Henning mankell ebba seg.., p.17
Henning Mankell; Ebba Segerberg, page 17
"What does this mean? Did Falk kill the girl?"
"He died before she was murdered."
Nyberg got a magnifying glass out of his bags and sat down. He studied the blueprint while Wallander waited in silence.
"This is an original," Nyberg said.
"Are you sure?"
"Not 100 per cent, but almost."
"You'd think someone should be missing it."
"I talked to that man Andersson about the security procedures at the power company," Nyberg said. "It should have been virtually impossible for anyone to make a copy of this blueprint, much less steal it."
This was important. If the blueprint had been stolen from inside the power company a whole new avenue of clues would open up.
Nyberg positioned his spotlights. Wallander decided to leave him alone.
"I'm going to the station. Call if you need me."
Nyberg was already lost in his work.
Once on the street, Wallander realised that his mind was taking a slightly different direction. He wasn't going to go straight to the station. Mrs Falk had referred to a Siv Eriksson. She should be able to tell him more about Falk's work as a consultant. Her flat was nearby, or at least her office was. Wallander left his car. He walked down Långgatan towards the town centre and turned right on Skansgränd. The streets were deserted. He spun round twice, but there was no-one following him. The wind was strong still, and he was cold. He started thinking about the bullet. He wondered when he was going to take a hit, and he wondered how he would react.
When he arrived at the building that Mrs Falk had described, he at once saw the sign. Serkon. Siv Eriksson, consultant.
The office should be on the second floor. He pushed the buzzer and crossed his fingers. If this was only her office he would somehow have to discover her home address.
But someone answered. Wallander announced himself and said what he wanted. The door was unlocked and Wallander went in.
She was waiting for him in the doorway. Although the light in the hall was strong for his eyes, he recognised her at once. She had been at his lecture. He had been introduced to her, but had of course forgotten her name. It was odd that she hadn't explained who she was. She surely knew that Falk was dead. It threw him for a moment. Did she still not know? Was he going to be the bearer of this dreadful news?
"I'm sorry to bother you," he said.
She let him into the flat. There was the smell of an open fire coming from somewhere. Now he saw her clearly. She was in her forties, with medium-length dark hair and sharp features. He had been too nervous when he met her yesterday to notice her appearance, but the woman he now saw made him self-conscious, the way he always felt when he saw someone he found attractive.
"I should explain why . . . I know that Tynnes is dead. Marianne phoned me."
He was relieved. He would never get used to telling a relative, or a friend even, of a death. He noticed that she seemed sad. "As colleagues you must have been close," he said.
"Yes and no," she said. "We were close, very close. But only when it came to work."
Wallander wondered if their close working relationship had ever grown to be more than that. He felt an unreasonable pang of jealousy.
"You must have something important to discuss with me since you are here so late," she said, and handed Wallander a coat hanger.
He followed her into a stylish living room with a log fire burning in the grate. It seemed to Wallander that both the furniture and the paintings were probably as expensive as they looked.
"Can I offer you anything?"
I really could do with a whisky, Wallander thought. "Thank you, but that won't be necessary," he said.
He sat on a dark blue sofa, and she sat in an armchair. He silently admired her shapely legs and noticed that she had guessed his thoughts.
"I came straight from Falk's office," he said. "Where there appears to be only a computer."
"Tynnes was an ascetic. He wanted everything around him as pared back, as minimalist as possible. It helped him work."
"That's my real reason for being here, to ask you what his work consisted of. What your work consisted of, I should say."
"We worked together on some things, but not all the time."
"May we begin by your telling me what he did when he worked alone?" Wallander regretted not having called Martinsson. There was a good chance he was going to get answers he wouldn't be able to understand. It wasn't too late to call him, even now, but for the third time this evening Wallander decided to let it go.
"I should warn you I don't know a great deal about computers," he said. "You'll have to be very clear, or I won't be able to follow you."
She smiled. "That surprises me," she said. "From your lecture last night I gathered that computers are a police officer's best friend."
"That doesn't go for me personally. Some of us still have to engage in the old-fashioned process of talking to people, not just running names through the computer registers. Or batting e-mails back and forth."
She got up and walked over to the hearth, bending down to rearrange the logs. Wallander watched her, but swiftly lowered his gaze as she turned around.
"What exactly do you want me to tell you? And why?"
Wallander began with the second question. "We're not 100 per cent sure that Falk died of natural causes, although the autopsy report pointed pretty conclusively to his having suffered a heart attack."
"A heart attack?" She was astonished, and Wallander thought immediately of the doctor who had come to see him. "There was nothing wrong with his heart. Tynnes was in terrific shape."
"That's what I've been told. That's one of the reasons we wanted to have one more look at the case. The question then is: what else could it have been? An attack, or perhaps an accident."
She shook her head. "Not an attack. Tynnes would never have let anyone get that close."
"How do you mean?"
"He was forever on his guard. He often talked about how he felt vulnerable in public. So he was prepared, and I know that he was quick on his feet. He was quite advanced in some martial art that I forget the name of."
"He could split bricks with his bare hands?"
"That sort of thing."
"So you believe it was an accident?"
"Yes. It had to be."
Wallander paused. "I had other reasons for coming at this hour, but I think we'll put those aside for the moment."
"You must realise that that makes me curious." She poured herself a glass of wine, and carefully balanced it on the armrest.
"I can't, unfortunately, share much information with you at this stage." That's nonsense, Wallander thought. I could tell her a lot more if I wanted to. For some reason I'm enjoying having some momentary hold over her.
She interrupted his thoughts. "What else was it you asked me?"
"About his work."
"Right. He was a highly accomplished creator of computer systems."
Wallander waited for more.
"He designed computer programs for businesses. Sometimes he just customised and improved existing systems. When I say he was highly accomplished, I mean it. He had offers from heavyweight companies in Asia and in North America. But he always declined them for all that they would have earned him a great deal of money."
"Why do you think he did that?"
"I honestly don't know," she said, and an anxious frown crossed her brow.
"Did you ever talk about the offers he received?"
"He told me what they were and how much money they were offering. Personally, I would have accepted them on the spot."
"And he never told you why he turned them down."
"He just didn't want the work. He didn't need it."
"He must have been very well off."
"I don't think it was that. Sometimes he had to borrow from me."
Wallander sensed that they were nearing a watershed.
"He never went into any detail, for example, about the companies themselves?"
"No, nothing. He just didn't need the extra work, he said. If I tried to keep asking, he cut me off. He could be quite aggressive. He set the limits, not me."
What was the real motivation for saying no? Wallander wondered. It doesn't make sense.
"What determined the kind of project you would work on together rather than separately?"
Her answer surprised him. "The degree of tedium involved."
"I don't understand."
"Some parts of our work will always be rather tedious. Tynnes could be impatient and he often siphoned off the more mundane tasks to me so that he could give his full attention to the more challenging aspects of a project. Especially if it involved something on the cutting edge, something that hadn't been cracked before."
"And you accepted this arrangement?"
"You have to accept your limitations. It was never as boring for me as it would have been for him. I didn't have his extraordinary talents."
"How did you first meet?"
"Until the age of 30 I was a housewife. Then I got divorced and got myself an education. Tynnes gave a lecture in one of my classes. I was fascinated by him, and I asked him if he had any work for me. He said no, but a year later he called me. Our first project working together was designing a security system for a bank."
"What did that involve?"
"Today money is transferred between accounts at an astonishing speed, between private accounts and companies, between the banks of various countries, and so on. There are always people out there who want to disrupt these transfers for their own ends. The way to thwart them is to stay a step ahead. It's a constant battle."
"That sounds difficult."
"It is."
"It also sounds like a task that would be too big for a lone computer consultant in Ystad, however gifted."
"One of the advantages of the new technology is that you can be in the middle of things no matter where you are based. Tynnes was in constant contact with companies, computer manufacturers and other programmers all around the world."
"From his office here?"
"Yes."
Wallander was unsure how to proceed. He didn't feel that he had any sort of grasp of Falk's work, and he also saw the futility in continuing this conversation without Martinsson being there. They should also get in touch with the IT division at the national crime investigation centre.
Wallander changed tack and watched her face carefully while he asked the next question. "Did he have any enemies that you knew of?"
"Not as far as I know," she said, showing no emotion, but surprise at his question.
"Did you notice a change in him recently, in the last year, say?"
She thought for a while before answering. "He was the same as always."
"And how was that?"
"Moody. He worked very long hours."
"Where did you meet to discuss the work you did together?"
"Always here. Never in his office."
"Why not?"
"I think Tynnes was something of a germophobe, to be honest. I think he didn't want anyone leaving dirt on his carpets. He was manic about cleanliness."
"He seems to have been a very complicated man."
"Not when you got to know him. He wasn't so different from other men."
Wallander looked at her with interest. "And what is it that men are like?"
She smiled. "Is that your personal question or are we still discussing Tynnes?"
"I'm not here to ask personal questions."
She sees right through me, Wallander thought. It can't be helped.
"Men are often childish and vain, although they deny it."
"That's a rather broad characterisation."
"I mean it."
"Falk was like that?"
"Yes. But not always. He could be generous. For example, he always paid me more than he had to. But you could never predict his moods."
"He had been married and had children."
"We never talked about his family. It was only after about a year of working with him that I learned he had one."
"Did he have any interests outside his work?"
"None that I knew of."
"Any friends?"
"He had some friends that he corresponded with via e-mail. I never saw him get so much as a postcard through the post."
"How can you know that if you were never at his office?"
She made a little gesture of applause. "Good question. He used my address for his post, as it happens. But nothing was ever addressed to him."
Wallander frowned.
"This is a bit confusing. He used your address, but no post, no bills, no letters ever actually came for him?"
"He got junk mail, but that's all."
"He must have had another postal address as well, then."
"Probably, but in that case I don't know what it was."
Wallander thought about Falk's two flats. There had been nothing in the office at Runnerströms Torg, but he also could not remember seeing any post at Apelbergsgatan.
"We'll have to look into this," he said. "Falk comes across as strangely secretive."
"Some people don't like getting mail, while others love the sound of another letter coming through the letter box."
I'm going too fast, Wallander thought. First we have to see what's in his computer. If he had a life, that's surely where we'll find it.
She poured herself more wine and asked him if he had changed his mind. Wallander shook his head.
"You said you were close. Did you ever visit him at home?"
"No."
That answer came a little too quickly, Wallander thought. The question was whether there hadn't been something between Falk and his female assistant after all.
It was 9 p.m. The fire had burned down to glowing embers.
"I take it there's been no post for him in the past few days?"
"No, nothing."
"And how would you sum up everything that's happened?"
"I always thought that Tynnes would become an old man. It can only have been an accident."
"You don't think he could have had some illness you didn't know about?"
"Yes, of course that's possible. But I don't think so."
Wallander wondered if he should tell her about the disappearance of Falk's body. But he decided to wait. He switched tack again.
"There was a blueprint of a power substation on his desk. Do you know anything about that?"
"I don't think I would know what one is."
"It's a structure just outside Ystad belonging to Sydkraft Power."
She thought hard. "He did work for Sydkraft some years ago," she said. "But I wasn't involved."
Wallander had a thought. "I'd like you to make a list of all the jobs he had over the past two years," he said. "Those he worked on alone and those you worked on together."
"Tynnes may have had projects I didn't know about."
"I'll talk to his accountant," Wallander said. "He must have given him the information. But I'd be grateful if I could see your list."
"Straight away?"
"Tomorrow is fine."
She got up and stirred the embers. Wallander tried to compose a personal ad in his head that would tempt Siv Eriksson to reply. She returned to her chair.
"Are you hungry?"
"No. I should get going."
"It doesn't seem as if my answers have helped you."
"I know more about Tynnes Falk than I did before I came. Police work requires patience."
He had no more questions and knew he should leave. Finally, he got to his feet.
"I'll get in touch tomorrow," he said. "Do you think you could fax me the list of clients to the police station?"
"How about an e-mail attachment?"
"That would be fine as well, though I have no idea how to download those or even what address I have."
"Let me find out."
Wallander put on his coat. "Did Falk ever discuss mink farming?" he said.
"Why on earth would he?" she said.
"Just wondering."
She opened the front door. Wallander felt a strong urge to stay.
"It was a great lecture," she said. "But you were very nervous."
"That's par for the course when you're on your own talking to so many women."
They said goodbye. Wallander walked down the stairs. Just before he opened the door to the street his phone rang. It was Nyberg.
"How fast can you get here?"
"Pretty fast," Wallander said. "Why do you ask?"
"You'd better come now."
Nyberg hung up. Wallander's heart was beating faster. Nyberg would only call if it really mattered.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
It took Wallander less than five minutes to return to the building at Runnerströms Torg. At the top of the stairs, he saw Nyberg smoking on the landing outside the flat. He realised how extremely tired Nyberg was. He never smoked unless he was almost at the point of collapse. The last time that had happened was during the difficult homicide investigation that led to the capture of Stefan Fredman.
Nyberg stubbed the cigarette out in his matchbox and nodded to Wallander to follow him in.
"I started looking at the walls," Nyberg said. "There was a discrepancy. It happens sometimes in old buildings; renovations end up changing the original floor plan. But I started measuring the room anyway, and found this –" Nyberg led Wallander to the far end of the room. A part of the wall jutted into the room at a sharp angle.
"I started tapping on the walls. Here it sounded hollow. Then I saw this." He pointed to the floor.
Wallander crouched down. If you looked closely you could see that the skirtingboard had been sawn loose from the floor. There was also a thin crack in the wall from which Nyberg had removed part of a tape which had been painted over.
"Have you looked to see what's behind?"
"I wanted to wait for you."
Wallander nodded. Nyberg carefully pulled away the rest of the tape, revealing a low door, about 1.5 metres high. Then he stepped aside. Wallander pushed the door open, which gave way without a sound. Nyberg shone his flashlight into the opening.
The hidden space was bigger than Wallander had imagined. He wondered if Setterkvist knew about this. He took Nyberg's flashlight and looked around for the light switch.
The room was perhaps 8 metres square with no window but one small air vent. The room was empty save for a table that looked like an altar. There were two candles on it. There was a photograph of Falk on the wall. Wallander had the feeling that the picture had been taken in this very room. He asked Nyberg to hold the flashlight while he went closer to study the photograph. Falk was staring straight into the camera. His expression was serious.
