Henning Mankell - The Pyramid

'I actually think so too,' Rydberg said. 'But nothing surprises me any longer. Greed knows no bounds when it sinks its claws into people. Perhaps the sewing shop was doing worse and worse? If we analyse their tax returns we'll get a clearer picture. It should also be possible to tell from the numbers when something happens. At which point they no longer have to care about the profitability of the sewing shop. Perhaps they dreamed of a life in a sunny paradise. They could never have achieved this by selling snaps and silk thread. Suddenly something happens. And they are caught in the web.'

'You can also look at it from the reverse perspective,' Wallander said. 'A better cover than two older women in a sewing shop can hardly be imagined. They were the personification of innocence.'

Rydberg nodded.

'Who was there that night to receive the package?' he repeated. 'And one more question: who was behind all this? More precisely: who is behind it?'

'We're still searching for a midpoint,' Wallander said. 'The apex of the pyramid.'

Rydberg yawned and got up from the sofa with some effort.

'We'll figure it out sooner or later,' he said.

'Has Nyberg returned yet?' Wallander asked.

'According to Martinsson he's still in Tingsryd.'

Wallander returned to his office. Everyone seemed to be waiting for something to happen. Nyberg called at four o'clock and said that his car had finally been fixed. They had a meeting at five. No one really had anything new to bring to the table.

That night Wallander slept heavily, without dreaming. The next day it was sunny and five degrees above zero Celsius. He left the car at home and walked to the station. But when he was halfway there, he changed his mind. He thought of what Martinsson had told him, about the two people who lived in the house where Holm had a room. It was only a quarter past seven. He would have time to drive up there and see if they were in before his meeting at the station.

He turned into the front yard at a quarter to eight. The dog was in its fenced run, barking. Wallander looked around. The house appeared as abandoned as the day before. He walked up to the door and knocked. No answer. He felt the handle. It was locked. Someone must have been there. He stepped away in order to walk around the house. Then he heard the front door open behind him. He jumped involuntarily. A man wearing an undershirt and sagging jeans was standing there staring at him. Wallander walked over and introduced himself.

'Are you Rolf Nyman?' he asked.

'Yes, that's me.'

'I need to speak to you.'

The man looked hesitant.

'The house is a mess,' he said. 'And the girl who lives here is sleeping.'

'My place is also messy,' Wallander said. 'And we don't need to sit next to her bed.'

Nyman stepped aside and led Wallander to the cluttered kitchen. They sat down. The man made no gesture to offer Wallander anything. But he appeared friendly. Wallander assumed he was embarrassed at the mess.

'The girl has big problems with drugs,' Nyman said. 'Right now she's trying to detox. I'm helping her as much as I can. But it's hard.'

'And you?'

'I never touch anything.'

'But isn't it strange then to live in the same place as Holm? If you want her to get over a drug addiction.'

Nyman's reply was swift and convincing.

'I had no idea he was involved with drugs. We lived here cheaply. He was nice. I had no idea what he did. To me he said he was studying astronomy. We used to stand outside in the garden in the evenings. He knew the name of every single star.'

'What do you do?'

'I can't hold down a permanent job until she gets better. I work at a disco from time to time.'

'Disco?'

'I play records.'

'You're a DJ?'

'Yes.'

Wallander thought he made a sympathetic impression. He did not appear anxious about anything other than disturbing the girl who was sleeping somewhere.

'Holm,' Wallander said. 'How did you meet him? And when was that?'

'In a disco in Landskrona. We started talking. He told me about this house. A couple of weeks later we moved in. The worst thing is that I don't have the energy to clean. I did earlier. Holm did too. But now all my time goes to taking care of her.'

'You never suspected what Holm was up to?'

'No.'

'Did he ever have visitors?'

'Never. He was usually gone during the day. But he always said when he was coming back. It was only the last time, when he didn't come back, that he said where he was going.'

'Had he appeared nervous that day? Was there anything different about him?'

Rolf Nyman thought back.

'No, he was like normal.'

'And how was that?'

'Happy. But reserved sometimes.'

Wallander thought about how best to proceed.

'Did he have a lot of money?'

'He certainly didn't live in luxury. I can show you his room.'

'That won't be necessary. Are you sure he never had any visitors?'

'Never.'

'But there must have been telephone calls.'

Nyman nodded.

'It was as if he always knew when someone was going to call. Sat down next to the phone and it rang. If he wasn't at home or nearby, it never rang. That was the strangest thing about him.'

Wallander had reached the end of his questions and stood up.

'What will you do now?' he asked.

'I don't know. Holm rented the house from someone in Örebro. I guess we'll have to move.'

Rolf Nyman followed him out onto the front steps.

'Did you ever hear Holm mention the Eberhardsson sisters?'

'The ones who were killed? No, never.'

Wallander realised he had one final question.

'Holm must have had a car,' he said. 'Where is it?'

Rolf Nyman shook his head.

'I don't know.'

'What kind was it?'

'A black VW Golf.'

Wallander held out his hand and said goodbye. The dog was silent as Wallander walked to the car.

Holm must have concealed his business well, he thought on the way back to Ystad. Just as he concealed his true self well when I questioned him.

He parked the car outside the station at a quarter to nine. Ebba was at her desk and said that Martinsson and the others were waiting for him in the conference room. He hurried over. Nyberg had also arrived.

'What's going on?' Wallander said before he had even sat down.

'Big news,' Martinsson said. 'Our Malmö colleagues have made a routine search of a well-known drug dealer. In his house they found a.38 calibre pistol.'

Martinsson turned to Nyberg.

'The technicians have worked quickly,' he said. 'Both the Eberhardsson sisters and Holm were shot with a weapon of that calibre.'

Wallander caught his breath.

'What's the name of the dealer?'

'Nilsmark. But he's known as Hilton.'

'Is it the same pistol?'

'We can't answer that question yet. But the possibility exists.'

Wallander nodded.

'Good,' he said. 'This may be our breakthrough. And then we have a shot at wrapping this up before the new year.'

They worked intensively for three days, until New Year's Eve. Wallander and Nyberg drove into Malmö on the morning of the twenty-eighth. Nyberg went in order to talk to the Malmö police technicians, Wallander in order to take part, and in part to take over, the questioning of the drug dealer known as Hilton. He turned out to be a man in his fifties, overweight yet able to move with a surprising agility. He was dressed in a suit and tie and appeared bored. Before the start of his questioning, Wallander had been briefed on the man's history by a detective inspector named Hyttner, whom Wallander had met before.

Hilton had done some time at the beginning of the 1980s for dealing drugs. But Hyttner was convinced that the police and prosecutors had only been able to skim the surface that time and put him away for just a small portion of his criminal activities. He had clearly been able to retain control of his business from the prison in Norrköping where he had served his time. During his absence, the Malmö police had not been able to detect a power struggle among those who controlled the drug supply into the southern parts of Sweden.