Henning Mankell - The Pyramid

The lawyer, who resembled a weasel, straightened up.

'My client doesn't have to put up with this,' he said. 'Slander of this kind against my client is inadmissible under the law.'

'Of course it is,' Wallander said. 'You're welcome to try to have me arrested.'

Holm, who was unshaven and appeared sick of the whole situation, stopped his lawyer from continuing.

'I understand that the police are simply doing their job,' he said. 'Unfortunately you made a mistake in directing your suspicions at me. I'm a simple citizen who knows a lot about horses and bookselling. Nothing else. Moreover, I regularly donate money to Save the Children.'

Wallander left the room. Holm would go home and have his feet massaged. Drugs would continue to stream into Skåne. We will never win this battle, Wallander thought as he walked down the corridor. The only room for hope is if future generations of young people reject it entirely.

It was now half past twelve. He felt hungry and regretted not having taken the car this morning. He could see through the window that it had started to rain. There was snow mixed in with the rain. The thought of walking all the way downtown and back in order to eat was not appealing. He pulled out a desk drawer and found the menu of a pizzeria that delivered. He eyed the menu without being able to decide on anything. Finally he closed his eyes and placed his index finger down somewhere at random. He called and ordered the pizza that fate had selected for him. Then he walked over to the window and stared at the water tower on the other side of the road.

The phone rang. He sat down at his desk and picked up. It was his father, calling from Löderup.

'I thought we had agreed that you would come by here last night,' his father said.

Wallander sighed quietly.

'We didn't agree to anything.'

'Yes we did, I remember it very well,' his father said. 'You're the one who's starting to get forgetful. I thought the police had notepads. Can't you write down that you're planning to arrest me? Then maybe you'll remember.'

Wallander didn't have the energy to get angry.

'I'll come by tonight,' he said. 'But we had not arranged that I was coming over last night.'

'It's possible I made a mistake,' his father replied, suddenly surprisingly meek.

'I'll be there around seven,' Wallander said. 'Right now I have a lot to do.' He hung up. My father engages in finely tuned emotional blackmail, Wallander thought. And the worst thing about it is that he's continually successful.

The pizza arrived. Wallander paid and took the box back to the break room. Per Åkeson was sitting at a table eating some porridge. Wallander sat down across from him.

'I thought you were going to come by and talk about Holm,' Åkeson said.

'And I will. But we had to release him.'

'That doesn't surprise me. The whole operation was exceedingly poorly executed.'

'You'll have to talk to Björk about that,' Wallander said. 'I wasn't involved.'

To Wallander's surprise, Åkeson salted his porridge.

'I'm taking a leave of absence in three weeks,' Åkeson said.

'I haven't forgotten,' Wallander replied.

'A young woman will be replacing me. Anette Brolin is her name. From Stockholm.'

'I'm going to miss you,' Wallander said. 'I'm also wondering how a female prosecutor is going to work out.'

'Why would that be a problem?'

Wallander shrugged.

'Prejudice, I guess.'

'Six months goes by fast. I have to admit that I'm looking forward to getting away for a while. I need to think.'

'I thought you were getting some additional education?'

'I am. But that won't stop me from thinking about the future. Should I continue as a public prosecutor for the rest of my life? Or is there something else I should do?'

'You could learn to sail and become a vagabond of the seas.'

Åkeson shook his head energetically.

'Nothing like that. But I am thinking about applying for something overseas. Perhaps in a project where one feels one is really making a difference. Perhaps I could be part of building a workable justice system where there was none before? In Czechoslovakia, for example.'

'I hope you write and tell me,' Wallander said. 'Sometimes I also wonder about the future, if I'm going to stay in this business until I retire. Or do something else.'

The pizza was tasteless. Åkeson, however, was tucking into his porridge with gusto.

'What's the story with that plane?' Åkeson asked.

Wallander told him what they knew.

'That sounds strange,' Åkeson said when Wallander had finished. 'Could it be drugs?'

'Yes, it could,' Wallander replied and regretted not having asked Holm if he owned an aeroplane. If he could afford to build a house he could probably afford to keep a private plane. Drug profits could be astronomical.

They stood at the sink together and cleaned their plates. Wallander had left half of his pizza uneaten. The divorce was still having an effect on his appetite.

'Holm is a criminal,' Wallander said. 'We'll get him sooner or later.'

'I'm not so sure of that,' Åkeson said. 'But of course I hope you're right.'

Wallander was back in his office a little after one o'clock. He considered calling Mona in Malmö. Linda lived with her right now. She was the one Wallander wanted to talk to. It had been almost a week since they talked last. She was nineteen and a little lost. Lately, she was back to thinking she wanted to work upholstering furniture. Wallander suspected she would change her mind many more times.

Instead Wallander called Martinsson and asked him to come by. Together they went over the events of the morning. It was Martinsson who was going to write the report.

'People have called both from Sturup and the Department of Defence,' he said. 'There is something not right about that plane. It doesn't seem to have existed. And it seems you were right in thinking the wings and fuselage had been painted over.'

'We'll see what Nyberg comes up with,' Wallander said.

'The bodies are in Lund,' Martinsson went on. 'The only way we have of identifying them is through dental records. The bodies were so badly burned they fell to pieces when they were moved onto stretchers.'

'We'll have to wait and see, in other words,' Wallander said. 'I was going to suggest to Björk that you act as our representative in the accident commission. Do you have anything against that?'

'I'll always learn something new,' Martinsson said.

When Wallander was alone again he ended up thinking about the difference between Martinsson and himself. Wallander's ambition had always been to become a good criminal investigator. And he had succeeded in this. But Martinsson had other ambitions. What tempted him was the post of chief of police in a not-too-distant future. To perform well in the field was for him only a step in his career.

Wallander dropped his thoughts about Martinsson, yawned, and listlessly pulled over the folder that was at the top of the pile on his desk. It still irritated him that he hadn't asked Holm about the plane. At least to get to see his reaction. But Holm was probably lying in his whirlpool by now. Or enjoying a delicious lunch at the Continental with his lawyer.

The folder remained unopened in front of Wallander. He decided he might as well talk to Björk about Martinsson and the accident commission. Then that could be checked off the list. He walked to the end of the corridor where Björk had his office. The door was open. Björk was on his way out.

'Do you have time?' Wallander asked.

'A few minutes. I'm on my way to a church to give a speech.'

Wallander knew that Björk was constantly giving lectures in the most unexpected settings. Apparently he loved performing in public, something that Wallander disliked intensely. Press conferences were a constant scourge. Wallander started to tell him about the morning's events, but apparently Björk had already been briefed. He had no objection to Martinsson's being appointed as police representative to the accident commission.