Хеннинг Манкелль - Firewall

“Isn’t Nyberg supposed to be here?” he asked.

“He’s looking for the knife,” Wallander said. “I think we can assume he’ll find it.”

Then he looked over at Holgersson, who nodded at him. He could start the meeting. He wondered briefly how many times he had found himself in exactly this situation. Up early in the morning, facing his colleagues across the conference table with a crime to solve.

They were waiting for him to begin.

“Johan Lundberg is now dead,” he said. “In case anyone hasn’t heard the latest.”

He pointed to a copy of the local newspaper, the Ystad Allehanda, that was lying on the table. The taxi driver’s death was announced in huge print on the first page.

Wallander continued. “This means the two girls, Hökberg and Persson, are charged with murder. We can’t call it anything else, since Hökberg in particular was so precise in her explanations. They planned this and were carrying weapons. They were going to attack whichever taxi driver came their way. We’ve recovered the hammer, as well as Lundberg’s empty wallet and his cell phone. The only thing missing is the knife. Neither one of the girls has denied the charges, nor shifted the blame to the other. I’m assuming we can hand the matter over to the district attorney tomorrow at the latest. Since Eva Persson is so young, her case will be handled by the juvenile courts. The autopsy results aren’t in yet, but I think we can say that our role in this unfortunate case is as good as over.”

Wallander finished and waited to see if anyone had anything to say. “Why did they do it?” Lisa Holgersson finally asked. “It seems so unnecessary.”

Wallander nodded. He had hoped someone would ask this question so he wouldn’t have to find a way to pose it himself.

“Sonja Hökberg was very firm on this point,” he said. “Both in her session with Martinsson and later with me. She said, ‘We needed the money.’ Nothing else.”

“What for?”

Hansson asked the last question.

“We don’t know why. They won’t tell us. If Hökberg is to be believed, they didn’t even know why themselves. They just wanted money.”

Wallander looked around the table before he continued.

“I don’t think they’re telling the truth. At the very least, I know Hökberg is lying. I haven’t yet spoken with Eva Persson, but I’m still convinced of it. They needed that money for something in particular. I also have the suspicion that Persson was doing what Hökberg told her to. That doesn’t make her any less guilty, but I think it gives a clearer picture of their relationship.”

“Does it even matter?” Höglund asked. “Whether they needed the money for clothes or something else?”

“I guess not, at this point. The district attorney certainly has enough evidence to convict Hökberg.”

“They’ve never been in trouble with us before,” Martinsson said. “I made a quick search of our database. And they were both doing well in school.”

Wallander again had the feeling that they were taking the wrong approach to the case. Or at the very least, that they had been overly hasty in writing off other explanations for Lundberg’s murder. But since he was unable to put this hunch into words, he said nothing. They still had a lot of work to do, and the reason for the murder could very well have to do with money. They simply had to keep their eyes open for other possibilities.

The phone rang and Hansson picked up. After listening for a moment he put the receiver down.

“That was Nyberg,” he said. “They found the knife.”

Wallander nodded and shut the folder lying in front of him.

“Naturally, we still need to speak to the parents and make sure we conduct a thorough background investigation, but I think we can safely forward the preliminary information to the district attorney’s office.”

Lisa Holgersson raised her hand to speak.

“We need to hold a press conference. We’ve been barraged by calls from the media. It is still unusual for two young girls to commit this kind of violent crime.”

Wallander looked over at Höglund, but she shook her head. In the past few years, she had often taken on the task of talking to the media, a job he thoroughly despised. But not this time. Wallander understood.

“I’ll do it,” he said. “Do we have a time?”

“I’m going to suggest one o’clock.”

Wallander made a note of it.

They divided up the tasks and brought the meeting to a close. Everyone wanted the matter disposed of as quickly as possible. It was a particularly wretched case, and no one wanted to spend more time on it than was necessary. Wallander would pay a visit to the Hökberg family. Martinsson and Höglund would talk to Eva Persson and her parents.

Soon the room was empty. Wallander could feel the symptoms of his flu getting worse. At least maybe I’ll infect a journalist , he thought as he dug around in his pockets for a tissue.

He bumped into Nyberg in the hallway. Nyberg was wearing boots and a warm coat, his hair splayed in all directions. He was clearly in a bad mood.

“I heard you found the knife,” Wallander said.

“Looks like the county can no longer afford to pay for basic upkeep,” Nyberg answered. “We were shin-deep in leaves. But we finally found it.”

“What kind of a knife?”

“Kitchen knife. Fairly big. The tip broke off, probably from hitting a rib, so she must have used a surprising amount of force. But then again, it was a cheap knife.”

Wallander shook his head.

“It’s hard to believe,” Nyberg said. “I don’t know what happened to the basic respect for human life. How much money did they get?”

“We don’t know yet, but probably around six hundred kronor. It couldn’t have been much more. Lundberg was at the beginning of his shift, and he never carried a lot of change to start.”

Nyberg muttered something under his breath and walked off. Wallander returned to his office. For a while he sat in his chair without knowing what to do next. His throat hurt. Finally he opened the folder with a sigh. Sonja Hökberg lived to the west of Ystad. He wrote down the address, got up, and put on his coat. As he was leaving, the phone rang. He picked up. It was Linda. The voices and clatter in the background made him think she was calling from the restaurant.

“I got your message this morning,” she said.

“This morning?”

“I wasn’t at home last night.”

Wallander knew better than to ask her where she had spent the night. It would only make her get angry and slam down the phone.

“Well, I didn’t call for any particular reason,” he said. “I just wanted to know how you were doing.”

“Good. How about you?’

“I’ve got a little cold. Otherwise things are the same. I was wondering if you had any plans to come down and visit soon.”

“I don’t have time.”

“I’m happy to pay your fare.”

“I told you, I don’t have time. It’s not about the money.”

Wallander realized he would not be able to change her mind. She was as stubborn as he was.

“How are you doing, anyway?” she asked again. “Do you have any contact with Baiba these days?”

“That ended a long time ago. You know that.”

“It’s not good for you to go on like this.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You know what I mean. You’re even starting to get a whiny tone in your voice. You never had that before.”

“You think I sound whiny?”

“You’re doing it right now. But I have a suggestion. I think you should contact a dating service.”

“A dating service?”

“Where you can find someone. Otherwise you’re going to turn into a whiny old man who worries about where I’m spending my nights.”