‘How did you get here?’ Hemberg asked.
‘Taxi.’
‘You can come back with me.’
During the trip back to Malmö Hemberg did not say anything. They drove through fog and a drizzling rain. Hemberg dropped Wallander off outside his building in Rosengård.
‘Get in touch with me later on today,’ Hemberg said. ‘If you’ve recovered from your stomach flu, that is.’
Wallander let himself into his apartment. It was already morning. The fog had begun to dissipate. He didn’t bother taking his clothes off. Instead, he lay down on top of the bed. He was soon asleep.
The doorbell jerked him awake. He sleepily stumbled out into the hall and opened the door. His sister, Kristina, was standing there.
‘Am I disturbing you?’
Wallander shook his head and let her in.
‘I’ve been working all night,’ he said. ‘What time is it?’
‘Seven. I’m going out to Löderup with Dad today. But I thought I would look in on you first.’
Wallander asked her to put some coffee on while he had a wash and changed his clothes. He bathed his face in cold water for a long time. By the time he came back out to the kitchen he had chased the long night out of his body. Kristina smiled at him.
‘You are actually one of the few men I know who doesn’t have long hair,’ she said.
‘It doesn’t suit me,’ Wallander answered. ‘But God knows I’ve tried. I can’t have a beard either. I look ridiculous. Mona threatened to leave me when she saw it.’
‘How is she doing?’
‘Fine.’
Wallander briefly considered telling her what had happened. About the silence that now lay between them.
Earlier, when they had both lived at home, he and Kristina had had a close and trusting relationship. Even so, Wallander decided to say nothing. After she had moved to Stockholm the contact between them had become vague and more irregular.
Wallander sat down at the table and asked how things were with her.
‘Good.’
‘Dad said you had met someone who works with kidneys.’
‘He’s an engineer and he works at developing a new kind of dialysis machine.’
‘I’m not sure I know what that is,’ Wallander said. ‘But it sounds very advanced.’
Then he realised that she had come for a particular reason. He could see it in her face.
‘I don’t know why,’ he said, ‘but I can tell that you want something in particular.’
‘I don’t understand how you can treat Dad this way.’
Wallander was taken aback.
‘What do you mean?’
‘What do you think? You don’t help him pack. You don’t even want to see his house in Löderup and when you bump into him on the street you pretend you don’t know him.’
Wallander shook his head.
‘Did he say that?’
‘Yes. And he’s very upset.’
‘None of this is true.’
‘I haven’t seen you since I got here. He’s moving today.’
‘Didn’t he tell you that I came by? And that he basically threw me out?’
‘He hasn’t said anything like that.’
‘You shouldn’t believe everything he says. At least not about me.’
‘So it isn’t true?’
‘Nothing is true. He didn’t even tell me he had bought the house. He hasn’t wanted to show it to me, hasn’t even told me what it cost. When I was helping him pack I dropped an old plate and all hell broke loose. And actually I do stop and talk to him when I see him on the street. Even though he often looks like a crazy person.’
Wallander could tell she wasn’t quite convinced. That irritated him. But even more upsetting was the fact that she was sitting here scolding him. That reminded him of his mother. Or Mona. Or Helena, for that matter. He couldn’t stand these meddling women who tried to tell him what to do.
‘You don’t believe me,’ Wallander said, ‘but you should. Don’t forget that you live in Stockholm and that I have the old man in my face all the time. That makes a big difference.’
The telephone rang. It was twenty minutes past seven. Wallander answered. It was Helena.
‘I called you last night,’ she said.
‘I worked all night.’
‘Since no one answered I thought I must have the wrong number, so I called Mona to check.’
Wallander almost dropped the receiver.
‘You did what?’
‘I called and asked Mona for your telephone number.’
Wallander had no illusions about what the consequences of this would be. If Helena had called Mona that meant Mona’s jealousy would flare up with full force. It would not improve their relationship.
‘Are you still there?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ Wallander said, ‘but right now my sister is here.’
‘I’m at work. You can call me.’
Wallander hung up and went back to the kitchen. Kristina looked curiously at him.
‘Are you ill?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘But I probably should go in to work now.’
They said goodbye in the hall.
‘You should believe me,’ Wallander said. ‘You can’t always rely on what he tells you. Let him know I’ll be out to see him as soon as I have time. If I’m welcome, that is, and if someone can tell me where this house is.’
‘At the edge of Löderup,’ Kristina said. ‘First you go past a country stall, then down a road bordered with willows. When that ends the house is on the left, with a stone wall to the road. It has a black roof and is very nice.’
‘When did you go there?’
‘The first load went yesterday.’
‘Do you know what he paid for it?’
‘He won’t say.’
Kristina left. Wallander waved at her through the kitchen window. He forced away his anger over what his father had said about him. What Helena had said was more serious. Wallander called her. When he was told she was on the line with another caller he banged the receiver back on the hook. He rarely lost control, but now he noticed that he was close. He called again. Still busy. Mona is going to end our relationship, he thought. She thinks I’ve started courting Helena again. It won’t matter what I say. She’s not going to believe me anyway. He called again. This time he got an answer.
‘What did you want?’
Her voice was cold when she replied.
‘Do you have to sound so unpleasant? I was actually trying to help you.’
‘Was it really necessary to call Mona?’
‘She knows I’m not interested in you any more.’
‘She does? You don’t know Mona.’
‘I’m not going to apologise for trying to find your telephone number.’
‘What did you want?’
‘I’ve received some information from Captain Verke. Do you remember? I said that we had an old sea captain here.’
Wallander remembered.
‘I have some paper copies in front of me. Lists of sailors and engineers who have worked for Swedish shipping lines for the past ten years. As you can imagine, this includes quite a number of people. By the way, are you sure that the man you mentioned had only served on Swedish-registered vessels?’
‘I’m not sure of anything,’ Wallander said.
‘You can pick up the lists from here,’ she said. ‘When you have time. But I’ll be in meetings all afternoon.’
Wallander promised to come by in the morning. Then he hung up and thought that what he should do now was call Mona and explain the situation. But he let it be. He simply didn’t dare.
It was ten minutes to eight. He started to put on his coat.
The thought of patrolling for a whole day increased his despondence.
He was just about to leave the apartment when the telephone rang again. Mona, he thought. Now she’s calling to tell me to go to hell. He drew a deep breath and lifted the receiver.
It was H
emberg.
‘How are you doing with that stomach flu?’
‘I was just on my way in to the station.’
‘Good. But come up and report to me. I have talked with Lohman. You are after all a witness who we need to talk to more. That means no patrolling today. And to top it off, you won’t have to participate in raids on drug-infested neighbourhoods.’
‘I’m on my way,’ Wallander said.
‘Come by at ten o’clock. I thought you could sit in on a meeting we have scheduled about the murder in Arlöv.’
The conversation was over. Wallander checked his watch. He would have time to pick up the papers waiting for him at the shipping office. On the kitchen wall he had a schedule for the buses to and from Rosengård. If he hurried, he wouldn’t have to wait.
When he walked out the front door, Mona was there. He had not expected that. As little as he expected what happened next. She walked right over to him and slapped him on the left cheek. Then she twirled round and walked away.
Wallander was so shocked he did not even manage to react. His cheek burned and a man who was unlocking his car door stared at him with curiosity.
Mona was already gone. Slowly he started walking to the bus stop. He had a knot in his stomach now. It had never occurred to him that she would react so violently.
The bus arrived. Wallander made his way down towards the Central Station. The fog had gone. But it was overcast. The morning drizzle continued unabated. He sat in the bus and his head was completely empty. The events of last night no longer existed. The woman who had been sitting dead in her chair was part of a dream. The only thing that was real was that Mona had hit him and then walked away. Without a word, without hesitation.
I have to talk to her, he thought. Not now, while she is still upset. But later, tonight.
He got off the bus. His cheek still stung. The slap had been forceful. He checked his reflection in a shop window. The redness on his cheek was noticeable.
He lingered, confused about his course of action. Thought that he should talk to Lars Andersson as soon as possible. Thank him for his help and explain what had happened.
Then he thought about a house in Löderup he had never seen. And his childhood home, which no longer belonged to his family.
He started to walk. Nothing was made better by his standing unmoving on a pavement in downtown Malmö.
Wallander picked up the large envelope that Helena had left with the office receptionist.
‘I need to talk to her,’ he said to the receptionist.
‘She’s busy’ was the answer. ‘She just asked me to give you this.’
Wallander realised Helena was probably angry about the morning’s conversation and did not want to see him. He didn’t have great difficulties relating to this.
It wasn’t more than five minutes past nine when Wallander arrived at the police station. He walked to his office and to his relief found that no one was waiting for him. Once again he thought through everything that had happened this morning. If he called the hair salon where Mona worked she would say she didn’t have time to talk. He would have to wait until tonight.
He opened the envelope and was amazed at how long the lists of names from various shipping companies that Helena had managed to dig up were. He looked for Artur Hålén’s name, but it wasn’t there. The closest names he saw were a seaman by the name of Håle who had mostly sailed for the Gränges shipping line, and a chief engineer on the Johnson line by the name of Hallén. Wallander pushed aside the pile of paper. If the records he had in front of him were complete that meant that Hålén had not worked on any ships registered in the Swedish merchant fleet. Then it would be nearly impossible to find him. Wallander suddenly did not know any longer what he was hoping to find. An explanation of what?
It had taken him almost three-quarters of an hour to go through the lists. He got to his feet and walked up to the next floor. He bumped into his boss, Inspector Lohman, in the corridor.
‘Weren’t you supposed to be with Hemberg today?’
‘I’m on my way.’
‘What were you doing out in Arlöv, anyway?’
‘It’s a long story; that’s what the meeting with Hemberg is about.’
Lohman shook his head and hurried on. Wallander felt relief at not having to go to the dreary and depressing drug-infested neighbourhoods that his colleagues were going to have to deal with that day.
Hemberg was sitting in his office, sorting through some papers. As usual he had his feet up on the desk. He looked up when Wallander appeared in the doorway.
‘What happened to you?’ Hemberg asked and pointed to his cheek.
‘I bumped into a doorpost,’ Wallander said.
‘Just what abused wives say when they don’t want to turn in their husbands,’ Hemberg said breezily and sat up.
Wallander felt found out. It was getting harder and harder for him to determine what Hemberg was really thinking. Hemberg seemed to have a double-edged language, one that made the listener constantly search for the meaning behind the words.
‘We’re still waiting for definitive results from Jörne,’ Hemberg said. ‘That takes time. As long as we can’t pinpoint exactly when the woman died we also cannot proceed with the theory that Hålén killed her and then went home and shot himself out of regret or fear.’
Hemberg stood with his papers tucked under his arm. Wallander followed him to a conference room further down the corridor. There were already several detectives there, among them Stefansson, who regarded Wallander with animosity. Sjunnesson was picking his teeth and did not look at anyone. There were also two other men who Wallander recognised. One was called Hörner and the other Mattsson. Hemberg sat down at the short end of the table and pointed out a chair to Wallander.
‘Is the patrol squad helping us out now?’ Stefansson said. ‘Don’t they have enough to do with all those damn protestors?’
‘The patrol squad has nothing to do with this,’ Hemberg said. ‘But Wallander found that lady out in Arlöv. It’s as simple as that.’
Only Stefansson seemed to object to Wallander’s presence. The others nodded kindly. Wallander imagined that more than anything they were happy to have an additional hand. Sjunnesson put down the toothpick with which he had been picking his teeth. Apparently this was the sign that Hemberg could begin. Wallander noted the methodical care that characterised the investigative unit’s proceedings. They worked from the existing facts, but they also took time – Hemberg, above all – to feel their way in exploring various directions. Why had Alexandra Batista been murdered? What could the connection to Hålén be? Were there any other leads?
‘The precious stones in Hålén’s stomach,’ Hemberg said towards the end of the meeting. ‘I have received an evaluation from a jeweller of about 150,000 kronor. A lot of money, in other words. People in this country have been murdered for much less.’
‘Someone hit a taxi driver on the head with an iron pipe a couple of years ago,’ Sjunnesson said. ‘He had twenty-two kronor in his wallet.’
Hemberg looked around the table.
‘The neighbours?’ he asked. ‘Have they seen anything? Heard anything?’
Mattsson glanced through his notes.
‘No observations,’ he said. ‘Batista lived an isolated life. Rarely went out except to buy groceries. Had no visitors.’
‘Someone must have seen Hålén come by?’ Hemberg objected.
‘Apparently not. And the nearest neighbours gave the impression of being regular Swedish citizens. That is to say, extremely nosy.’
‘When did someone see her last?’
‘There were differing opinions on this. But of what I have been able to document, one can draw the conclusion that it was several days ago. What’s not clear is if it was two or three days ago.’
‘Do we know what she lived on?’
Then it was Hörner’s turn.
‘She seems to have had a small annuity,’ he said. ‘In part with unclear origins. A bank in Portug
al that in turn has affiliated branches in Brazil. It always takes a damn long time with banks. But she didn’t work. If you look at the contents of her cupboards, fridge and pantry, her life did not cost much.’
‘But the house?’
‘No loans. Paid for in cash by her former husband.’
‘Where is he?’
‘In a grave,’ Stefansson said. ‘He died a couple of years ago. Was buried in Karlskoga. I spoke to his widow. He had remarried. That was unfortunately somewhat embarrassing. I realised too late that she had no idea that there had once been an Alexandra Batista in his life. But he did not appear to have had any children with Batista.’
‘That’s how it can be,’ Hemberg said, and turned to Sjunnesson.
‘We’re in the process,’ he said. ‘Different fingerprints on the glasses. Seems to have been red wine in them. Spanish, I think. We’re trying to match this to an empty bottle that was in the kitchen. We’re checking to see if we have the prints in the register. Then of course we’ll also compare them to Hålén’s.’
‘He may also be in Interpol’s registers,’ Hemberg pointed out. ‘It can take a while until we hear back from them.’
‘We can assume she let him in,’ Sjunnesson continued. ‘There were no signs of forced entry on the windows or doors. He can also have had his own key, for that matter. But there were none that fitted. The balcony door was open, as our friend Wallander has informed us. Since Batista had neither a dog nor a cat, one could imagine that it was open to let in the night air. Which in turn should mean that Batista did not fear or expect that anything would happen. Or else the perpetrator exited that way. The back of the house is more protected from prying eyes.’
‘Any other evidence?’ Hemberg said.
‘Nothing out of the ordinary.’
Hemberg pushed away the papers that were spread out in front of him.
‘Then all we can do is keep going,’ he said. ‘The medical examiner will have to hurry up. The best possible outcome is if Hålén can be bound to the crime. Personally, that is what I believe. But we will have to keep talking to neighbours and digging around in background material.’
Then Hemberg turned to Wallander.
‘Do you have anything to add? You found her, after all.’