Firewall (34 page)

"This is probably not a good time, so I won't keep you. But I wonder if you have any time to get together this weekend?"

"Tomorrow would be best for me. Could you call back this afternoon?"

Wallander promised to do so.

Afterwards he sat and stared at the phone. He had disturbed her, he could hear it in her voice. I'm imagining things, he thought. I once made that mistake with Baiba. I even went to Riga without warning her, to see if my suspicions were justified. But there wasn't another man in her life. I was wrong.

He would have to take her at her word. She was busy cleaning up, nothing more. When he called in the afternoon she would be back to normal.

Wallander drove to Runnerströms Torg. He sat in the car, lost in thought, until someone knocked on the window. He jumped. It was Martinsson, smiling and holding up a bag of pastries. Wallander felt almost happy to see him. Normally he would have discussed the events of the day, but he said nothing as he got out of the car.

"Were you napping?"

"I was thinking," Wallander said, curtly. "Is Alfredsson here?"

Martinsson laughed. "The funny thing is that he actually looks like his namesake. But that's just the surface. I don't think he's much of a comedian at heart."

"Is Modin here too?"

"I've arranged to pick him up at 1 p.m."

They crossed the street and climbed the stairs. There they paused.

"Alfredsson is a thorough sort," Martinsson said. "I'm sure he's good. He's still working his way through what we've done so far. His wife keeps calling every so often and chastising him for not being at home."

"I'm just going to say hello," Wallander said. "Then I'll leave you two alone until Modin gets here."

"What was it he claimed to have done, by the way?"

"I don't know exactly, but I think he said he had broken the rest of the codes."

They walked in. Martinsson was right. Alfredsson bore an uncanny resemblance to the comedian. Wallander couldn't help smiling. It lifted his mood.

"We're grateful you could come down here at such short notice," Wallander said.

"I wasn't aware I had a choice," Alfredsson said, sourly.

"I've bought some pastries," Martinsson said. "That may help a little."

Wallander decided to leave immediately. It was only when Modin was in place that it would be worth his while.

"Call me when Modin gets here," he said to Martinsson. "I'll come back then."

Alfredsson exclaimed from his chair in front of the computer. "There's a message for Falk," he said.

Wallander and Martinsson went over to take a look. A small icon indicated that there was mail. Alfredsson retrieved it.

"It's for you," he said, surprised, and looked at Wallander.

Wallander put on his glasses and read the message. It was from Modin:
They have traced me. I need help. Robert.

"Damn," Martinsson said. "He said he always covered his tracks!"

Not another one, Wallander thought helplessly. I can't cope with another one. He was already on his way down the stairs with Martinsson at his heels.

It was pouring with rain. Martinsson's car was closer. Wallander put the police light on the roof.

They sped out of Ystad. It was 10.30 a.m.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

After the hair-raising drive to Löderup, Wallander finally met Robert's mother. She was overweight and seemed very nervous. She had plugs of cotton wool in her nostrils and was lying on the sofa with a damp towel on her forehead.

Modin's father had opened the front door as they pulled into the driveway. Wallander searched in vain for his first name. He looked over at Martinsson.

"Axel Modin."

They ran across the yard to get out of the heavy rain and the first thing Axel Modin said was that Robert had taken the car. He said this over and over again.

"The boy took the car. He doesn't even have a licence."

"Does he know how to drive?" Martinsson said.

"Hardly. I've tried to teach him. I have no idea how I got such an impractical son."

But he knows his way around a computer, Wallander thought. However you explain that.

Once they were inside, Axel Modin said in a low voice that his wife was in the living room.

"She has a nose bleed," he said. "She always gets one when she is upset."

Wallander and Martinsson walked in to meet her. She started to cry when she heard that they were from the police.

"We'd better sit in the kitchen," Axel Modin said. "That way we won't disturb her. She gets anxious."

Wallander sensed a note of sadness in his voice as he spoke of his wife. Axel closed the kitchen door part of the way. During their conversation Wallander had the feeling that he was listening for any sound from the living room.

He offered them coffee and they both said no. They shared a feeling of urgency. During the drive out to Löderup Wallander had grown increasingly worried. He wasn't sure what was going on, but he knew that the boy could be in real danger. Already they had two young people dead in the case and Wallander couldn't bear the prospect of it happening a third time.

While they had been speeding down the main road towards Löderup, Wallander had been too nervous about Martinsson losing control on the wet surface to say anything, but once they reached the minor roads and he was forced to slow down Wallander started asking questions.

"How could he have known that we were in Falk's office? And how did he have Falk's e-mail address?"

"He probably tried to call you first," Martinsson said. "Is your phone on?"

Wallander looked. He had turned it off. He swore.

"He must have guessed that we were there," Martinsson said. "And of course he simply memorised Falk's address. There's nothing wrong with his mind."

Now they were sitting in the kitchen.

"We got what amounts to an SOS from Robert," Wallander said.

Axel Modin stared at him. "An SOS?"

"He sent us an e-mail. But the most important thing is that you tell us what happened at this end."

"I don't know anything "Axel Modin said. "I didn't even know you were coming here. But I did notice that he's been up late these past couple of nights. I don't know what he's been up to, but I know it has to do with those damned computers of his. Today when I woke around 6 a.m. he was still at it. He can't have slept at all. I knocked on his door and asked if he wanted a cup of coffee. He said yes. He came down after about half an hour, but didn't say anything. He seemed completely bound up in his thoughts."

"Was that typical of him?"

"Yes, it didn't surprise me. I could see in his face that he hadn't slept."

"Did he say anything about what he was doing?"

"No, he didn't. It wouldn't have done any good. I'm an old man and I don't understand the first things about computers."

"And then what happened?"

"He drank the coffee, had a glass of water and went back upstairs."

"I didn't think he drank coffee," Martinsson said. "I thought he was very particular about his diet."

"Coffee is the big exception. But you're right. He's vegan, he says."

Wallander wasn't sure what the parameters for a vegan were. Linda had tried to explain it all to him once and had mentioned things such as environmental consciousness, buckwheat and bean sprouts. But it was beside the point now. He pressed on.

"So Robert goes back to his bedroom. What time was that?"

"About 6.45 a.m."

"Were there any telephone calls this morning?"

"He has a mobile. I can't hear it."

"So what happened then?"

"At 8 a.m. I went upstairs with breakfast for my wife. When I walked past his door I didn't hear anything. I actually stopped and tried to hear if he might have gone to bed."

"Do you think he had?"

"It was quiet and I think he was lying in bed. But I don't think he was sleeping. It seemed to me that he was thinking."

Wallander wrinkled his nose. "How could you know that?"

"I can't, of course. But I don't think it's so hard to tell if a person behind a closed door is thinking with great concentration. Don't you think you can sense it?"

Martinsson nodded in an understanding manner that irritated Wallander. The hell you would be able to tell if I had the door closed and was thinking hard, he thought to himself.

"Let's move on. You gave your wife breakfast in bed."

"Not in bed, actually. She has a little table in the bedroom. She's often unsettled in the morning and needs a bit of time to herself."

"And then?"

"I went back to the kitchen to wash the dishes and feed the cats. And the chickens out back. We have a couple of ducks as well. Then I went to the letter box and got the paper. I had some more coffee and read the paper."

"And all this time you didn't hear anything from upstairs?"

"No. It was after this that it happened."

Axel Modin got up and walked over to the door. He pushed it closer, then came back to the table.

"I heard Robert's door open with a bang. He came down the stairs at an incredible speed. I only had time to stand up before he reached the kitchen. He looked completely in shock, as if I was a ghost. Before I had time to say anything he ran into the hall and locked the front door. Then he came back and asked me if I had seen anyone. He screamed it at me."

"That was what he said? 'Have you seen anyone?'"

"Right. He was beside himself. I asked him what was the matter, of course. But he didn't listen. He was looking out of the window, here in the kitchen and then in the living room. My wife started shouting from upstairs. She was frightened by the noise. It was pretty hectic in here for a few minutes, I can tell you."

"What happened next?"

"When he came back to the kitchen he had my shotgun and he ordered me to get the cartridges for it. That scared me and I asked him again what had happened, but he wouldn't say. He just wanted the cartridges. But I didn't give him any."

"Then what happened?"

"He threw the shotgun on the sofa in there and grabbed the car keys. I tried to stop him, but he pushed me aside and ran out."

"What time was it?"

"I don't know. My wife was at the head of the stairs screaming and I had to take care of her. But it would have been about 8.45 a.m."

Wallander looked at the time. He had sent his e-mail asking for help and then he had left. Wallander stood up.

"Did you see which way he went?"

"He went north."

"One other thing. Did you see anyone when you went out to get the paper? Or when you fed the chickens?"

"Who would I have seen? And in this weather?"

"There may have been a car parked somewhere. Or a car driving past."

"There was no-one here."

Wallander nodded to Martinsson. "We have to look at his room," Wallander said.

Axel Modin had buried his face in his hands. "Can someone explain to me what's going on?"

"Not right now," Wallander said. "But we're going to try to find your son."

"He was frightened," Axel Modin said softly. "I have never seen him so frightened. He was as frightened as his mother sometimes gets."

Wallander and Martinsson went upstairs. Martinsson pointed to the shotgun leaning against the banister. The flickering screens of two monitors greeted them in Robert's room. There were clothes all over the floor and the waste-paper basket next to the desk was overflowing.

"What was it that happened shortly before 9.00 this morning?" Wallander said. "Something scared him. He sent us the e-mail and then ran. He was desperate, literally afraid for his life. He wanted the shotgun for protection. He looks out the windows and then takes the car."

Martinsson picked up the mobile that was lying next to the computers. It was switched off.

"Maybe someone called," he said. "Or else he may have made a call himself and was told something that frightened him. Too bad he didn't take the phone with him when he left."

"If he sent us an e-mail, he may also have received one. He told us that someone had traced him and that he needed our help."

"But he didn't wait for us."

"Either something else happened after he e-mailed us, or he seriously didn't want to wait any longer."

Martinsson sat at the desk. "We'll leave that one for now," he said, referring to the smaller of the two computers.

Wallander didn't ask how Martinsson could determine which of the two was more important. For the time being he was dependent on his expertise. Wallander didn't like it when one of his colleagues knew more than he did.

While Martinsson started typing on the keyboard Wallander looked around the room. The rain was whipping against the window. On one wall there was a large poster with a carrot on it. It was the only thing that stood out in a room devoted to the electronic sphere. There were computer books, diskettes and cables. Some of the computer cords were wrapped round each other like a nest of vipers. There was a modem, a printer, a television and two video recorders. Wallander walked over to the desk and bent down. What could Robert have seen through this window as he was sitting at the desk? There was a road far in the distance. He could have seen a car, Wallander thought. He looked around the room again, lifting things carefully until he found a pair of binoculars under some papers. He focused them on the distant landscape. A raven flew across his line of vision, close to the house, and Wallander flinched involuntarily. Otherwise there was nothing. A tumbledown fence, trees, and a narrow road that snaked through the fields.

"How's it going?" he said.

Martinsson mumbled something. Wallander put on his glasses and looked at the pieces of paper closest to the computers. Robert Modin's handwriting was hard to read. There were some half-finished equations and phrases, without beginning or end. The word "delay" occurred several times. Sometimes it was underlined, other times it appeared with a question mark beside it. Wallander kept looking. On another page Robert had written "Completion date of programming?" and then: "Insider necessary?" A lot of question marks, Wallander thought. He's been searching for answers just as we have.

"Look here," Martinsson said, suddenly. "He got an e-mail. Then he sent his message to us."

Wallander leaned in and read the message.
You have been traced.
Nothing else.

"Was there anything later?" Wallander said.

"No messages since then."

"Who sent the message?"

"The source is hidden behind all these scrambled codes. This is someone who didn't want to say who he was."

"But where did it come from?"

"The server is Vesuvius," Martinsson said. "We can certainly have it traced, but it may take a while."

"You don't think it's here in Sweden?"

"I doubt it."

"Vesuvius is a volcano in Italy," Wallander mused. "Can that be where it came from? What happens if we reply to the message?"

"I'm not sure. We can try." Martinsson prepared a return message. "What do you want the text to say?"

Wallander thought about it.

"'Please repeat your message'," he said. "Try that."

Martinsson nodded approvingly and wrote the message in English.

"Should I sign it?"

"Yes. 'Robert Modin.'"

Martinsson hit "send" and the reply went into cyberspace. Almost at once a message came up on the screen saying that the address was unknown.

"You'll have to tell me what you want me to do next," Martinsson said. "What should I look for, do you think? Where Vesuvius is, or something else?"

"Send a message to someone over the Internet asking about this server," Wallander said. "Ask if anyone knows where to find it." But then he changed his mind. "Put the question this way. Is the server Vesuvius based in Angola?"