Firewall

by Henning Mankell

  "That he needed time to think and plan his approach?" Martinsson said. "That's what we do when we run into difficulties. Isn't that what we asked him to do?"

  "He sounded like an old doctor who had a patient with unusual symptoms. He would consult with friends, he said."

  "He means with other hackers, but comparing it to a doctor and an unusual illness is actually quite an apt simile."

  Martinsson seemed to have got over the fact that they still had no official sanction for working with Modin. Wallander thought it as well not to raise the subject again.

  Höglund and Hansson were both in. Otherwise the station was pleasantly empty. Wallander thought in passing about the mountain of other work growing on his desk. He told the others to assemble for a quick meeting. Symbolically at least, they were at the end of a working week.

  "I talked to one of the dog handlers," Hansson said. "Norberg. He's getting a new dog actually, since Hercules is almost past it."

  "I thought Hercules was dead." Martinsson said.

  "Well, he's more or less done for. He's blind, anyway."

  Martinsson burst into weary laughter. "That would be something for the papers," he said. "The police and their blind search dogs."

  Wallander was not amused. He would miss the old dog, perhaps more than he would miss some of his colleagues when the time came.

  "I've been thinking about this business of dog names," Hansson continued. "I can understand calling a dog Hercules, but I still can't get my head around Steadfast."

  "We don't have any police dogs by that name, do we?" Martinsson said.

  Wallander slammed his fist down on the table. It was the most authoritative gesture at his disposal. "That's enough of that. Now, what did Norberg say?"

  "That it was reasonable to assume that objects or bodies that were frozen or had been frozen could stop giving off a scent. Dogs can have trouble finding bodies in winter, when it's very cold."

  Wallander proceeded to his next point. "What about the van? Any news?"

  "A Mercedes van was stolen in Ånge two weeks ago."

  "Where is Ånge?"

  "Outside Luleå," Martinsson said.

  "The hell it is," Hansson said. "It's closer to Sundsvall."

  Höglund went over to the map on the wall. Hansson was right.

  "It could be the one," Hansson said. "Sweden is not a big country."

  "It doesn't sound right to me," Wallander said. "But there could be other stolen cars that haven't been reported yet. We'll have to keep an eye on incoming news."

  He turned to Höglund for her report.

  "Lundberg has two sons who are as unlike each other as could be. Nils-Emil, the one who lives in Malmö, is a janitor in a local school. I tried to get him over the phone. His wife said he was out training with his orienteering club. She was very talkative. It seems that Lundberg's death came as a hard blow to her husband, who is also a regular churchgoer. It's the younger brother who is of more interest to us. Carl-Einar was accused of rape in 1993, but he was never charged. The girl's name was Englund."

  "I remember that case," Martinsson said. "It was horrible."

  Wallander's only memories from this time were of long walks on the beaches of Skagen in Denmark. Then a lawyer had been murdered and Wallander had returned to his duties, somewhat to his surprise.

  "Were you in charge of that investigation?" Wallander said.

  Martinsson made a face. "It was Svedberg."

  The room fell silent as they thought about their dead colleague.

  "I haven't got through all the paperwork yet," Höglund said after a while. "So I don't yet know why he wasn't convicted."

  "Nor was anyone else," Martinsson said. "Whoever did it got off. We could never find another suspect. I remember that Svedberg was convinced it was Lundberg. I'd never made the connection with Johan Lundberg."

  "Even if we assume that he was guilty as accused," Wallander said, "does that satisfactorily account for the fact that his father was robbed and killed? Or that Hökberg was later burned to death? Or that Falk's fingers were cut off?"

  "It was a vicious rape," Höglund said. "You have to at least imagine a perpetrator out there who has been guilty of horrendous violence. The Englund girl was in hospital for a long time. She had severe injuries to the head and to other parts of her body."

  "We will look at this more closely," Wallander said. "But I don't think that Carl-Einar Lundberg will turn out to have anything to do with this case. There's something else at work behind all of this, and we don't know yet what it is."

  Wallander went on to describe the work that Modin was doing with Falk's computer. No-one made any comment about an unauthorised expert, someone who had served time for advanced computer crime, being brought in.

  "I don't really get this," Hansson said. "What do you expect to find in that computer? A confession? An account of everything that's happened? A reason for all this?"

  "I don't know if there's anything there that will be of use to us," Wallander said simply. "But we need to know what Falk was up to. From all I know, he was a very odd customer."

  Hansson obviously questioned the wisdom of devoting so much time to Falk's computer, but he didn't say so. Wallander saw that the time had come to call the meeting to an end. Everyone was tired and needed to rest.

  "We have to continue in this same vein," he started, then interrupted himself and turned to Höglund. "Whatever happened with Hökberg's bag?"

  "I'm sorry, I forgot about that," she said. "Her mother said she thought that maybe an address book was missing."

  "Maybe?"

  "I believe she was telling the truth. The daughter was a very private person. Her mother thinks she remembered her having a small black address book in which she wrote people's phone numbers. She couldn't say for certain. Anyway, it wasn't in the bag."

  "If that's true, it's a valuable bit of information. Persson should be able to confirm whether she had such a book." Wallander thought for a while before continuing. "I think we should reassign some tasks. I want Höglund to concentrate on Hökberg and Persson. There has to be a boyfriend out there somewhere, someone who could have given her a lift out of town. Keep looking for any information that can tell us what sort of girl she was and what she did with her time. Martinsson will keep Modin happy. Someone else can check up on Lundberg's son – I'll do that, and I will keep on looking into Falk's life. Hansson can be in charge of keeping the information flowing. Keep Viktorsson informed too, and keep trying to find witnesses and looking for an explanation as to how a body can disappear from a morgue. Last, but not least, someone has to go to Växjö and speak to Persson's father. Just so we can cross that off the list."

  Wallander called the meeting to an end and they all stood up. He got out as quickly as he could. It was already 7.30 p.m. He had not had much to eat all day, but he didn't feel hungry. He drove to Mariagatan and scanned the street before unlocking the front door.

  For the next hour he cleaned the flat and sorted his laundry. Now and again he stopped in front of the television set and watched the news programme. One item caught his eye. An American general was asked what future wars would look like. They would be fought with computers, he explained. The era of ground troops would soon be over; at least their role would be much smaller.

  That made Wallander think of something and, since it was still early, he looked out the number and sat at the phone.

  Erik Hökberg answered almost at once. "How is the investigation going?" he said. "We're not doing too well here. We really do need to know what happened to Sonja."

  "We're doing all we can."

  "But are you getting anywhere? Anywhere nearer to finding who killed her?"

  "We don't know that yet."

  "How can it be so difficult to find someone who murdered an innocent girl – in a power station, of all places?"

  "I'm calling you," Wallander said, "because I need to ask you a question. Did Sonja know how to use a computer?"

  "Of course sh
e did. Don't all young people use computers nowadays?"

  "Was she interested in them?"

  "She mainly surfed the Net, I think. She was pretty adept, but I don't think she was as technically advanced as Emil."

  Wallander felt somewhat helpless. Martinsson should have been the one asking these questions.

  "You must have been thinking over what happened," he said. "You must have asked yourself why Sonja killed the taxi driver. And then why she in turn was killed."

  Erik Hökberg's voice was close to breaking as he answered. "I go into her room sometimes," he said. "I just sit in there and look around. I just don't understand it."

  "If you had to describe Sonja to a stranger, how would you do that?"

  "I'd say that she was strong-willed. Not always an easy person to deal with. She would have done well in life."

  Wallander thought of the room that had seemed frozen in time. The room of a little girl, not the person her stepfather seemed to be describing.

  "Didn't she have a boyfriend?" Wallander said.

  "Not that I know of."

  "Isn't that strange?"

  "Why is it strange?"

  "She was 19. And good-looking."

  "She never brought anyone home."

  "What about phone calls? Did anyone call her a lot?"

  "She had her own line. She asked for it when she turned 18. It often rang, but I wouldn't know who was calling."

  "Did she have an answering machine?"

  "I've checked it. There were no messages left."

  "If anyone does call and leave a message, I'd like to have the tape."

  Wallander suddenly thought of the film poster in the wardrobe in her room. The only object apart from her clothes that bore witness to the teenager who lived in the room, someone who was on her way to becoming a grown woman. He searched for the title in his mind. The Devil's Advocate.

  "Inspector Höglund will be in touch with you soon," he said. "She will ask a number of questions and if you are serious about wanting us to find Soma's killer you'll have to answer in as much detail as possible."

  "You don't think we've been helpful enough so far?" Erik Hökberg said, angrily.

  Wallander didn't blame him. "No, on the contrary, I think you've been extremely helpful. I won't keep you any longer."

  He hung up. The poster lingered in his mind. He looked at the time and saw it was 9.30 p.m. He dialled the restaurant in Stockholm where Linda worked. A distracted man with a heavy accent answered. He said he would find Linda. It took several long minutes for her to come to the phone. When she heard who it was she was furious.

  "You can't call me here at this time, you know that. This is our busiest time. You'll get me into trouble."

  "I know," Wallander said. "I'm so sorry – just a quick question."

  "It had better be quick."

  "Have you seen a film called The Devil's Advocate, with Al Pacino?"

  "Is that what this is about? A film?"

  "That's it."

  "I'm hanging up."

  Now it was Wallander's turn to get angry. "At least answer the question. Have you seen it?"

  "Yes, I have," she hissed.

  "What's it about?"

  "Oh my God! I don't believe this."

  "It's about God?"

  "In a way. It's about a lawyer who turns out to be the Devil."

  "Is that it?"

  "Isn't that enough? Why do you need to know this anyway? Are you having nightmares?"

  "I'm trying to solve a murder. Why would a 19-year-old girl have a poster of this film on her wall?"

  "Probably because she thinks Al Pacino is hot. Or else maybe she worships the Devil. How the hell would I know?"

  "Do you have to use that language?"

  "Yes."

  "Is there anything else to this film?"

  "Why don't you see it for yourself? I'm sure it's out on video."

  Wallander felt like an idiot. He should have thought of this himself. He could have simply rented the video and not bothered Linda.

  "I'm sorry for the interruption," he said.

  Her anger had passed.

  "It's OK. But I do have to go now."

  "I know. Goodbye."

  The moment he put the receiver down, the phone rang. He lifted it again with trepidation, fearful of a journalist on the line.

  At first he didn't recognise the voice. Then he realised it was Siv Eriksson.

  "I hope I'm not catching you in the middle of something," she said.

  "Not at all."

  "I've been thinking. I've been trying to find something that could help you."

  Invite me over, Wallander thought. If you really want to help me. I'm hungry and thirsty and I don't want to sit in this damned flat a minute longer.

  "And did you think of anything in particular?"

  "Not really. I suppose his wife is the only one who really knew him. Or maybe his children."

  Wallander waited to see if she would say anything else.

  "I have one memory of him that stands out as unusual. It isn't much. We only knew each other a few years."

  "Tell me."

  "It was two years ago, in October or the beginning of November. He came here one evening and was very upset. He couldn't hide it. We had a project due, I think it was something for the county. We had a deadline, but I could see that he was very upset and I asked him why. He said he had just seen some teenagers accost an older man who had been a little drunk. When the man tried to brush them away they punched him. He fell and they kicked him as he lay on the pavement."

  "Was that it?"

  "Yes."

  Wallander thought about it. Falk had reacted strongly to a person who was the victim of violence. It was interesting, but he couldn't find a place for it in his picture of the man at the heart of the case.

  "Did he intervene in any way?"

  "No. It just enraged him."

  "What did he say?"

  "That the world was chaos. That nothing was worth it any more."

  "What was it that wasn't worth it?"

  "I don't know. I had a feeling he meant that humankind wasn't worth it any longer. That man's animal nature was taking over, or something like that. When I asked him to explain what he meant he refused, and we never talked about it again."

  "How did you interpret his reaction?"

  "I felt it was quite natural. Wouldn't you have felt that way?"

  Maybe, Wallander thought. But I doubt if I would have reached the same dire conclusion.

  Wallander wanted to keep her on the line, but she was bound to see through him.