Henning Mankell - The Pyramid

'The risk would be that you'd take the whole building with you,' Fabricius answered. 'In that case I would first move the safe to an open field. But sometimes so much explosive is needed that the safe itself is blown to pieces. And the contents either burn or are pulverised.'

Fabricius was a large, heavyset man who punctuated each sentence with a short laugh.

'This kind of safe probably costs a hundred thousand kronor,' he said and laughed.

Wallander looked astonished.

'That much?'

'Easily.'

One thing at least is certain, Wallander thought as he recalled yesterday's discussion about the dead women's financial situation. The Eberhardsson sisters had much more money than they had reported to the authorities. They must have had undeclared income. But what can you sell of value in a sewing shop? Gold thread? Diamond-studded buttons?

The welding equipment was turned off at a quarter past nine. Fabricius nodded to Wallander and chuckled.

'All set,' he said.

Rydberg, Hansson and Svedberg had arrived. Nyberg had been following the work from the beginning. Using a crowbar, he now forced out the back piece that had been freed with a welding torch. Everyone who was crowded around leaned forward. Wallander saw a number of plastic-wrapped bundles. Nyberg picked up one that lay on top. The plastic was white and sealed with tape. Nyberg placed the bundle on a chair and cut open the tape. Inside there was a thick wad of notes. American hundred-dollar bills. There were ten wads, each a stack of ten thousand dollars.

'A lot of money,' Wallander said.

He carefully pulled out a bill and held it up to the light. It appeared genuine.

Nyberg took out the other bundles, one after another, and opened them. Fabricius stood in the background and laughed each time a new package of money was revealed.

'Let's take the rest to a conference room,' Wallander said.

Then he thanked Fabricius and the two men who had cut open the safe.

'You'll have to send us a bill,' Wallander said. 'Without you, we would never have been able to get this open.'

'I think this one's on us,' Fabricius said. 'It was an experience for a tradesman. And a wonderful opportunity for professional training.'

'There is also no need to mention what was inside,' Wallander said and tried to sound serious.

Fabricius let out a short laugh and saluted him. Wallander understood that it was not intended to be ironic.

When all of the bundles had been opened and the wads of notes counted, Wallander made a swift calculation. Most of it had been in US dollars. But there had also been British pounds and Swiss francs.

'I estimate it to be around five million kronor,' he said. 'No insignificant sum.'

'There would also not have been room for more in this safe,' Rydberg said. 'And this means, in other words, that if this cash was the motive then he or they who shot the sisters did not get what they had come for.'

'We nonetheless have some kind of motive,' Wallander said. 'This safe had been concealed. According to Nyberg, it appeared to have been there for a number of years. At some point the sisters must therefore have found it necessary to buy it because they needed to store and hide large sums of money. These were almost entirely new and unused dollar bills. Therefore it must be possible to trace them. Did they arrive in Sweden legally or not? We also need to find answers as quickly as possible to the other questions we're working on. Who did these sisters socialise with? What kind of habits did they have?'

'And weaknesses,' Rydberg added. 'Let us not forget about that.'

Björk entered the room at the end of the meeting. He gave a start when he saw all the money on the table.

'This has to be carefully recorded,' he said when Wallander explained in a somewhat strained manner what had happened. 'Nothing can be lost. Also, what has happened to the front doors?'

'A work-related accident,' Wallander said. 'When the forklift was lifting the safe.'

He said this so forcefully that Björk did not make any objections.

They broke up the meeting. Wallander hurried out of the room in order not to be left alone with Björk. It had fallen to Wallander to contact an animal protection association where at least one of the sisters, Emilia, had been an active member, according to one of the neighbours. Wallander had been given a name by Svedberg, Tyra Olofsson. Wallander burst out laughing when he saw the address: Käringgatan – 'käring' meant old woman or shrew – number 11. He wondered if there was any other town in Sweden that had as many unusual street names.

Before Wallander left the station he called Arne Hurtig, the car salesman he usually did business with. He explained the situation with his Peugeot. Hurtig gave him a few suggestions, all of which Wallander found too expensive. But when Hurtig promised a good trade-in price on his old car, Wallander decided to get another Peugeot. He hung up and called his bank. He had to wait several minutes until he could speak to the person who normally helped him. Wallander asked for a loan of twenty thousand kronor. He was informed that this would not be a problem. He would be able to come in the following day, sign the loan documents and pick up the money.

The thought of a new car put him in a good mood. Why he always drove a Peugeot, he couldn't say. I'm probably more stuck in my ways than I like to think, he thought as he left the station. He stopped and inspected the damaged hinge on the front doors of the station. Since no one was around, he took the opportunity to give the door frame a kick. The damage became more noticeable. He walked away quickly, hunched over against the gusty wind. Of course he should have called to make sure that Tyra Olofsson was in. But since she was retired, he took the chance.

When he rang the doorbell, it opened almost at once. Tyra Olofsson was short and wore glasses that testified to her myopia. Wallander explained who he was and held up his ID card, which she held several centimetres from her glasses and studied carefully.

'The police,' she said. 'Then it must have to do with poor Emilia.'

'That's right,' Wallander said. 'I hope I'm not disturbing you.'

She invited him in. There was a strong smell of dogs in the hall. She led him out into the kitchen. Wallander counted fourteen food bowls on the floor. Worse than Haverberg, he thought.

'I keep them outside,' Tyra Olofsson said, having followed his gaze.

Wallander wondered briefly if it was legal to keep so many dogs in the city. She asked if he wanted coffee. Wallander thanked her but declined. He was hungry and planning to eat as soon as his conversation with Tyra Olofsson was over. He sat down at the table and looked in vain for something to write with. For once he had remembered to put a notepad in his pocket. But now he didn't have a pen. There was a small stump of a pencil lying on the windowsill, which he picked up.

'You're right, Mrs Olofsson,' he began. 'This is about Emilia Eberhardsson, who has died so tragically. We heard through one of the neighbours that she had been active in an animal protection association. And that you, Mrs Olofsson, knew her well.'

'Call me Tyra,' she said. 'And I can't say I knew Emilia well. I don't think anyone did.'

'Was her sister Anna ever involved in this work?'

'No.'

'Isn't that strange? I mean, two sisters, both unmarried who live together. I imagine they would develop similar interests.'

'That is a stereotype,' Tyra Olofsson said firmly. 'I imagine that Emilia and Anna were very different people. I worked as a teacher my whole life. Then you learn to see the differences in people. It's already apparent in young children.'

'How would you describe Emilia?'

Her answer surprised him.

'Snooty. The kind who always knows best. She could be very unpleasant. But since she donated money for our work, we couldn't get rid of her. Even if we wanted to.'