The Pyramid

by Henning Mankell

  They parted in the hallway. Wallander hurried down to his car, which he had parked in front of the building today. It was raining hard now. He pushed a cassette into the car stereo and turned up the volume. The city around him glittered with illuminated signs and street decorations. Jussi Björling's voice filled the car. He relished the thought of all the time off that awaited him.

  He had almost forgotten what Hemberg had asked of him when he approached the last roundabout before the exit towards Ystad. He was abruptly forced to brake and change lanes. Then he turned by the furniture warehouse, which was closed. But the lights were on in the grocery shop just past the workshop. Wallander pulled up and got out. He left the keys in the car. He closed the door so carelessly that the interior light stayed on. But he let it be. His business here would be over and done with in a couple of minutes.

  The rain was still very intense. He looked around quickly. No one could be seen. The roar of traffic that reached him was faint. He wondered briefly how a grocery shop of the old kind could survive in an area that consisted almost exclusively of warehouses and small industry. Without finding an answer he hurried through the rain and opened the door.

  As soon as he came into the shop he knew that something was not as it should be.

  Something was wrong, seriously wrong.

  What it was that caused this immediate reaction, he could not say. He remained standing just inside the door. The shop was empty. Not a single person. And it was quiet.

  Too quiet, he thought.

  Too quiet and peaceful. And where was Elma Hagman?

  He walked carefully towards the counter. Leaned over it and checked the floor. Nothing. The cash register was closed. The silence around him was deafening. It occurred to him that he really should leave the shop. Since he didn't have a radio in the car, he needed a telephone. He should call for reinforcements. There should be at least two policemen here: one was not enough for an emergency response.

  But he dismissed the idea that something was wrong. He could not be controlled forever by his feelings.

  'Is anyone here?' he called out. 'Mrs Hagman?'

  No answer.

  He walked round the counter. There was a door behind it that was closed. He knocked. Still no answer. He slowly depressed the handle. It was unlocked. He gently pushed the door open.

  Then everything happened at once, very quickly. A woman was lying face down in the inner room. He registered that a chair was knocked over and that blood had run out from her face, which was turned away. He winced, although he had been prepared for something. The silence had been too substantial.

  Even as he turned round he also knew there was someone behind him. As he completed his turn, he steeled himself, catching sight of a shadow that was coming towards his face at great speed. Then everything went dark.

  When he opened his eyes he knew at once where he was. His head ached and he felt nauseous. He was sitting on the floor, behind the counter. He could not have been unconscious for long. Something dark had come towards him, a shadow that had struck him hard in the head. That was the last image in his memory. And it was very clear. He tried to get up but realised that he was tied up. A rope around his legs and arms bound him to something behind him that he couldn't see.

  There was also something familiar about the rope. Then he realised that it was his own tow rope, which he always kept in the boot of his car.

  At once his memory flooded back. He had discovered a dead woman in the office. A woman who could hardly be anyone other than Elma Hagman. Someone had subsequently hit him on the back of the head. And now he was bound with his own rope. He looked around, listening. There had to be someone nearby. Someone he had every reason to fear. The nausea came in waves. He tried to stretch the rope. Could he free himself? He strained his ears the whole time. It was still as quiet as before, but the silence had a different quality. It was not the one he had encountered when he entered the shop. He pulled on the rope. His arms and legs were not bound so tightly, but they were twisted in a way that did not allow him to make full use of his strength.

  Now he also realised how afraid he was. Someone had murdered Elma Hagman and then struck him over the head and bound him. What was it Hemberg had said? An Elma Hagman has called and reported that a strange individual has been hanging around outside the shop. It turned out she had been right. Wallander tried to think calmly. Mona knew that he was on his way home. When he did not show up she would get worried and call the Malmö office. Hemberg would then immediately think of the fact that he had been on his way to Elma Hagman's shop. Then it would not take many minutes for the patrol cars to show up.

  Wallander listened. Everything was quiet. He stretched to see if the cash register had now been opened. This could hardly be anything other than a robbery-homicide. If the cash register was open there would be every likelihood that the robber had taken off. He stretched as much as he could, but it was still impossible to see if the drawer was pulled out or not. Nonetheless, he was growing convinced of the fact that he was now alone in the shop with the dead owner.

  The man who had murdered her and struck Wallander must have fled. The chances were also great that his car was gone, since he had left the keys in the ignition.

  Wallander continued to struggle with the rope. After stretching out his arms and legs as far as they would go, he started to sense that he should concentrate on his left leg. If he kept pushing with his leg, he could stretch out the line and perhaps free himself. This would in turn mean that he would be able to twist his body and examine the manner in which he was attached to the wall.

  He had broken out in a sweat. If it was due to his exertions or the crawling fear, he did not know. Six years earlier, when he had still been a very young and gullible police officer, he had been stabbed. Everything had happened so fast that he had not had time to react, to protect himself. The blade of the knife had entered his chest right next to his heart. That time the fear had come afterwards. But now it was here from the beginning. He tried to convince himself that nothing more would happen. Sooner or later he would be able to free himself. Sooner or later they would start looking for him.

  He rested from his efforts for a moment. The whole situation suddenly came over him with full force. An old woman had been murdered on Christmas Eve in her own shop, shortly before closing. There was something frighteningly surreal about this act of brutality.

  These things simply didn't happen in Sweden. Least of all on Christmas Eve.

  He started to tug on the rope again. It went slowly but he thought it was already chafing less. He managed to turn his arm with great difficulty so he could read his watch. Nine minutes past six. It would not be long now before Mona would start to wonder. A half-hour more and she would start to worry. By seven thirty at the latest she would be calling Malmö.

  Wallander was interrupted in his thoughts. He had picked up a sound somewhere close by. He held his breath and listened. Then he heard it again. A scraping sound. He had heard it before. It was the outer door. The same sound that he had heard when he himself walked into the store. Someone was on his way in, someone who was walking very quietly.

  Then he saw the man.

  He was standing next to the counter, looking down at him.

  He was wearing a black hood pulled over his head, a thick coat and gloves on his hands. He was of average height and appeared thin. He was standing absolutely motionless. Wallander tried to pick out his eyes, but the light from the neon tubes in the ceiling were no help and he saw no face. Only two small holes were cut out for the eyes.

  The man held a metal pipe in his hands. Or perhaps it was the end of a wrench.

  He stood without moving.

  Wallander felt fear and helplessness. The only thing he could do was to scream. But it would be useless. No one was around. No one would hear him.

  The man in the hood continued to stare at him.

  Then he swiftly turned and disappeared from view.

  Wallander felt his heart thumping
inside his chest. He strained to hear something. The door? But he heard nothing. The man must still be inside the shop.

  Wallander thought frantically. Why didn't he go? Why did he linger? What was he waiting for?

  He came from outside, Wallander thought. Then he returns to the shop. He comes over to check that I'm still tied up where he left me.

  There is only one explanation. He's waiting for someone. Someone who should already be here.

  He tried to finish this line of thought. He listened the whole time.

  A man with a hood and gloves is out to commit a burglary without being recognised. He has selected Elma Hagman's remote shop. Why he has killed her is incomprehensible. She cannot have offered any resistance. He also does not give the impression of being nervous or under the influence of drugs.

  The crime is over, but still he lingers. He does not flee. Despite the fact that he most likely was not expecting to have killed someone. Or that anyone else would come by the shop just before it closes on Christmas Eve. And yet he stays. Why?

  Wallander realised that there was something that did not add up. This was not an average burglary he had walked in on. Why was the man staying? Had he become paralysed? He knew it was important to find an answer to this question. But the pieces did not fit together.

  There was also another circumstance that Wallander knew was significant.

  The man in the hood did not know he was a policeman.

  He had no reason to believe anything other than that Wallander was a late customer who had come into the shop. If this was an advantage or a disadvantage, Wallander could not decide.

  He continued working his left leg, keeping an eye on the sides of the counter as well as he could. The man with the hood was there somewhere in the background. And he moved soundlessly. The rope had started to give a little. The sweat ran down Wallander's chest. With a violent effort he managed to free his leg. He sat still. Then he gently turned round. The rope had been pulled through a piece of hardware supporting a wall-mounted shelf. Wallander realised that he would not be able to free himself without tearing the shelf down. On the other hand he could now use his free leg to help release the other leg from the rope. He glanced at his watch. Only seven minutes had gone by since he had last checked it. Mona had probably not yet called Malmö. The question was if she had even started to worry. Wallander struggled on. Now there was no going back. If the man with the hood reappeared he would immediately realise that Wallander was about to free himself and at the same time Wallander had no way of defending himself.

  He worked as quickly and silently as he could. Both legs were free now, shortly thereafter his left arm too. Now only the right arm remained. Then he could get up. What he would do then he did not know. He was not carrying a weapon. He would have to use his hands if he was attacked. But he had the feeling that the man in the mask was neither particularly big nor strong. In addition, he would be unprepared. The element of surprise was the only weapon Wallander had. Nothing else. And he was going to leave the shop as quickly as possible. He would not drag the fight out any longer than necessary. On his own he could not achieve anything. He had to get in touch with Hemberg at the station as soon as possible.

  His right hand was now free. The rope lay at his side. Wallander noticed that he had already started to feel stiff in his joints. He carefully got to his knees and peeked out from behind one corner of the counter.

  The man in the hood stood with his back to Wallander.

  Wallander could now see him in full for the first time. His earlier impression was correct: the man was very thin. He was wearing dark jeans and white trainers.

  He was standing completely still. The distance was not more than three metres. Wallander would be able to throw himself at him and deliver a blow to the neck. That should give him enough time to make it out of the shop.

  But still he hesitated.

  At that moment he caught sight of the iron pipe. It was lying on a shelf next to the man.

  Wallander did not hesitate any longer. Without a weapon the man in the hood would not be able to defend himself.

  Slowly he got to his feet. The man did not react. Wallander was now standing upright.

  At that precise moment the man suddenly turned round. Wallander lunged forward. The man stepped aside swiftly. Wallander banged into a shelf stocked mainly with bread and rusks. But he did not fall over, he managed to keep his balance. He twisted round in order to grab the man. But he cut his movement short and drew back.

  The man in the hood had a gun in his hand.

  He was aiming it steadily at Wallander's chest.

  Then he slowly raised his arm until the weapon pointed straight at Wallander's forehead.

  For one dizzying moment Wallander thought he was going to die. Once he had survived a stabbing. But the pistol that was now directed at his forehead was not going to miss. He would die. On Christmas Eve. In a grocery shop on the outskirts of Malmö. A completely meaningless death, which Mona and Linda would have to live with for the rest of their lives.

  He shut his eyes involuntarily. Maybe in order not to have to see. Or to make himself invisible. But he opened his eyes again. The gun was still directed at his forehead.

  Wallander could hear his own breathing. Each time he exhaled it sounded like a groan. But the man who was pointing the gun at him was breathing without a sound. He appeared to be completely unaffected by the situation. Wallander still could not see into the two holes cut into the hood. Where his eyes were.

  Thoughts whirled in his head. Why was the man staying in the shop? What was he waiting for? And why did he not say anything?

  Wallander stared at the gun, at the hood with the two dark holes.

  'Don't shoot,' he said and heard that his voice was unsteady and stammering.

  The man did not react.

  Wallander held out his hands. He had no weapon, he had no intention of resisting.

  'I was just doing some shopping,' Wallander said. Then he pointed at one of the shelves. He was careful to make sure that his hand gestures were not too quick.

  'I was on my way home,' he continued. 'They're waiting for me. I have a daughter who is five years old.'

  The man did not answer. Wallander could not perceive any reaction at all.

  He tried to think. Was he making a mistake by presenting himself as simply a late customer? Maybe he should have told the truth instead. That he was a policeman and that he had been alerted because Elma Hagman had called and said that an unknown man was hanging around her shop.

  He did not know. Thoughts spun in his head. But they always returned to the same point of departure.

  Why doesn't he leave? What is he waiting for?

  Suddenly the man with the hood took a step back. The gun was aimed at Wallander's head the whole time. With his foot he pulled over a little stool. Then he pointed at it with his gun, which he then immediately pointed at Wallander again.

  Wallander realised he was supposed to sit down. As long as he doesn't tie me up again, he thought. If there's gunfire when Hemberg arrives, I don't want to be tied up.

  He walked forward slowly and sat down on the stool. The man had pulled back a few steps. When Wallander had sat down the man tucked the gun inside his belt.

  He knows that I have seen the dead woman, Wallander thought. He was here in these rooms without me discovering him. But that's why he's keeping me here. He doesn't dare let me go. That's why he tied me up.

  Wallander considered throwing himself at the robber and then leaving the shop. But there was the weapon. And the front door to the shop was most likely locked at this point.

  He dismissed the idea. The man gave the impression of being in complete control of the situation.