Authors: Henning Mankell
'The theft of the lighting equipment is a strong indicator,' Rydberg said. 'For me that is the deciding factor. What made you think of it, by the way?'
'The pyramids,' Wallander answered. 'They're illuminated by spotlights.
Except for one day a month, when the moon is full.'
'How do you know that?'
'My old man told me.'
Rydberg nodded thoughtfully.
'It's unlikely that drug shipments follow the lunar calendar,' Rydberg said. 'And they may not have as many clouds in Egypt as we have in
Skåne.'
'The Sphinx was actually the most interesting,' Wallander said. 'Half man, half animal. Holding guard to make sure the sun returns every morning. From the same direction.'
'I think I've heard of an American security firm that uses the Sphinx as a symbol,' Rydberg said.
'That fits,' Wallander said. 'The Sphinx keeps watch. And we keep watch. Whether or not we're police officers or night guards.'
Rydberg burst into laughter.
'If you told new recruits about this kind of thing they would make fun of us.'
'I know,' Wallander said. 'But perhaps we should tell them anyway.'
Rydberg left. Wallander called Per Åkeson at home. He promised to inform Anette Brolin.
'How does it feel?' Wallander asked. 'Not to have any criminal cases pending?'
'Good,' Åkeson said. 'Better than I could have imagined.'
The investigative squad met two more times that day. Martinsson arranged the surveillance of the house. Hansson left in order to meet up with the rural postman. During this time the others continued with the task of establishing the facts of Rolf Nyman's life. He did not have a police record, something that made the process more difficult. He was born in 1957, in Tranås, and moved to Skåne with his parents in the mid-1960s. They had initially lived in Höör and later in Trelleborg.
His father had been employed by a power plant as a systems operator, his mother stayed at home, and Rolf was an only child. His father had died in 1986 and the mother had then moved back to Tranås, where she had died the following year. Wallander had a growing feeling that
Rolf Nyman had lived an invisible life. As if he had deliberately swept up any traces of himself. With the help of their Malmö colleagues they learned that he had never been mentioned in the circles that worked on illegal drug activity. He is too invisible, Wallander thought several times during the afternoon. All people leave traces. Everyone except
Rolf Nyman.
Hansson returned, having spoken to the postal worker, whose name was Elfrida Wirmark. She had been very firm in stating that there were two people in the house, Holm and Nyman. Which meant there was only one person there these days, as Holm was in the mortuary, waiting to be buried.
They met in the conference room at seven that evening. According to the reports that Martinsson had received, Nyman had not left the house during the day other than to feed the dog. No one had come by to see him. Wallander asked if the officers who were keeping Nyman under surveillance had been able to tell if he was on his guard, but no such reports had been issued. Then they discussed the postal worker's statement for a while. In the end they were able to reach a consensus that Rolf Nyman had most likely invented his girlfriend.
Wallander made the final case review of the day.
'There are no indications that he is a heroin addict,' he started. 'That is his first lie. The second is that he has a girlfriend – he's alone in that house. If we want to get in there we have two choices. Either we wait until he leaves, which he has to do sooner or later, if for no other reason than to buy groceries. If he doesn't have extensive provisions.
But why would he have something like that? Or else we find a way to lure him out of the house.'
They decided to wait him out, at least for a few days. If nothing happened, they would revisit the situation.
They waited on the fourth, and they waited on the fifth. Nyman left the house twice in order to feed the dog. There were no indications that he had grown more watchful than before. During that time they continued to work on mapping his life. It was as if he had lived in a strange vacuum. Via the tax authorities they could see that he had a low annual income from his work as a DJ. He never claimed any exemptions, which seemed unusual. He applied for a passport in 1986. He received his driver's licence in 1976. There did not appear to be any friends.
On the morning of the fifth of January, Wallander sat down with
Rydberg and closed the door. Rydberg said that they should probably continue for a couple more days, but Wallander presented an idea that would make it possible to lure Nyman out of the house. They decided to present this idea to the others that same afternoon. Wallander called
Linda Boman in Lund. The following evening the disco was going to be open, and a Danish DJ was scheduled that night. Wallander explained his idea. Linda Boman asked who would cover the extra costs since the DJ from Copenhagen had a contract with Linda's disco.
Wallander told her she could send the bill to the Ystad police if need be. He promised to get back to her within a couple of hours.
At four o'clock in the afternoon on the fifth of January, a bitingly cold wind had started to blow in over Skåne. A snow front was passing from the east and could possibly nudge the southern tip of Skåne. At the same time Wallander gathered his team in the conference room.
As succinctly as possible, he explained the idea that he had discussed earlier with Rydberg.
'We have to smoke out Rolf Nyman,' he said. 'Apparently he doesn't go anywhere unnecessarily. At the same time it seems that he doesn't suspect anything.'
'Maybe the whole thing is too far-fetched,' Hansson interjected.
'Maybe because he has nothing to do with the murders?'
'That possibility does exist,' Wallander admitted. 'But right now we're assuming the opposite. And that means we need to get into the house without him finding out. The first thing that we have to do is find a way to get him out, but not for a reason that will arouse any suspicion.'
Then he laid out the plan. Linda Boman was going to call Nyman and tell him that the scheduled DJ had cancelled. Could Rolf cover for him? If he said yes, the house would be empty all evening. They could post someone at the disco who could keep in contact with the people inside the house. When Rolf Nyman returned to Sjöbo in the early morning, the house would be empty. No one except the dog would know they had been there.
'What happens if he calls his DJ colleague in Copenhagen?' Svedberg asked.
'We've thought of that. Linda Boman is going to tell the Dane not to answer the phone. The police will cover his regular fee. But we're happy to take that on.'
Wallander had expected more objections. But none came. He realised it was because of a growing impatience among the team. They weren't getting anywhere. They had to do something.
Wallander looked around the table. No one had anything more to add.
'Then we're agreed? The plan is to do this soon, tomorrow night.'
Wallander reached for the telephone on the table and called Linda
Boman.
'Let's do it,' he said when she answered. 'Call me in an hour.'
Wallander hung up, checked his watch and turned to Martinsson.
'Who's on surveillance right now?'
'Näslund and Peters.'
'Call them on the radio and tell them to be particularly observant at twenty past five. That's when Linda Boman is going to call Nyman.'
'What do you think might happen?'
'I don't know. I just want increased attentiveness.'
Then they talked through the programme. Linda Boman was going to ask Nyman to come into Lund early, at eight, in order to look over a number of new records. That meant he should leave Sjöbo around seven. The disco would then stay open until three in the morning. As soon as the person posted at the disco confirmed that Nyman had entered, the others would go into the house. Wallander had asked
Rydberg to come along. But Rydberg had in turn suggested Martinsson.
So Martinsson it was.
'Martinsson and I will go into the house. Svedberg comes along and keeps watch. Hansson takes the disco in Lund. The rest remain here at the station. In case something happens.'
'What are we looking for?' Martinsson asked.
Wallander was about to ask when Rydberg raised his hand.
'We don't know,' he said. 'We're trying to find what we don't know that we're looking for. But by extension there will be a yes or a no. Was
Nyman the one who killed Holm and the two sisters?'
'Drugs,' Martinsson said. 'Is that it?'
'Weapons, money, anything. Spools of thread bought in the
Eberhardsson sisters' shop. Copies of plane tickets. We don't know.'
They sat around the table for a little longer. Martinsson left in order to get in touch with Näslund and Peters. He returned, nodded, and sat down.
At twenty minutes past five, Wallander was sitting with the clock in his hand.
Then he dialled Linda Boman's number. The line was busy.
They waited. Nine minutes later the phone rang. Wallander picked up the receiver. He listened and then hung up.
'Nyman has agreed,' he said. 'Now we're in business. Let's see if this leads us in the right or wrong direction.'
The meeting broke up. Wallander held Martinsson back.
'It's best for us to be armed,' he said.
Martinsson looked surprised.
'I thought Nyman was going to be in Lund?'
'Just in case,' Wallander replied. 'That's all.'
The snowstorm never reached Skåne. The next day, the sixth of
January, the sky was covered in clouds. A faint wind was blowing, there was rain in the air, and it was four degrees above zero. Wallander stood indecisively in front of his sweaters for a long time before he was able to select one. They met at six o'clock in the conference room.
By then Hansson had already left for Lund. Svedberg was stationed behind a clump of trees where he had a view of the front of Nyman's house. Rydberg was doing crossword puzzles in the break room.
Wallander had reluctantly taken out his gun and strapped on the holster that never quite fit properly. Martinsson had his weapon in his coat pocket.
At nine minutes past seven they received a dispatch from Svedberg.
The bird has flown
. Wallander had not wanted to take any unnecessary risks. Police dispatches were always being listened to. Therefore they were referring to Rolf Nyman as
the bird
. Nothing else.
They waited. Six minutes to eight came Hansson's dispatch.
The bird
has landed.
Rolf Nyman had driven slowly.
Martinsson and Wallander stood up. Rydberg looked up from his crossword puzzle and nodded.
They arrived at the house at half past eight. Svedberg greeted them.
The dog barked. But the house was dark.
'I've checked the lock,' Svedberg said. 'A simple pass key is enough.'
Wallander and Svedberg held up their torches while Martinsson picked the lock. Svedberg left to resume his post as lookout.
They went in. Wallander turned on all the lights, which took
Martinsson by surprise.
'Nyman is playing records at a disco in Lund,' Wallander said. 'Let's get started.'
They proceeded slowly and methodically through the house. They found no traces of a woman anywhere. Apart from the bed that Holm had used there was only one other single bed.
'We should have brought a drug-detection dog,' Martinsson said.
'I think it's unlikely he keeps any supplies at home,' Wallander said.
They searched the house for three hours. Shortly before midnight
Martinsson contacted Hansson on the police dispatch radio.
'There are a lot of people here,' Hansson said. 'And the music is thundering like hell. I'm staying outside. But it's cold.'
They continued to search. Wallander had started to worry. No drugs, no weapons. Nothing that indicated any involvement on Nyman's part.
Martinsson had searched the basement and the outlying building thoroughly.
No lighting equipment. Nothing. Just the dog that was barking like crazy. Several times Wallander had felt an urge to shoot it. But he loved dogs, deep down. Even dogs that barked.
At half past one Martinsson got in touch with Hansson again. Still nothing.
'What did he say?' Wallander asked.
'That a lot of people were crowded around outside.'
At two o'clock they could get no further. Wallander had started to realise that he had made a mistake. There was no indication that Rolf
Nyman was anything other than a DJ. The lie about a girlfriend could hardly be considered criminal. And they had also not found any indications that Nyman was a drug addict.
'I think we can wrap this up,' Martinsson said. 'We haven't found anything.'
Wallander nodded.
'I'm staying behind for a while,' Wallander answered. 'But you and
Svedberg can go home. Leave me the radio.'
Martinsson put the radio, which was turned on, on the table.
'Time to call it quits,' Wallander said. 'Hansson will have to wait until I call him, but everyone at the station can go home.'
'What do you think you'll find when you're alone?'
Wallander caught the sarcastic tone in Martinsson's voice.
'Nothing,' he said. 'Perhaps I just need more time to realise I've led us in the wrong direction.'
'We'll start over tomorrow,' Martinsson said. 'That's life.'
Martinsson left. Wallander sat down and looked around the room.
The dog was barking. Wallander cursed under his breath. He was convinced he was right. It was Rolf Nyman who had killed the two sisters and Holm. But he found no evidence. He found nothing. He remained seated for a while longer. Then he started to walk around and turn out the lamps.
Then the dog stopped barking.
Wallander stopped. Listened. The dog was quiet. Immediately he sensed danger. Where it came from, he didn't know. The disco was supposed to be open until three in the morning. Hansson had not contacted him.
Wallander did not know what made him react. But suddenly he realised he was standing in a window that was clearly illuminated from the inside. He threw himself to the side. At that moment, the windowpane shattered. Wallander lay motionless on the floor. Someone had fired a shot. Confused thoughts went through his head. It could not be Nyman. Hansson would have told him. Wallander pressed himself against the floor while he tried to pull out his own gun. He tried to crawl deeper into the shadows but saw that he was about to enter the light again. The person who had fired the shot may have made it up to the window by now. Overhead there was a ceiling lamp that was lighting up the room. He got out his weapon and aimed it at the strong bulb. When he pressed the trigger his hand was shaking so hard that he missed. He aimed again, holding it with two hands now. The shot shattered the bulb. The room became darker. He sat still, listening. His heart was pounding in his chest. What he needed most of all was the police dispatch radio. But it was on the table several metres away. And the table was in a pool of light.