The Pyramid

by Henning Mankell

  After that everything happened very quickly. Later Wallander would only remember that the girls had screamed and run away. Wallander had lifted his arms to shield himself, but it was too late. He had not managed to block the thrust. The knife struck him in the middle of his chest. A warm darkness washed over him.

  Even before he sank down onto the gravel path his memory had stopped registering what was happening.

  After that everything had been a fog. Or perhaps a thickly flowing sea in which everything was white and still.

  Wallander lay sunken in deep unconsciousness for four days. He underwent two complicated operations. The knife had grazed his heart. But he survived. And slowly he returned from the fog. When at last, on the morning of the fifth day, he opened his eyes, he did not know what had happened or where he was.

  But next to his bed there was a face he recognised.

  A face that meant everything. Mona's face.

  And she was smiling.

  EPILOGUE

  One day at the start of September, when Wallander received the goahead from his doctor that he could start work a week later, he called up Hemberg. Later that afternoon Hemberg came out to his apartment in Rosengård. They bumped into each other in the stairwell. Wallander had just taken out the rubbish.

  'It was here where it all started,' Hemberg said, nodding at Hålén's door.

  'No one else has moved in yet,' Wallander said. 'The furniture is still there. The fire damage hasn't been repaired. Every time I walk in or out I still think it smells like smoke.'

  They sat in Wallander's kitchen drinking coffee. The September day was unusually brisk. Hemberg was wearing a thick sweater under his coat.

  'Autumn came early this year,' he said.

  'I went out to visit my father yesterday,' Wallander said. 'He's moved from the city to Löderup. It's beautiful out there in the middle of the plains.'

  'How one can voluntarily make one's home out there in the middle of all that mud exceeds my powers of comprehension,' Hemberg said dismissively. 'Then comes winter. And one is trapped by the snow.'

  'He seems to like it,' Wallander said. 'And I don't think he cares very much about the weather. He just works on his paintings from morning till night.'

  'I didn't know your father was an artist.'

  'He paints the same motif again and again,' Wallander said. 'A landscape. With or without a grouse.'

  He stood up. Hemberg followed him to the main room, where the painting hung.

  'One of my neighbours has one of those,' Hemberg said. 'They appear to be popular.'

  They returned to the kitchen.

  'You made all the mistakes you can make,' Hemberg said. 'But I've already told you that. You don't undertake investigative work alone, you don't intervene without backup. You were only a centimetre or so from death. I hope you've learned something. At least how not to act.'

  Wallander did not answer. Hemberg was right, of course.

  'But you were stubborn,' Hemberg continued. 'It was you who discovered that Hålén had changed his name. We would of course also have discovered this eventually. We would also have found Rune Blom.

  But you thought logically, and you thought correctly.'

  'I called you out of curiosity,' Wallander said. 'There's still a lot I don't know.'

  Hemberg told him. Rune Blom had confessed, and he could also be tied to the murder of Alexandra Batista through the forensic evidence.

  'The whole thing started in 1954,' Hemberg said. 'Blom has been very detailed. He and Hålén, or Hansson as he was called back then, had been on the same crew on a ship bound for Brazil. In São Luis they had come into possession of the precious stones. He claims that they bought them for a negligible price from a drunk Brazilian who didn't know their true worth. They probably didn't either. If they stole them or actually purchased them, we'll probably never know.

  They had decided to split their bounty. But then it so happened that Blom ended up in a Brazilian prison, for manslaughter. And then Hålén took advantage of the situation, since he had the stones. He changed his name and quit sailing after a few years and hid out here in Malmö. Met Batista and counted on the fact that Blom would spend the rest of his life in a Brazilian prison. But Blom was later released and started to look for Hålén. Somehow Hålén found out that Blom had turned up in Malmö. He got scared and put an extra lock on the door. But continued seeing Batista. Blom was spying on him. Blom claims that Hålén committed suicide on the day that Blom found out where he lived. Apparently this was enough to frighten him so much that he went home and shot himself. You may wonder about that. Why didn't he give the stones to Blom? Why swallow them and then shoot himself? What's the point of being so greedy that you prefer dying instead of giving away something that has a little monetary value?'

  Hemberg sipped his coffee and looked thoughtfully out the window. It was raining.

  'You know the rest,' he continued. 'Blom did not find any stones. He suspected that Batista must have them. Since he introduced himself as a friend of Hålén, she let him in without suspecting anything. And Blom took her life. He had a violent nature. He had shown that before. From time to time when he was drinking he proved himself capable of extreme brutality. There are a number of cases of assault in his past. On top of the manslaughter charge in Brazil. This time Batista bore the brunt.'

  'Why did he take the trouble to go back and set the apartment on fire? Wasn't he taking a risk?'

  'He hasn't given any explanation other than the fact that he became enraged that the stones were missing. I think it's true. Blom is an unpleasant person. But perhaps he was afraid that his name was somewhere in the apartment on some piece of paper. He probably hadn't had time to check around exhaustively before you surprised him. But of course he was taking a risk. He could have been discovered.'

  Wallander nodded. Now he had the whole picture.

  'It's really just a case of a horrible little murder, and a greedy man who shoots himself,' Hemberg said. 'When you become a criminal investigator you'll come across this many times. Never in the same way. But with more or less the same basic motive.'

  'That was what I was going to ask you about,' Wallander said. 'I realise that I have made many mistakes.'

  'Don't worry about that,' Hemberg said curtly. 'You'll start with us the first of October, but not before.'

  Wallander had heard correctly. He exulted inside. But he didn't show it, only nodded.

  Hemberg stayed a little while longer. Then he left and went off in the rain. Wallander stood at the window and watched him drive away in his car. He absently fingered the scar on his chest.

  Suddenly he thought of something he had read. In what context, he did not know.

  There is a time to live, and a time to die.

  I made it, he thought. I was lucky.

  Then he decided never to forget these words.

  There is a time to live, and a time to die.

  These words would become his personal incantation from now on.

  The rain spattered against the windowpane.

  Mona arrived shortly after eight.

  That evening they talked for a long time about finally making the planned trip to Skagen next summer.

  THE MAN WITH

  THE MASK

  Wallander checked his watch. It was a quarter to five. He was sitting in his office at the Malmö police headquarters. It was Christmas Eve, 1975. The two other colleagues he shared the office with, Stefansson and Hörner, were off. He was leaving in less than an hour himself. He got up and walked to the window. It was raining. It would not be a white Christmas this year either. He stared absently out through the window, which had started to fog up. Then he yawned. His jaw popped. He carefully closed his mouth. Sometimes when he yawned wide he got a cramp in a muscle under his chin.

  He went back and sat down at his desk. There were some papers on it that he didn't need to worry about right now. He leaned back in his chair and thought with pleasure about the holiday time that awaited.
Almost a whole week. He was not returning to duty until New Year's Eve. He put his feet up on the desk, took out a cigarette and lit it. He started coughing immediately. He had decided to quit. Not as a New Year's resolution. He knew himself too well to think he would be able to succeed. He needed a long time to prepare. But one day he would wake up and know that it was the last day he would light a cigarette.

  He looked at the time again. He could really leave now. It had been an unusually calm December. The Malmö crime squad had no cases of violent crime under investigation at the moment. The family conflicts that normally took place during the holidays would happen on someone else's watch.

  Wallander took his feet down from the desk and called home to Mona. She answered at once.

  'It's me.'

  'Don't tell me you're going to be late.'

  The irritation came out of nowhere. He didn't manage to conceal it.

  'I'm actually just calling to say that I'm leaving now. But maybe that's a mistake?'

  'Why are you so upset?'

  'I sound upset?'

  'You heard me.'

  'I hear what you're saying. But can you hear me? That I was actually calling to tell you I was on my way home. If you don't have anything against that.'

  'Just drive carefully.'

  The call ended. Wallander sat there with the telephone receiver in his hand. Then he banged it hard onto the hook.

  We can't even talk on the phone any more, he thought angrily. Mona starts to nag at the smallest provocation. And she probably says the same thing about me.

  He sat back in the chair and watched the smoke rising towards the ceiling. He noticed that he was trying to avoid thinking about Mona and himself. And about the quarrels that were getting more frequent. But he couldn't. Increasingly, he found himself thinking the thought he most wanted to avoid. That it was their daughter of five years, Linda, who held their relationship together. But he chased it away. The thought of living without Mona and Linda was unbearable.

  He also thought about the fact that he had not yet turned thirty. He knew he had the necessary qualifications to become a good policeman. If he wanted, he would be able to make a noteworthy career within the force. The six years he had spent in the crime squad and his quick advancement to criminal investigator had convinced him of this, even if he also often felt inadequate. But was this really what he wanted? Mona had often tried to convince him to apply to one of the private security firms that were becoming more common in Sweden. She clipped out job announcements and told him he would make considerably more money in the private sector. His work schedule would become more predictable. But he knew that deep inside she was pleading with him to switch professions because she was afraid. Afraid that something would happen to him again.

  He walked back over to the window. Looked out over Malmö through the fogged-up glass.

  It was his last year in this city. This summer he would start a job in Ystad. They had already moved there and had lived in a centrally located apartment since September. Mariagatan. They had actually never hesitated over the decision, despite the fact that it would hardly advance his career to move to a small town. Mona wanted Linda to grow up in a smaller city than Malmö. Wallander felt a desire for change. And the fact that his father lived in Österlen as of a few years back was yet another reason for them to move to Ystad. But even more important was the fact that Mona had been able to buy a hair salon for a good price.

  He had visited the police headquarters in Ystad on several occasions and had got to know the people who would soon be his co-workers. Above all, he had developed an appreciation for a middle-aged policeman by the name of Rydberg.

  Before meeting him Wallander had heard persistent rumours about Rydberg, that he was abrupt and dismissive. But from the first moment his impression had been different. It could not be disputed that Rydberg was a man who did things his own way. But Wallander had been impressed with his ability to accurately describe and analyse a crime under investigation with just a few words.

  He walked back to the desk and put out his cigarette. It was a quarter past five. He could go now. He took his coat, which was hanging on the wall. He would drive home slowly and carefully.

  Maybe he had sounded upset and unfriendly on the phone without knowing it? He was tired. He needed this time off. Mona would probably understand when he got the opportunity to explain himself.

  He put on his coat and felt in his pocket for the keys to his Peugeot.

  On the wall next to the door was a little shaving mirror. Wallander looked at his face. He felt satisfied with what he saw. He would soon turn twenty-seven, but in the mirror he saw a face that could have been five years younger.

  At that moment, the door opened. It was Hemberg, his immediate supervisor since he'd joined the squad. Wallander often found it easy to work with him. The few times there were any problems were almost always due to Hemberg's violent temper.

  Wallander knew that Hemberg was going to be on duty over both the Christmas and New Year holidays. As a bachelor, Hemberg was giving up his holiday to fill in for another supervising officer who had a family with many children.

  'I was just wondering if you were still here,' Hemberg said.

  'I was about to leave,' Wallander answered. 'I was thinking of slipping away half an hour early.'

  'That's fine by me,' Hemberg said.

  But Wallander had immediately understood that Hemberg had come into his office with a specific purpose.

  'You want something,' he said.

  Hemberg shrugged his shoulders.

  'You've just moved to Ystad,' he began. 'It hit me that you might be able to make a little stop on the way. I don't have much manpower right now. And this is probably nothing anyway.'

  Wallander waited impatiently for the continuation.

  'A woman has called here several times this afternoon. She has a little grocery shop by the furniture warehouse right before the last roundabout to Jägersro. Next to the OK gas station.'

  Wallander knew where that was. Hemberg glanced down at a piece of paper in his hand.

  'Her name is Elma Hagman and she is most likely fairly old. She says that a strange individual has been hanging around outside the shop all afternoon.'

  Wallander waited in vain for more.

  'Is that it?'

  Hemberg made a wide gesture with his arms.

  'It appears so. She called again quite recently. That was when I thought of you.'

  'So you want me to stop and talk to her?'

  Hemberg cast an eye at the clock.

  'She was going to close up at six. You'll just make it. But I expect she's imagining things. If nothing else, you can reassure her. And wish her a merry Christmas.'

  Wallander thought quickly. It would take him at most ten minutes to stop by the shop and make sure that everything was as it should be.

  'I'll talk to her,' he said. 'I am still on duty, after all.'

  Hemberg nodded.

  'Merry Christmas,' he added. 'I'll see you New Year's Eve.'

  'I hope things are calm tonight,' Wallander replied.

  'The conflicts start at night,' Hemberg said gloomily. 'We can only hope they don't turn too violent. And that not too many excited children are disappointed.'