Firewall (31 page)

Wallander couldn't believe it. "How do you mean 'going behind my back'?"

She threw her letter opener across her desk in annoyance.

"It took me a while to see it," she said. "But Martinsson is smart. He's manipulative, and good at it. He complains to Lisa about the way you're handling this investigation."

"He tells her I'm incompetent?"

"I don't think he would express himself so bluntly. He rather implies certain deficiencies: weak leadership, strange priorities. He went straight to Lisa when you brought in Modin, for example."

Wallander was amazed. "I can't believe this."

"You should. But I hope you understand that I'm telling you this in confidence."

Wallander nodded. His stomach was hurting now.

"I just thought you should know. That's all."

Wallander looked at her. "Do you agree with him?"

"If I did I would tell you to your face. Not go behind your back."

"What about Hansson? Nyberg?"

"This is Martinsson's game. No-one else's. He's going after the throne."

"But what about his endless complaints about work? He doesn't even know if he wants to stay in the force."

"Aren't you the one who's always telling us to look past the surface to the very bottom? You always take Martinsson at face value. But I can tell you, I've seen what's underneath, and I don't like what I see."

Wallander felt almost paralysed. The energy and joy he had felt when he woke this morning had evaporated. Inside him, anger was starting to bubble up.

"I'm going to get him for this," he said. "I'm going to confront him right now and see what he has to say for himself."

"That is not a good idea."

"How am I supposed to keep working with someone like that?"

"I can't tell you. But you have to wait for a better opportunity to confront him. If you say anything now, you'll just give him more reason to complain about you being unbalanced. He also thinks that the slap you gave Persson was no coincidence."

"Maybe you know that Lisa is thinking of suspending me."

"It wasn't Lisa's idea," Höglund said grimly. "It was Martinsson's."

"How do you know all this?"

"He has a weakness," she said. "He trusts me. He thinks I'm on his side, even though I've told him that he should stop going behind your back."

Wallander got up from the chair.

"Don't do anything rash," she said. "Try to think of this information as having one up on him. Save it for when the time comes."

She was right. Wallander went back to his office. His anger was tainted with sadness. He could have believed it about almost anyone but Martinsson. Not Martinsson. He was interrupted in his thoughts by the phone. It was Viktorsson, calling to see where he was since he hadn't turned up for the meeting. Wallander walked over to the prosecutors' department, nervous about running into Martinsson. But he had probably already left to be at Modin's side in Falk's office.

The conversation with Viktorsson did not take long. Wallander forced himself to put all other thoughts aside and focus on the case. He told Viktorsson where they thought they were and what direction they were planning to take. Viktorsson asked a few questions, but he raised no objections.

"What do you expect to find in Falk's computer?"

"I don't know, but I believe it may help us unravel the motive."

"Did Falk commit any kind of a crime?"

"Not as far as we know."

Viktorsson scratched his head. "Do you know enough about these things? Shouldn't specialists from the National Police be brought in?"

"We have a local expert working with us. But we have decided to be in touch with Stockholm."

"I would urge you to do that as soon as possible. They can be touchy about these kinds of things. Who is this local expert?"

"His name is Robert Modin."

"And he's very good?"

"Better than most."

Wallander realised he should tell Viktorsson the truth about Modin's criminal past, but before he had gathered himself to do so the moment was past. Wallander had in effect chosen to safeguard the investigation rather than himself. He had taken the first step on a path that could lead straight into personal disaster. Even if he escaped suspension for the business with Persson, this could settle it, and Martinsson would have more than enough grounds to crush him.

"I take it you have been informed about the internal investigation that is now under way?" Viktorsson said abruptly. "The girl's lawyer has filed a complaint with the Justice Department ombudsman on top of charging you with assault."

"That picture tells a lie," Wallander said. "Whatever anyone says, I was simply protecting the mother."

Viktorsson didn't answer. Is there anyone who believes me? Wallander thought. Anyone?

Wallander left the station at 9 a.m. He drove to the Hökbergs' house. He had not called them to say he was coming. What mattered was to get away from the station for a while. He wouldn't now run into Martinsson, but it would happen sooner or later, and he didn't trust his ability to control himself.

As he got out of his car his mobile rang. It was Siv Eriksson.

"I'm sorry to have to bother you," she said.

"No problem."

"I'm calling because I need to talk to you."

He suddenly heard that she was upset. He pressed the phone closer to his ear and tried to turn out of the wind.

"Has anything happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it over the phone. I'd be grateful if you could come as soon as possible."

It must be urgent. He said he would drive over straight away. The conversation with Hökberg's mother would have to wait. He drove back to Ystad and parked in Lurendrejargränd. The sharp east wind was making it much colder in Skåne. Wallander pressed the bell to her flat. She buzzed him in and was on the landing to meet him. He could see that she was frightened. As they walked into the living room, she stopped to light a cigarette. Her hands were shaking.

"What happened?" he asked.

It took several tries to light her cigarette. She inhaled deeply, then stubbed it out.

"I often go to see my mother," she said. "She lives in Simrishamn and I went there yesterday. It got late and I decided to spend the night. When I got back this morning I saw what had happened."

She stopped and walked into her study. Wallander followed her. She pointed to her computer.

"I had just sat down to work, but when I turned on the computer nothing happened. At first I thought the computer had been unplugged, but then I realised what had happened."

She pointed to the screen.

"I don't follow you," Wallander said.

"Someone has deleted all my files" she said. "My hard drive is empty. But it gets worse."

She walked over to a cabinet and opened the doors.

"Every one of my back-up disks is gone. Nothing is left. Nothing. I even have a reserve hard drive. That's gone too."

Wallander looked around. "So someone broke into your flat last night?"

"But there are no signs of it. And how did they know I wasn't going to be here?"

"Did you leave a window open? Were there any marks on the front door?"

"No, I checked."

"Does anyone else have the keys to your flat?"

Her answer came slowly. "Yes and no," she said. "I gave Tynnes a spare key."

"Why did you do that?"

"So he would have access to my flat when I was away. In case anything happened. But he never used them, as far as I know."

Wallander nodded. He understood why she was so upset. Someone had used her spare keys when she was away, and the only person who had had those keys was dead.

"Do you know where he kept them?"

"He said he was going to keep them in his flat on Apelbergsgatan."

Wallander nodded. He thought about the man who had tried to shoot him. Perhaps he had finally been given the answer to what the man had been looking for. The keys to Siv Eriksson's flat.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

For the first time since the investigation began, Wallander felt that he had a clear picture. After checking the front door and all the windows of the flat he was sure that Eriksson was right. The person who had cleaned out her computer had used keys to get in. Furthermore, someone had been watching her and waiting for the right moment to strike.

They returned to the living room. She was still upset and lit another cigarette which she also stubbed out straight away. Wallander decided to wait a while before calling in Nyberg. There was something else he wanted to clarify first. He sat down.

"Do you have any idea who might have done this?"

"No. It's utterly incomprehensible."

"Your computer equipment must be pretty valuable, but the burglar didn't come for that. He wanted only what was inside."

"Everything is gone," she said. "Everything. All my work."

"You must have had a password."

"Of course I did."

"So the burglar knew what it was?"

"Or was able to get around it somehow."

"No ordinary burglar. It was someone very skilled with computers."

"I haven't even been able to think that far" she said. "I'm too distraught."

"That's understandable. What was your password?"

"'Cookie' – it was my nickname as a child."

"Did anyone else know it?"

"No."

"Not even Falk?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Was it written down anywhere?" No.

"Are you sure?"

She paused before she replied. "Yes."

Wallander sensed that they were honing in on a crucial point. He advanced carefully. "Did anyone else know about this nickname?"

"My mother, of course, but she's basically senile."

"No-one else?"

"I have a friend who lives in Austria. She knows it."

"Do you exchange letters with her?"

"Yes. But the past few years it's been mainly e-mail."

"Do you sign those with your nickname?"

"Yes."

Wallander sat back and took a minute to think.

"I don't know how this works," he said, "but I suppose those letters are stored in your computer."

"Yes."

"So if someone accessed them they would have been able to see your nickname, and perhaps guessed it might have been used as a password."

"That's impossible. They would need the password up front to gain access to my letters."

"But someone did manage to break into your computer and delete your files," Wallander said.

She shook her head obstinately. "Why would anyone do that?"

"You're the only person who can answer that question. It's a crucial question, as I hope you realise. What did you have in your computer that someone must have wanted?"

"I never worked with classified information."

"This is very important. You have to think carefully."

"You don't have to remind me."

Wallander waited. She looked as though she were thinking hard.

"There was nothing," she said finally.

"Perhaps there was something there that you didn't realise was valuable?"

"And what would that have been?"

"Again, only you can tell me."

Her voice was firm when she answered him. "I pride myself on keeping all areas of my life, particularly my work, in meticulous order," she said. "I am forever cleaning and sorting files. And I never worked on especially advanced projects, as I told you."

Wallander also thought hard before proceeding. "Did Falk ever come over and use your computer?"

"Why would he do that?"

"I have to ask. Could he have come here without your knowledge? He had keys to your flat."

"I would have noticed it. It's hard to explain without getting too technical."

"I see. But Falk was very good at these things. Isn't it possible that he could have erased all trace of what he had done? It's so often a question of who is better at staying one step ahead – the intruder or the investigator."

"I can't see what would be the point of his using my computer."

"Perhaps he wanted to hide something. The cuckoo hides his eggs in other birds' nests."

"But why?"

"We don't know why. It may also simply be that someone
thought
he had hidden something here. And now that Falk is dead they need to make sure there isn't something here that you would eventually discover."

"Who are these people?"

"That's what I want to know."

This is what must have happened, Wallander thought. There is no other reasonable explanation. There's a lot of frenetic cleaning going on around this town. Something needs to be kept secret at all costs.

He repeated the words in his head. Something needs to be kept secret at all costs. That was the case in a nutshell. If they could find the secret, the case would solve itself.

Wallander sensed that he was running out of time.

"Did Falk ever talk of the number 20?" he asked.

"Why? Is that important?"

"Just answer the question, please."

"Not as far as I remember."

Wallander got out his mobile and called Nyberg. There was no answer. He called Irene and asked her to find him.

"I'll be sending over a forensic team," he said. "I'd be grateful if you could not touch anything in your study. They might find some fingerprints."

Eriksson escorted him to the door. "I don't know what I'm going to do," she said desperately. "Everything is gone. My whole career has vanished overnight."

Wallander didn't know how to comfort her. He recalled Erik Hökberg's words about society's vulnerability.

"Was Falk a religious man?" he said.

Her surprise was genuine. "He never said anything to suggest such a thing."

Wallander promised to be in touch. When he came down to the street he was at a loss. The person he most needed to talk to was Martinsson, but the question was: should he take Höglund's advice? He wanted to confront him with what she had told him. Then he was smitten by fatigue. The betrayal was so hurtful and unexpected. He still hardly accepted it, but deep down he knew it must be true.

Since it was still early, he decided to wait. Perhaps his anger would subside over the course of the day. First he would go back to the Hökbergs. Then he remembered something that he had forgotten to do. He stopped outside the video shop that had been closed when he came here last. He was going to rent the film with Al Pacino that he wanted to see. He then continued on to the Hökberg house and stopped outside. Just as he was about to ring the bell the door opened.

"I saw you pull up," Erik Hökberg said. "You were here about an hour ago, but you didn't call in."

"Something came up that I had to attend to."

They went inside. The house was quiet.

"Actually, I came to speak to your wife."

"She's resting in the bedroom upstairs. Or crying. Or both."

Erik Hökberg's face was ashen. His eyes were bloodshot.

"My son is back in school," he said. "I think it's the best thing for him."

"We still don't know who killed Sonja," Wallander said. "But we're optimistic that we're closing in on whoever is responsible."

"I have always been against the death penalty," Hökberg said. "But I don't know about that any more. Just promise not to let me get close to whoever did this. I don't know what I would do to him."

He went upstairs to get his wife. Wallander walked around the living room while he waited. The silence was oppressive. It took almost a quarter of an hour, then he heard footsteps on the stairs. Hökberg came down alone.

"She's very tired," he said. "But she'll be down shortly."

"I'm sorry that this conversation can't wait."

"We understand."

They waited for her in silence. Then she turned up, barefoot and wearing black. Beside her husband she looked very small. Wallander shook her hand and expressed his condolences. She wobbled slightly then sat down. She reminded Wallander of Anette Fredman. Here was yet another mother who had lost a child. He wondered how many times he had found himself in this situation. He had to ask questions that would be salt in already painful wounds.

This situation was perhaps worse than many of the others. Sonja Hökberg had not only been the victim of murder. Now he was about to confront them with the idea that she may also have been raped on an earlier occasion. He groped around for a way to begin.

"To find Sonja's killer we have delved into the past. There is one particular incident that has come to our attention and that we need more information about. Probably you are the only people who can give us that information."

Hökberg and his wife watched him intently.

"Can we look back about 3 years?" Wallander said. "Sometime in 1994 or 1995. Did anything unusual happen to Sonja during that time?"

Ruth, Sonja's mother, spoke very quietly. Wallander had to lean forward to catch her words.

"What kind of thing are you looking for?"

"Did she ever come home looking as if she had been involved in an accident? Did she have unexplained bruises?"

"She broke her ankle once."

"Sprained," Erik Hökberg said. "She didn't break her ankle. She sprained her ankle."

"I'm thinking more of bruises on her face and body. Did that ever happen?"

Ruth Hökberg jumped in. "My daughter was never naked in the house."

"She may have been extremely upset or depressed during this time," Wallander said.

"She was a moody girl."

"So neither one of you can think of anything unusual along these lines?"

"I don't even understand why you're asking these questions."

"He has to," Erik Hökberg said. "It's his job."

Wallander was grateful for this.

"I don't remember her ever coming home with bruises."

Wallander decided he couldn't keep going around in circles.

"We have information to indicate that Sonja was raped at some point during this time. She never reported it."

Ruth flinched as if she had been burned. "It's not true."

"Did she ever speak of it?"

"That she had been raped? Never." She started laughing helplessly. "Who said this? It's a lie. It's nothing but a lie."

Wallander had the feeling that she was withholding something. Perhaps she had suspected something of the kind. Her protestations were unconvincing.

"The information we have is quite compelling."

"Says who? Who is spreading these lies about Sonja?"

"I am afraid I can't tell you that."

"Why not?" Erik Hökberg blurted out.

"It's standard practice during investigations of this nature."

"Why is it?"

"For now it has to do with making sure the source remains protected."

"What about my daughter?" Ruth screamed. "Who is protecting her? No-one. She's dead."

The situation was getting out of hand. Wallander regretted not letting Höglund handle this questioning. Hökberg calmed his wife, who was sobbing. It was a horrible scene.

After a while he went on. "But she never talked about having been raped?"

"Never."

"And neither of you noticed anything out of the ordinary in her behaviour?"

"She was a hard person to gauge."

"In what way?"

"She kept to herself. She was often in a bad temper, which I suppose is normal for teenagers."

"Was she angry with you?"

"Mostly with her younger brother."

Wallander thought back to the only conversation he had ever had with the girl. She had complained then that her brother always got into her things.

"Let's go back to the years 1994 and 1995," Wallander said. "She had returned from England. Did you notice any sudden change at that time?"

Erik got up from his chair so violently that it fell backwards. "She came home one night, bleeding from her mouth and her nose. It was in February 1995. We asked her what had happened, but she wouldn't say. Her clothes were dirty and she was in shock. We never found out what happened. She said she had fallen. It was a lie of course. I realise that now, now that you come here and tell us she'd been raped. Why do we have to keep lying about this?"