Henning Mankell - The Pyramid

'The Spanish police are searching the villa in Marbella right now,' he said. 'I've been in touch with a colleague by the name of Fernando Lopez.

He speaks excellent English and seems to be a very high-ranking officer.'

Wallander told him about his excursion and his conversation with Anette Bengtsson. He showed Martinsson the ticket.

'That bastard flew business class,' Martinsson said.

'Be that as it may,' Wallander said, 'we now have another connection. No one can still say this is a coincidence.'

That was also what he said at the case meeting at five o'clock. It was very brief. Per Åkeson sat in on it without saying anything. He's already finished, Wallander thought. He's physically here, but mentally he's already away on his leave.

When there was nothing more to say, they finished the meeting. Each of them went back to his tasks. Wallander called Linda and told her he now had a car that worked and could pick up her grandfather in Malmö. He went home a little before seven. Emma Lundin called. This time Wallander said yes. She stayed until just past midnight, as usual. Wallander thought of Anette Bengtsson.

The following day he stopped by the travel agency and picked up the information he had requested. There were many customers looking for seats for Christmas. Wallander would have liked to stay for a while and talk to Anette Bengtsson, but she didn't have time. He also stopped outside the old sewing shop. The rubble had now been cleared. He walked into town. Suddenly he realised there was only a week left until Christmas. The first one since the divorce.

That day nothing happened that took the investigation further. Wallander pondered his pyramid. The only addition he made was a thick line between Anna Eberhardsson and Yngve Leonard Holm.

The next day, the twenty-first of December, Wallander drove to Malmö to pick up his father. He felt great relief when he saw him walk out of the ferry terminal. He drove him back to Löderup. His father talked non-stop about his wonderful trip. He appeared to have forgotten the fact that he had been in prison and that Wallander had actually also been to Cairo.

That evening Wallander went to the annual police Christmas function. He avoided sitting at the same table as Björk. But the toast the police chief made was unusually successful. He had taken the trouble to look into the history of the Ystad police. His account was both entertaining and well presented. Wallander chuckled on several occasions. Björk was without a doubt a good orator.

He was drunk when he came home. Before falling asleep he thought of Anette Bengtsson. And decided in the next moment to immediately stop thinking about her.

On the twenty-second of December they reviewed the state of the investigation. Nothing new had happened. The Spanish police had not found anything noteworthy in the sisters' villa. No hidden valuables, nothing. They were still waiting for the second pilot to be identified.

In the afternoon, Wallander went and bought himself a Christmas present. A stereo for the car. He managed to install it himself.

On the twenty-third of December they were able to add to the existing case data. Nyberg informed them that Holm had been shot with the same gun used on the Eberhardsson sisters. But there was still no trace of this weapon. Wallander made new lines in his sketch. The connections grew, but the top of the pyramid was still missing.

The work was not supposed to stop during Christmas, but Wallander knew it would slow down. Not least because it would be hard to track people down, hard to get information.

It rained in the afternoon on Christmas Eve. Wallander picked Linda up at the station. Together they drove out to Löderup. She had bought her grandfather a new scarf. Wallander had bought him a bottle of cognac. Linda and Wallander made dinner while his father sat at the kitchen table and told them about the pyramids. The evening went unusually well, above all because Linda had such a good relationship with her grandfather. Wallander sometimes felt as if he were on the outside. But it didn't bother him. From time to time he thought about the dead sisters, Holm and the plane that had crashed into a field.

After Wallander and Linda had returned to Ystad they sat up and talked for a long time. Wallander slept late the following morning. He always slept well when Linda was in the apartment. Christmas Day was cold and clear. They took a long walk through Sand Forest. She told him about her plans. Wallander had given her a promise for Christmas. A promise to cover some of the costs, as much as he could afford, if she decided to pursue an apprenticeship in France. He accompanied her to the train station in the late afternoon. He had wanted to drive her to Malmö, but she wanted to take the train. Wallander felt lonely in the evening. He watched an old film on TV and then listened to Rigoletto. Thought that he should have called Rydberg to wish him a merry Christmas. But now it was too late.

When Wallander looked out of the window on Boxing Day, just after seven in the morning, a gloomy mix of snow and rain was falling over Ystad. He suddenly recalled the warm night air in Cairo. Thought that he should not forget to thank Radwan for his help in some way. He wrote it down on the pad of paper on the kitchen table. Then he cooked himself a substantial breakfast for once.

It was close to nine when he finally got to the police station. He talked to some of the officers who had worked during the night. Christmas had been unusually calm in Ystad this year. As usual, Christmas Eve had resulted in a number of family quarrels, but nothing had been really serious. Wallander walked down the deserted corridors to his office.

Now he would take up the murder investigations in earnest again. There were still technically two cases, even though he was convinced that the same person, or people, had killed the Eberhardsson sisters and Yngve Leonard Holm. It was not simply the same weapon and the same style. There was also a common motive. He got himself a cup of coffee in the break room and sat down with his notes. The pyramid with its base. He drew a large question mark in the middle. The apex, which his father had been aiming for, he now had to find himself.

After two hours of thinking, he was sure. They now had to concentrate most forcefully on the missing link. A pattern, perhaps an organisation, had collapsed when the plane crashed. Then one or several unknown individuals had hastily stepped out of the shadows and acted. They had slain three people.

Silence, Wallander thought. Perhaps that is what all this is about? To prevent information from trickling out. Dead people do not speak.

That could be what it was. But it could also be something completely different.

He went over and stood by the window. The snow was falling more thickly now.

This will take time, he thought.

That's the first thing I'll say when we have our next meeting.

We have to count on the fact that it will take time to solve this case.

The night before the twenty-seventh of December Wallander had a nightmare. He was back in Cairo again, in the courtroom. Radwan was no longer at his side. But now he could suddenly understand everything that the prosecutor and judge were saying. His father had been sitting there in handcuffs at his side and Wallander had listened in horror as his father was sentenced to death. He had stood up in order to protest. But no one had heard him. At that point he had kicked himself out of the dream, up to the surface, and when he woke up he was covered in sweat. He lay completely still, staring into the darkness.

The dream had made him so unsettled that he got out of bed and went to the kitchen. It was still snowing. The street lamp was swaying gently in the wind. It was half past four. He drank a glass of water, then stood for a while fingering a half-empty bottle of whisky. But he let it be. He thought about what Linda had said, that dreams were messengers. Even if dreams were about other people, they consisted foremost of messages to the self. Wallander had always doubted the value of trying to interpret dreams. What could it mean for him to imagine that his father had been sentenced to death? Had the dreams pronounced a death sentence on him? Then he thought that perhaps it had to do with the concern he felt for Rydberg's health. He had another glass of water and went back to bed.