Firewall

by Henning Mankell

  He took Martinsson's coat with him to the gents' and tried to clean it, but without success. Then he returned to his office and spent half an hour making notes about his conversation with Eriksson. When he had finished he yawned and stretched. It was 11.30 p.m. and he knew he should go home and try to sleep, but he forced himself to read through what he had written. He kept thinking about Falk's strange personality and his secret room with an altar to his own image. And the fact that no-one knew where he had his post sent. Then he thought about the thing Eriksson had said that had stuck in his mind: Falk turned down a number of lucrative job offers because he felt he had enough as it was.

  Wallander checked the time. It was 11.40 p.m. He wanted to talk to Mrs Falk, to ask about Falk's will. It was too late to call, even though something told him that she wouldn't be asleep. Wallander yawned again. He put on his coat and turned off the light. As he was walking through reception one of the officers on the night shift stuck his head out of the control room.

  "I think I have something for you," he said.

  Wallander shut his eyes tight and hoped it wasn't something that would keep him up all night. He walked over and took the receiver the officer held out to him.

  "Someone has discovered a body," he said.

  Not another one, Wallander thought. We can't take that. Not right now. He held the receiver to his ear. "Kurt Wallander. What seems to be the matter?"

  The man speaking on the other end was clearly agitated. He was screaming into the phone. Wallander held the receiver further away.

  "Please speak more slowly," Wallander said. "Clearly and slowly. Otherwise we're not going to be able to get anywhere."

  "My name is Nils Jönsson. There's a dead man on the street."

  "Where is that?"

  "In Ystad. I tripped over him. He's naked and he's dead. It's horrible. I shouldn't have to see things like this. I have a weak heart."

  "Calm down," Wallander said. "Nice and easy, now. You say there's a naked dead man on the street?"

  "Isn't that what I said?"

  "Yes, you did. Now tell me what street you're on."

  "I don't know. It's a fucking car park."

  Wallander shook his head.

  "Is it a street or a car park?"

  "It's something in between."

  "And where is it?"

  "I'm on my way from Trelleborg to Kristianstad. I was going to fill up the car and then he was just lying there."

  "So you're calling from a petrol station?"

  "I'm in my car."

  Wallander had begun to hope the man was simply intoxicated and imagining things. But his agitation seemed real.

  "What can you see from your car?"

  "I think it's a department store."

  "Is there a name?"

  "I can't see any. I took the exit."

  "What exit?"

  "The one for Ystad, of course."

  "From Trelleborg?"

  "From Malmö. I was on the main road."

  A thought had come crawling out of Wallander's subconscious, though he had trouble believing it could be true.

  "Can you see a cash machine from your car?" he said.

  "That's where he is. On the pavement."

  Wallander held his breath. The man kept talking and Wallander handed the phone to the officer who had been listening in the background.

  "It's where Falk was found," Wallander said. "Maybe we've found him again."

  "Who do you want me to send down there?"

  "Call Martinsson and Nyberg. How many patrol cars are out right now?"

  "Two. One is in Hedeskoga sorting out a domestic dispute. Birthday party that got out of hand."

  "The other?"

  "In town."

  "Tell them to make for the car park on Missunnavägen, right away. I'll get there on my own."

  Wallander left the station. He was freezing in the thin coat. During the short journey he wondered what he was about to find, but he was pretty sure it would be Tynnes Falk, returned to the place of his death.

  Wallander and the patrol car arrived almost simultaneously. A man jumped out of a red Volvo when they arrived. He was waving his arms. Wallander got out of his car and the man approached him, shouting and pointing. He had bad breath.

  "Wait here," Wallander told him.

  Then he walked over to the cash machine. It was Falk. He was lying on his stomach with his hands tucked underneath his chest. His head was turned to the left. Wallander told the officers to seal off the area and to take down Nils Jönsson's statement, something he didn't have the energy to do himself. He didn't expect the man to have anything important to tell them. The person or persons who had returned Falk's body would most likely have chosen a time when no-one could see them.

  Wallander had never encountered anything like this before. The reconstruction of a death, a body returned to the scene of the crime. He couldn't make head nor tail of it. He walked slowly around the body as if he were expecting Falk to get to his feet. One could say I'm looking at a divine figure, he thought. You worshipped yourself, Mr Falk. According to Eriksson you were planning to become a very old man. But you didn't even live as long as me.

  Nyberg arrived in his car. He stared at the body for a full minute, then turned to Wallander.

  "Wasn't he already dead? Then how did he end up back here? Was this where he wanted to be buried?"

  Wallander saw Martinsson park behind the patrol cars. He walked over to meet him.

  Martinsson got out of his car. He was dressed in a tracksuit. He eyed the stain on the coat Wallander was wearing with disapproval, but he didn't say anything.

  "What's happened?"

  "Falk has come back."

  "Is this your idea of a joke?"

  "I'm just telling you what's happened. Tynnes Falk is lying in the spot where he died."

  They walked over to the cash machine. Nyberg was talking on the phone to one of his forensic team. Wallander wondered gloomily if he was going to have to see Nyberg faint again.

  "There's one important thing I want you to check out," Wallander told him. "See if you think he's lying in the same position as when he was first found."

  Martinsson nodded and slowly circled the body. Wallander knew he had an excellent memory. Martinsson shook his head.

  "He was lying further away from the machine before. And one leg was bent."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes."

  Wallander thought for a moment.

  "We really don't need to wait for a doctor this time," he said after a while. "Falk was pronounced dead more than a week ago. I think we can turn him over without breaking any rules."

  Martinsson hesitated, but Wallander insisted. He could see no reason to wait. Once Nyberg had taken photographs of the body, they turned it over. Martinsson flinched and drew back. A few seconds went by before Wallander realised why. Two fingers were missing. The index finger on the right hand and the ring finger on the left. He got up.

  "What kind of animals are we dealing with?" Martinsson groaned. "Body snatchers? Corpse mutilators? Necrophiliacs?"

  "Heaven knows what, but clearly this means something. Someone went to a lot of trouble to steal the body and now to return it here."

  Martinsson was pale and Wallander pulled him aside.

  "We need to get a hold of the nightwatchman, the one who discovered the body the first time," he said. "We also need the security guards' schedule to establish the time they patrol this area. Then we'll be in a better position to zero in on the time that he was dropped back here."

  "Who found him this time?"

  "A man from Trelleborg, called Nils Jönsson."

  "Was he getting cash?"

  "He says he stopped to fill up with petrol."

  Wallander went to talk to the officer who had taken down Jönsson's statement. He had indeed said nothing of interest.

  Martinsson came over with information from the night guard. "Someone drove by here around 11 p.m.," he said.

  I
t was now 12.30 a.m. Wallander recalled that the first time Falk was found the call came into the station around midnight. Jönsson said he had discovered the body this time at around 11.45 P.m.

  "The body can only have been here for about an hour," Wallander said. "And I am certain that whoever brought him back knew exactly what time the guards would do their rounds."

  "What do you think our chances are of finding a witness?"

  "Negligible. There aren't many residential buildings here, from which someone might have looked out of a window. And who comes here late at night?"

  "People out walking their dogs."

  "Maybe."

  "They may at least have noticed a car or some unusual activity. People with dogs tend to have habitual natures and they would notice something out of the ordinary."

  Wallander agreed. It was worth a try.

  "We'll put an officer down here tomorrow night," he said. "He can talk to every dog walker and jogger that goes by"

  "Hansson loves dogs," Martinsson said.

  So do I, Wallander thought. But I'll be thankful if I don't have to stand out here tomorrow night.

  A car slowed down and stopped by the police tape. A young man in a tracksuit that looked like the one Martinsson was wearing stepped out. Wallander felt like he was slowly being surrounded by the members of a football team.

  "That's our security guard," Martinsson said. "The one from last Sunday. He was off tonight."

  He walked over to talk to him. Wallander went back to the body.

  "Someone has cut off two of his fingers," Nyberg said. "It gets worse and worse."

  "I know you aren't a doctor," Wallander said. "But you used the word 'cut'?"

  "Both of them look like clean cuts. There is a small possibility it could have been another kind of instrument if it was powerful enough. That's up to the doctor to determine. She's on her way."

  "Susann Bexell?"

  "I don't know for sure if it's her."

  Half an hour later, Bexell arrived. Wallander explained the situation. The dog unit that Nyberg had requested arrived soon after. They were to search for the missing fingers.

  "I really don't know what I'm supposed to be doing out here," Bexell said when Wallander had finished telling her everything. "If he's dead there's not a great deal I can do."

  "I need you to look at his hands. Two of his fingers are missing."

  Nyberg was smoking again. Wallander was surprised he wasn't feeling more exhausted himself. The dog officer had started his work. Wallander remembered a time when a dog had found a blackened finger. How long ago was that? He couldn't say. Five, maybe ten years ago.

  Bexell worked quickly. "I think these fingers were cut off with pliers," she said. "But where that happened I can't say."

  "It definitely wasn't here," Nyberg said.

  No-one disputed this declaration, nor did anyone bother to ask him how he arrived at this conviction.

  Bexell finished up and directed the loading of the body into the morgue van.

  "Let's hope the body won't disappear again," Wallander said. "It would be nice if they could actually bury it this time."

  Bexell and the morgue van drove away. The dog had given up the search.

  "He would have found a couple of fingers if they had been anywhere here," his trainer said. "That's an easy job for him."

  "I want the area searched again tomorrow," Wallander said, thinking of Hökberg's handbag. "Whoever removed them may have dropped them a little further away. Just to make our job harder."

  It was 1.45 a.m. and the security guard had gone home.

  "He agreed with me," Martinsson said. "The body was in a different place."

  "That could mean one of two things," Wallander said. "Either they simply couldn't be bothered putting it in the original position. Or else they didn't know where that was."

  "But how could that be? And why bring it back at all?"

  "I don't know, but I don't think there's any use in staying here. We need to sleep."

  Nyberg was packing up his bags for the second time this evening. The area would remain cordoned off until the next day.

  "I'll see you tomorrow at 8 a.m.," Wallander said.

  Then they went their separate ways. Wallander went home and made himself a cup of tea. He drank about half a cup and then went to bed. His back and legs ached. The street lamp swayed outside the window. Just as he was about to fall asleep, he was jerked back into consciousness. At first he didn't know what it was. He listened for noise, but then he realised the disturbance had come from within. It was something to do with the fingers.

  He sat up in bed. It was 2.20 a.m. I have to know now, he thought. It can't wait until tomorrow.

  He got out of bed and walked out into the kitchen. The phone book lay on the table. It took him less than a minute to find the phone number he was looking for.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Eriksson was asleep. Wallander hoped he wasn't tearing her from a dream she didn't want to leave. She answered the phone after the eleventh ring.

  "This is Kurt Wallander."

  "Who?""

  "I came to your place last night."

  She seemed to be waking up slowly. "Oh, the policeman. What time is it?"

  "It's 2.30 a.m. I wouldn't have called if it wasn't urgent."

  "What's happened?"

  "We found the body."

  There was a scratchy sound at the other end. He thought she was probably sitting up in bed.

  "Come again?"

  "We have found Falk's body."

  Wallander realised as he was saying this that he had never told her about it being missing in the first place. He was so tired that it had slipped his mind. So he told her. She listened without interrupting him.

  "Do you really expect me to believe all this?" she said.

  "It sounds strange, I know, but every word is true."

  "Who would do something like that? And why?"

  "That's what we're trying to find out."

  "And you found the body where it was found the first time?"

  "Yes."

  "Oh my God!"

  He heard her breathing hard.