that now needed answers. Irene handed him a little pile of messages that he stuffed unread into a pocket. He called Höglund in the room where the interrogation was taking place.

"I'm almost finished here," she said.

"Hold on," Wallander said. "I have a few more questions for you. Take a break. I'll be outside."

Wallander was waiting impatiently for her in the corridor when she emerged. He told her at once about the seat changes and the man who had been sitting at the only table of which Hökberg had a clear view. He could see that she was not convinced.

"An Asian man?"

"Yes."

"Do you really think this is important?"

"Hökberg changed seats because she wanted to have eye contact with someone. That has to mean something."

She shrugged. "I'll ask Persson. But what is it exactly that you want an answer to?"

"Why they changed places, and when. Watch to see if she's lying. And did she notice the man who sat behind her?"

"It's hard to tell anything about what's going on inside her."

"Is she sticking to her new story?"

"Hökberg both hit and stabbed Lundberg. Persson knew nothing in advance."

"How did she react when you told her that Hökberg was dead?"

"She acted sad, but she didn't do a very good job. I think she was in fact quite shocked."

"So you don't think she already knew?"

"No. The mother has hired a lawyer, Klas Harrysson. He's filed charges against you."

Wallander didn't recognise the name.

"He's a young, ambitious lawyer from Malmö. Seems very sure of himself."

Wallander was smitten by a wave of tiredness. Then the anger came back, as well as the sense of being unfairly treated.

"Did you get anything new?"

"Honestly, I think Persson is a little stupid but she's sticking to her story – the later version. She sounds like a recording."

"There's something more than meets the eye with Lundberg's murder," Wallander said. "I'm convinced of it."

Höglund went back to questioning Persson, and Wallander went back to his room. He tried, without success, to find Martinsson. Hansson wasn't in either. Then he leafed through the messages Irene had handed him. Most of the callers were reporters, but there was also a message from Tynnes Falk's ex-wife. Wallander put the message aside, called Irene and told her to hold all incoming calls for a while. He called information and was given the phone number for the American Express office. He started to explain what he wanted and was transferred to someone called Anita. She asked to return his call as a security check. Wallander put down the phone and waited. After a few minutes he remembered that he had asked Irene to hold his calls. He swore and dialled the American Express number. This time they managed to arrange the security callback and Wallander was able to ask for the information he needed.

"It will take us some time," the girl said.

"So long as you understand how important it is."

"We'll do what we can."

Wallander called the garage. Eventually, the man he had spoken to earlier came on the line and quoted him a price that took his breath away. The car would be ready the following day. It was the parts that were expensive, not the labour. Wallander said he would come and collect the car at noon.

After he put the receiver down his thoughts wandered. He was in the interrogation room with Höglund. It irritated him that he couldn't be there. She could be a bit soft, wasn't good at applying real pressure. Moreover, Holgersson had not given him the benefit of the doubt, and he wasn't going to forgive her for that.

To fill the time, he dialled the number of Falk's ex-wife. She answered almost at once.

"This is Inspector Wallander. Is that Marianne Falk?"

"I'm so glad you called. I've been waiting for you."

She had a high, pleasant-sounding voice. She sounded like Mona. Wallander felt a distant, brief pull of emotion. Was it sadness?

"Has Dr Enander been in touch with you?" she asked.

"I've talked to him."

"Then you know that Tynnes did not die of a heart attack."

"I'm not sure that we can rule out the possibility."

"Why not? He was attacked."

Wallander's curiosity was piqued. "You don't sound surprised."

"I'm not. Tynnes had many enemies."

Wallander pulled a pen and some paper towards him. He was already wearing his glasses.

"What kind of enemies?"

"I don't know. But he was constantly on his guard."

Wallander searched his memory for the information that had been in Martinsson's report.

"He was some kind of computer consultant, isn't that right?"

"Yes."

"That doesn't sound so dangerous."

"I think it depends on what you do."

"And what exactly did he do?"

"I don't know."

"But you are convinced that he was attacked?"

"I knew him well, even if we didn't live together. This past year he was particularly anxious."

"He never told you why?"

She hesitated before answering. "I know it sounds strange that I can't be more specific," she said. "Though we were together for a long time and had two children."

"'Enemy' is a strong word."

"Tynnes travelled extensively. He always did. I have no idea what sort of people he must have met, but sometimes he came home very excited. At other times when I met him at Sturup airport he would be visibly worried."

"But he must have said something, like why he had enemies, or who they were?"

"He was a quiet man, but I could read the anxiety in his face."

Wallander wondered if the woman wasn't a little highly strung.

"Was there anything else?"

"It wasn't a heart attack. I want the police to find out what really happened."

Wallander thought for a moment before answering.

"I've made a note of what you've said. We'll be in touch if we need to ask you anything else."

"I'm counting on you to find out what happened. We were divorced, Tynnes and I, but I still loved him."

Wallander wondered if Mona would say that she loved him still, though they were divorced and she was married to another man. He doubted it. Then he asked himself if she had ever really loved him. He brushed these thoughts angrily aside and went over what Marianne Falk had told him. Her unease seemed genuine. On the other hand, she had not really said anything concrete. He still didn't have a clear sense of what sort of man Tynnes Falk had been. He looked for Martinsson's report, then called the coroner's office in Lund. All the time he was listening for Höglund's footsteps at his door. The outcome of Persson's interrogation was his primary interest. Falk had died of a heart attack, and that fact wasn't going to be changed by an ex-wife just because she was convinced he had been surrounded by enemies. Wallander telephoned the pathologist who had conducted the autopsy on Falk. He told him about his conversation with Falk's wife.

"Heart attacks can come, seemingly, out of the blue," the pathologist said. "The autopsy revealed this incontrovertibly as the cause of death. Neither Falk's wife nor what his doctor said change my view in any way."

"And the head wound?"

"That was caused by his head hitting the pavement."

Wallander thanked him and hung up. As he closed Martinsson's report, he had the nagging feeling that he had overlooked something, but he couldn't spend precious time worrying about the products of other people's imagination.

He poured himself another cup of coffee in the canteen. It was almost 11.30 a.m. Martinsson and Hansson were still out, and no-one knew where they were. Wallander returned to his office. He was impatient and cross. Widén's decision to get away was needling him. It was as if he had ended up in a race he never expected to win, but one in which he didn't want to end up last. It was not a clear thought, but he knew what was bothering him. Time was rushing away from him, that was what he felt.

"I can't live like this," he said out loud. "Something has to change."

"Who are you talking to?"

Wallander looked up. Martinsson was in the doorway. Wallander hadn't heard him come in. No-one at the station moved as quietly as Martinsson.

"I was talking to myself," Wallander said firmly. "Don't you ever do that?"

"I talk in my sleep, according to my wife. Maybe that's the same thing."

"What do you want?"

"I've checked everyone who had access to the substation keys. Not one of them has a previous record."

"We didn't really expect them to," Wallander said.

"I've been trying to puzzle out why the gates were forced," Martinsson said. "I can only think of two possibilities: one, that the key to the gates was missing. Two, someone's trying to throw us off the track."

"For what reason?"

"Vandalism, destruction for its own sake, I don't know."

Wallander shook his head. "The steel door was opened with a key. Maybe the person who forced the gates was not the same person who unlocked the door."

Martinsson wrinkled his brow. "And how would you explain that?"

"I can't explain it. I'm only offering you another alternative."

When Martinsson left, it was noon. Wallander went on waiting. Höglund appeared at 12.12 p.m.

"One thing you can't accuse that girl of is talking too fast," she said. "I've never met a young person who talked so slowly."

"Perhaps she's afraid of saying the wrong thing," Wallander said.

Höglund sat down in his visitor's chair.

"I asked her what you told me," she said. "But she never saw any Chinese person."

"I didn't say Chinese, I said Asian."

"Well, she says she never saw anyone like that. They changed seats because Hökberg complained about a draught from the window."

"How did she react when you asked her that question?"

Höglund looked worried. "Just as you would expect. The question took her by surprise and her answer was a pure lie."

Wallander slammed the desktop. "Then we know," he said. "There's a connection here to the man who came into the restaurant."

"What connection?"

"That we don't know. But the killing certainly wasn't a spur-of-the-moment business."

"I don't know how we're going to get any evidence to prove that."

Wallander told her about his call to American Express.

"That will give us a name," he said. "And if we have a name, we will have made progress. While we're waiting for that, I'd like you to visit Persson's home. I want you to look at her bedroom. Where's her father, by the way?"

Höglund checked her notes. "His name is Hugo Lövström. According to his daughter, he's a homeless drunk. She's filled with hate, that girl. I don't know who she hates the most, her mother or her father."

"Have they no regular contact?"

"It doesn't sound like it."

"We don't see clearly yet," Wallander said. "We have to find the real reasons behind it all. It may be that I'm simply too naive, that young people nowadays – even girls – see nothing wrong with murdering people. In that case I give up. But not just yet. Something must have driven them to do this."

"Maybe we should come at it from another direction," Höglund said.

"What do you mean?"

"Shouldn't we be looking more closely at Lundberg?"

"Why? They couldn't have known who their driver was going to be?"

"That's true."

But Wallander saw that she was on to something. He waited.

"There's just this possibility," she said thoughtfully, "that maybe it was an impulsive act after all. They order a taxi, and then one or both of them recognise Lundberg."

Wallander saw what she was getting at.

"You're right," he said. "That is possible."

"We know the girls are armed," she said. "They have a hammer and a knife. Apparently all young people carry some kind of weapon these days. The girls realise that Lundberg is their driver. Then they kill him. It could have happened like that, even if it seems unlikely."