The Pyramid

by Henning Mankell

  'I have been cleaning there for twelve years and seven months. Three mornings a week. Monday, Wednesday and Friday.'

  'When did you get to the shop this morning?'

  'At my usual time. A little after five. I clean four shops in the mornings.

  I usually take Lamberg's first.'

  'I assume you have your own key?'

  She looked surprised at him.

  'How else would I be able to get in? Lamberg did not open until ten.'

  Wallander nodded and continued.

  'Did you walk in from the street?'

  'There is no other entrance.'

  Wallander made a note.

  'And the door was locked?'

  'Yes.'

  'The lock had not been tampered with in any way?'

  'Not that I noticed.'

  'What happened after that?'

  'I went in. Put down my handbag and took off my coat.'

  'Did you notice anything that was not as it should be?'

  He saw that she was really trying to think and remember.

  'Everything was normal. It rained yesterday morning. The floor was unusually muddy. I went to get my buckets and rags.'

  She stopped abruptly.

  'Was that when you saw him?'

  She nodded mutely. For a second Wallander was afraid she was going to cry. But she drew a deep breath and collected herself.

  'What time was it when you discovered him?'

  'Nine minutes past five.'

  He looked surprised at her.

  'How can you know that so precisely?'

  'There was a wall clock in the studio. I looked at it immediately. Perhaps in order not to have to look at him lying there dead. Perhaps in order to fix the exact time of the worst moment in my entire life.'

  Wallander nodded. He thought he understood.

  'What did you do next?'

  'I ran out into the street. I may have screamed, I don't know. But there was a man. He called the police from a telephone booth nearby.'

  Wallander put down his pen for a moment. Now he had a list of Hilda Waldén's actions and times. He had no doubt about its veracity.

  'Can you tell me why Lamberg was in the shop so early in the morning?'

  Her answer came quickly and firmly. Wallander realised she must have been thinking about it before he asked.

  'Sometimes he went down to the studio at night. He stayed until midnight. It must have happened before then.'

  'How do you know he went down there at night? If you clean in the morning?'

  'A few years ago I left my purse in the pocket of the cleaning coat. I went down there at night to get it. He was there then. He told me he usually came in two evenings a week.'

  'To work?'

  'I think he mostly sat in that back office and shuffled papers. The radio was on.'

  Wallander nodded thoughtfully. She was probably right. The murder had not happened that morning but the evening before.

  He looked at her.

  'Do you have any idea who could have done this?'

  'No.'

  'Did he have any enemies?'

  'I didn't know him. I don't know if he had any friends or enemies. I just cleaned there.'

  Wallander held onto the thread.

  'But you worked there for more than ten years. You must have learned about him? His habits. Or weaknesses.'

  Her answer came just as firmly.

  'I did not know him at all. He was extremely reserved.'

  'You must be able to describe him in some way.'

  His answer was unexpected.

  'Can you describe a person who is so anonymous he blends into the wall?'

  'No indeed,' Wallander said. 'I see your point.'

  He pushed the notepad aside.

  'Did you notice anything unusual recently?'

  'I only met him once a month. When I picked up my pay cheque. But there was nothing unusual then.'

  'When did you see him last?'

  'Two weeks ago.'

  'And he seemed the same as always?'

  'Yes.'

  'He wasn't anxious? Nervous?'

  'No.'

  'You didn't notice anything in the shop either? Something that had changed?'

  'Nothing.'

  She is an excellent witness, Wallander thought. Her answers are firm. She has good powers of observation. I have no need to doubt her memory.

  He had nothing more to ask her. The conversation had taken less than twenty minutes. He called Hansson, who promised to make sure that Hilda Waldén was taken home.

  When he was alone again he walked over to the window and stared out into the rain. He wondered absently when spring was going to come. And how it would feel to experience it without Mona. Then he noticed that his tooth had started to ache again. He checked the time. It was still too early. He did not think his dentist would be in his office yet. At the same time he wondered how things had gone for Svedberg. To convey the news of a death in the family was one of the most feared tasks. Especially when you had to report an unexpected and brutal killing. But he was sure Svedberg could manage it. He was a good officer. Perhaps without exceptional talent, but diligent and with a fastidiously organised desk. In some ways he was among the best officers Wallander had ever worked with. And Svedberg had always been extremely loyal to Wallander.

  He left the window, went out to the break room, and got a cup of coffee. While he walked back down the corridor he tried to understand what could have happened.

  Simon Lamberg was a photographer, approaching sixty. A man with regular habits whose way of conducting his business was beyond reproach, photographing confirmations, weddings and children of various ages. According to his cleaning lady he came into the studio two evenings a week. At these times he sat in his inner office and shuffled papers around, listened to music. If the cleaning lady's information was correct he usually left around midnight.

  Wallander came back to his office. He took up his former position at the window with the cup of coffee in his hand and stared out into the rain.

  Why did Lamberg spend those evenings sitting in the studio? Something about the situation stirred Wallander's curiosity.

  He checked his watch. At that moment Ebba called. She had reached his dentist. Wallander could be seen at once.

  He decided not to wait. If he was going to lead a murder investigation he couldn't walk around with a toothache. He went over to Martinsson's office.

  'I broke a tooth yesterday,' he said. 'I'm going to the dentist. But I'm assuming I'll be back within the hour. Let's have a meeting then. Has Svedberg come back?'

  'Not that I know.'

  'Try Nyberg and see if he can make it in an hour or so. Then we'll be able to get his initial impression.'

  Martinsson yawned and stretched.

  'Who can possibly have had anything to gain by killing an old photographer?' he said. 'There doesn't appear to have been any burglary.'

  'Old?' Wallander objected. 'He was fifty-six. But other than that I agree with you.'

  'He was attacked inside the shop. How did the perpetrator enter?'

  'Either with a key or else Lamberg let him in.'

  'Lamberg was struck from behind.'

  'Which can have many different explanations. And we have none of them.'

  Wallander left the station and walked down to the dentist, who had his practice by the Main Square, right next to the electronics shop. As a child, Wallander had always been afraid of the dentist visits he had been dragged to. As an adult the fear had suddenly left him. Now he simply wanted to be free from the pain as quickly as possible. But he realised the broken tooth was a sign of ageing. He was only forty years old. But the deterioration had already started to set in.

  Wallander was shown in at once and took his place in the dentist's chair. The dentist was young and worked quickly, with ease. He was done in about half an hour. The pain changed into a dull throbbing.

  'It will soon be gone,' the dentist said. 'But you should come back
here so that we can remove that tartar. I don't think you brush as well as you should.'

  'Probably not,' Wallander said.

  He made an appointment to come back in two weeks and returned to the station. At ten o'clock he gathered his colleagues in the conference room. Svedberg had returned, and Nyberg was also present. Wallander sat at his usual place at the head of the table. Then he looked around. He wondered briefly how many times he had sat here, gathering himself to launch into yet another criminal investigation. He had noticed that it took more effort over the years. But he also knew that there was nothing else to do but throw oneself into it. They had a brutal murder to solve. It could not wait.

  'Does anyone know where Rydberg is?' he asked.

  'Backache,' Martinsson replied.

  'Too bad,' Wallander said. 'We could have used him here now.'

  He turned to Nyberg, and nodded at him to start.

  'It is of course too early to say,' Nyberg said, 'but there are no indications of burglary. No marks on any doors, nothing that appears to have been stolen, at least not at first glance. The whole thing is very strange.'

  Wallander had not expected Nyberg to have made any decisive observations at this stage. But he had still wanted him to be present.

  He turned to Svedberg.

  'As expected, Elisabeth Lamberg got a terrible shock. Apparently they have separate bedrooms. She doesn't normally notice when he comes home if he's out at night. They had dinner at about half past six that night. Shortly before eight he left for the studio. She went to bed a little after eleven and fell asleep at once. She doesn't understand who could have murdered him. She dismissed the idea that he had any enemies.'

  Wallander nodded.

  'Then this is what we know,' he said. 'We have a dead photographer. But that is also all that we know.'

  Everyone knew what this meant. Now the laborious investigations would proceed.

  Where this would lead them they had no idea.

  The case review that morning, the first in the hunt for the single or multiple perpetrators who for unknown reasons were responsible for the murder of the photographer Simon Lamberg, was of short duration. There were countless routine methods for proceeding that they always followed. They had to wait for the report from the medical examiner's office in Lund, as well as the results of the forensic investigation of the crime scene that Nyberg and his men were conducting. They would now make a study of Simon Lamberg and chart out the life that he had lived. They would also question neighbours and look for others who might have witnessed something. There was naturally also hope that even in these early stages information would come in that would make it possible to clear up the murder in the course of a few days. But Wallander already had an instinctive feeling that they stood on the brink of a complicated case. They had very little – or rather, nothing – to go on.

  He noticed as he sat in the conference room that he was anxious. The ache in his tooth was now gone. But instead he had this new worry in his stomach.

  Björk came into the room and sat down to listen to Wallander's attempt to make a preliminary review of the events and timeline. No one had any questions when it was over. They assigned the most import ant tasks and then broke up the meeting. Wallander would speak with Lamberg's widow later in the day. First he wanted to do a more thorough inspection of the crime scene. Nyberg said he could let Wallander into the studio and the inner room in a couple of hours.

  Björk and Wallander lingered in the conference room after the others had filed out.

  'You don't believe this was a burglar who was caught red-handed and got out of control?' Björk asked.

  'No,' Wallander answered. 'But I could very well be wrong. We cannot rule out any possibilities. But I wonder what a burglar thought he would be able to get in Lamberg's studio.'

  'Cameras?'

  'He didn't sell any photographic equipment. He only took pictures. The only items he had for sale were frames and albums. I think a burglar hardly makes an effort for that.'

  'What does that leave? A private motive?'

  'I don't know. But according to Svedberg, the widow, Elisabeth Lamberg, was apparently adamant that he had no enemies.'

  'But there is also no indication that it was a crazed madman?'

  Wallander shook his head.

  'There are no indications of anything,' he said, 'but we can make three reflections even at this stage. How did the perpetrator enter the studio? There are no marks on the door or windows. Lamberg had most likely not left the door unlocked. According to Elisabeth Lamberg he was always careful about locking.'

  'That leaves two possibilities. Either he had a key. Or else Simon Lamberg let him in.'

  Wallander nodded. Björk had understood. He went on.

  'The second observation is that the blow that killed Lamberg was delivered with violent force to the back of the head. That can be a sign of determination. Or rage. Or both. And a great capacity for strength. At the moment of his death, Simon Lamberg had turned his back on the killer. Which in turn could mean two things. That he had not expected anything bad. Or he had tried to flee.'

  'If he had let in the person who killed him, that would explain why he turned his back.'

  'We can probably take yet another step,' Wallander said. 'Would he have let someone in that late at night who he didn't have a good relationship with?'

  'Anything else?'

  'According to the cleaning lady, Lamberg was in the habit of going to his studio two evenings a week. The days could vary. But there is a possibility that the perpetrator was aware of this. It is conceivable that we are looking for someone who knew Lamberg's habits, at least in part.'

  They left the conference room and ended up standing in the hallway.

  'That means that there are at least some possible avenues for investigation,' Björk said. 'It's not a complete void.'

  Wallander made a face.

  'Almost,' he said. 'It's as close to a void as it can be. We could have used Rydberg.'

  'I'm worried about his back problems,' Björk said. 'Sometimes I have the feeling it's something else.'

  Wallander stared at him with surprise.

  'What would that be?'

  'He may have another illness. Back pain doesn't have to come from just muscles or bone.'

  Wallander knew that Björk had a brother-in-law who was a doctor. And since Björk from time to time considered himself to be suffering from any number of severe illnesses, Wallander assumed he was now transferring his concerns onto Rydberg.

  'Rydberg always gets better after a week or so,' Wallander said.