The Pyramid

  Rydberg, Hansson and Svedberg had arrived. Nyberg had been following the work from the beginning. Using a crowbar, he now forced out the back piece that had been freed with a welding torch. Everyone who was crowded around leaned forward. Wallander saw a number of plastic-wrapped bundles. Nyberg picked up one that lay on top. The plastic was white and sealed with tape. Nyberg placed the bundle on a chair and cut open the tape. Inside there was a thick wad of notes. American hundred-dollar bills. There were ten wads, each a stack of ten thousand dollars.

  'A lot of money,' Wallander said.

  He carefully pulled out a bill and held it up to the light. It appeared genuine.

  Nyberg took out the other bundles, one after another, and opened them. Fabricius stood in the background and laughed each time a new package of money was revealed.

  'Let's take the rest to a conference room,' Wallander said.

  Then he thanked Fabricius and the two men who had cut open the safe.

  'You'll have to send us a bill,' Wallander said. 'Without you, we would never have been able to get this open.'

  'I think this one's on us,' Fabricius said. 'It was an experience for a tradesman. And a wonderful opportunity for professional training.'

  'There is also no need to mention what was inside,' Wallander said and tried to sound serious.

  Fabricius let out a short laugh and saluted him. Wallander understood that it was not intended to be ironic.

  When all of the bundles had been opened and the wads of notes counted, Wallander made a swift calculation. Most of it had been in US dollars. But there had also been British pounds and Swiss francs.

  'I estimate it to be around five million kronor,' he said. 'No insignificant sum.'

  'There would also not have been room for more in this safe,' Rydberg said. 'And this means, in other words, that if this cash was the motive then he or they who shot the sisters did not get what they had come for.'

  'We nonetheless have some kind of motive,' Wallander said. 'This safe had been concealed. According to Nyberg, it appeared to have been there for a number of years. At some point the sisters must therefore have found it necessary to buy it because they needed to store and hide large sums of money. These were almost entirely new and unused dollar bills. Therefore it must be possible to trace them. Did they arrive in Sweden legally or not? We also need to find answers as quickly as possible to the other questions we're working on. Who did these sisters socialise with? What kind of habits did they have?'

  'And weaknesses,' Rydberg added. 'Let us not forget about that.'

  Björk entered the room at the end of the meeting. He gave a start when he saw all the money on the table.

  'This has to be carefully recorded,' he said when Wallander explained in a somewhat strained manner what had happened. 'Nothing can be lost. Also, what has happened to the front doors?'

  'A work-related accident,' Wallander said. 'When the forklift was lifting the safe.'

  He said this so forcefully that Björk did not make any objections.

  They broke up the meeting. Wallander hurried out of the room in order not to be left alone with Björk. It had fallen to Wallander to contact an animal protection association where at least one of the sisters, Emilia, had been an active member, according to one of the neighbours. Wallander had been given a name by Svedberg, Tyra Olofsson. Wallander burst out laughing when he saw the address: Käringgatan – 'käring' meant old woman or shrew – number 11. He wondered if there was any other town in Sweden that had as many unusual street names.

  Before Wallander left the station he called Arne Hurtig, the car salesman he usually did business with. He explained the situation with his Peugeot. Hurtig gave him a few suggestions, all of which Wallander found too expensive. But when Hurtig promised a good trade-in price on his old car, Wallander decided to get another Peugeot. He hung up and called his bank. He had to wait several minutes until he could speak to the person who normally helped him. Wallander asked for a loan of twenty thousand kronor. He was informed that this would not be a problem. He would be able to come in the following day, sign the loan documents and pick up the money.

  The thought of a new car put him in a good mood. Why he always drove a Peugeot, he couldn't say. I'm probably more stuck in my ways than I like to think, he thought as he left the station. He stopped and inspected the damaged hinge on the front doors of the station. Since no one was around, he took the opportunity to give the door frame a kick. The damage became more noticeable. He walked away quickly, hunched over against the gusty wind. Of course he should have called to make sure that Tyra Olofsson was in. But since she was retired, he took the chance.

  When he rang the doorbell, it opened almost at once. Tyra Olofsson was short and wore glasses that testified to her myopia. Wallander explained who he was and held up his ID card, which she held several centimetres from her glasses and studied carefully.

  'The police,' she said. 'Then it must have to do with poor Emilia.'

  'That's right,' Wallander said. 'I hope I'm not disturbing you.'

  She invited him in. There was a strong smell of dogs in the hall. She led him out into the kitchen. Wallander counted fourteen food bowls on the floor. Worse than Haverberg, he thought.

  'I keep them outside,' Tyra Olofsson said, having followed his gaze.

  Wallander wondered briefly if it was legal to keep so many dogs in the city. She asked if he wanted coffee. Wallander thanked her but declined. He was hungry and planning to eat as soon as his conversation with Tyra Olofsson was over. He sat down at the table and looked in vain for something to write with. For once he had remembered to put a notepad in his pocket. But now he didn't have a pen. There was a small stump of a pencil lying on the windowsill, which he picked up.

  'You're right, Mrs Olofsson,' he began. 'This is about Emilia Eberhardsson, who has died so tragically. We heard through one of the neighbours that she had been active in an animal protection association. And that you, Mrs Olofsson, knew her well.'

  'Call me Tyra,' she said. 'And I can't say I knew Emilia well. I don't think anyone did.'

  'Was her sister Anna ever involved in this work?'

  'No.'

  'Isn't that strange? I mean, two sisters, both unmarried who live together. I imagine they would develop similar interests.'

  'That is a stereotype,' Tyra Olofsson said firmly. 'I imagine that Emilia and Anna were very different people. I worked as a teacher my whole life. Then you learn to see the differences in people. It's already apparent in young children.'

  'How would you describe Emilia?'

  Her answer surprised him.

  'Snooty. The kind who always knows best. She could be very unpleasant. But since she donated money for our work, we couldn't get rid of her. Even if we wanted to.'

  Tyra Olofsson told him about the local animal protection association that she and a few other like-minded individuals had started in the 1960s. They had always worked locally and the impetus for the association was the increasing problem of abandoned summer cats. The association had always been small, with few members. One day in the early seventies, Emilia Eberhardsson had read about their work in the Ystad Allehanda and got in touch. She had given them money every month and participated in meetings and other events.

  'But I don't think she really liked animals,' Tyra said unexpectedly. 'I think she did it so she would be thought of as a good person.'

  'That doesn't sound like such a nice description.'

  The woman on the other side of the table looked cheekily at him.

  'I thought policemen wanted to know the truth,' she said. 'Or am I wrong?'

  Wallander changed the subject and asked about money.

  'She donated a thousand kronor a month. For us that was a lot.'

  'Did she give the impression of being rich?'

  'She never dressed expensively. But I'm sure she had money.'

  'You must have asked yourself where it came from. A sewing shop is hardly something one associates with a fortune.'
r />   'Not one thousand kronor a month either,' she answered. 'I'm not particularly curious. Perhaps it's because I see so badly. But where the money came from or how well their shop did, I know nothing about.'

  Wallander hesitated for a moment, and then he told her the truth.

  'It has been reported in the papers that the sisters burned to death,' he said, 'but it has not been reported that they were shot. They were already dead when the fire started.'

  She sat up.

  'Who could have wanted to shoot two old ladies? That's as likely as someone wanting to kill me.'

  'That is exactly what we are trying to understand,' Wallander said. 'That's why I'm here. Did Emilia ever say anything about having enemies? Did she appear frightened?'

  Tyra Olofsson did not have to reflect.

  'She was always very sure of herself,' she said. 'She never said a word about her and her sister's life. And when they were away she never sent a postcard. Not once, even with all the wonderful postcards with animal motifs that you can get these days.'

  Wallander raised his eyebrows.

  'You mean they travelled a lot?'

  'Two months out of every year. November and March. Sometimes in the summer.'

  'Where did they go?'

  'I heard it was Spain.'

  'Who took care of their shop?'

  'They always took turns. Perhaps they needed time apart.'

  'Spain? What else do the rumours say? And where do these rumours come from?'

  'I can't remember. I don't listen to rumours. Perhaps they went to Marbella. But I'm not sure.'

  Wallander wondered if Tyra Olofsson was really as uninterested in rumours and gossip as she seemed. He had only one remaining question.

  'Who do you think knew Emilia best?'

  'I would think it was her sister.'

  Wallander thanked her and walked back to the station. The wind was even stronger. He thought about what Tyra Olofsson had said. There had been no meanness in her voice. She had been very matter-of-fact. But her description of Emilia Eberhardsson had not been flattering.

  When Wallander reached the station, Ebba told him that Rydberg had been looking for him. Wallander went straight to his office.

  'The picture is becoming clearer,' Rydberg said. 'I think we should get the others and have a short meeting. I know they're around.'

  'What's happened?'

  Rydberg waved a bunch of papers.

  'VPC,' he said. 'And there's a great deal of interest in these papers.'

  It took Wallander a moment to remember that VPC stood for the Swedish securities register centre, which, among other things, recorded stock ownership.

  'For my part I've managed to establish that at least one of the sisters was a genuinely unpleasant person,' Wallander said.

  'Doesn't surprise me in the least,' Rydberg chuckled. 'The rich often are.'

  'Rich?' Wallander asked.

  But Rydberg did not answer until they were all assembled in the conference room. Then he explained himself in detail.

  'According to the Swedish securities register centre, the Eberhardsson sisters had stocks and bonds totalling close to ten million kronor. How they managed to keep this from being subject to the wealth tax is a mystery. Nor do they appear to have paid income tax on their dividends. But I've alerted the tax authorities. It actually appears that Anna Eberhardsson was registered as a resident of Spain. But I'm not clear on the details of this yet. In any case, they had a large portfolio of investments both in Sweden and abroad. The Swedish securities register centre's ability to check international investments is of course minimal; this is not their job. But the sisters invested heavily in the British weapons and aviation industries. And in this they appear to have shown great skill and daring.'

  Rydberg put down the documents.

  'We can thus not exclude the possibility that what we see here is only the tip of the proverbial iceberg. Five million in a safe and ten million in stocks and bonds. This is what we have uncovered in the space of a few hours. What happens after we've been working for a week? Perhaps the amount will increase to one hundred million?'

  Wallander reported on his meeting with Tyra Olofsson.

  'The description of Anna isn't flattering either,' Svedberg said when Wallander had finished. 'I talked to the man who sold the sisters the house five years ago. That was when the market was getting soft. Until then they had always rented. Apparently it was Anna who negotiated. Emilia was never present. And the estate agent said Anna was the most difficult customer he ever had. Apparently she had managed to find out that his company happened to be in crisis at that time, with regard to both solidity and liquidity. He said that she had been completely ice-cold and more or less blackmailed him.'

  Svedberg shook his head.

  'This isn't exactly how I would have imagined two old ladies who sold buttons,' he said and the room fell silent.

  Wallander was the one who broke the silence.

  'In a way this has been our breakthrough,' he started. 'We still have no leads on who killed them. But we have a plausible motive. And it is the most common of all motives: money. In addition, we know that the women committed tax fraud and concealed great sums of money from the authorities. We know that they were rich. It won't surprise me if we turn up a house in Spain. And perhaps other assets, in other parts of the world.'

  Wallander poured himself a glass of mineral water before continuing.

  'Everything we know now can be summed up in two points. Two questions. Where did they get the money? And who knew that they were rich?'

  Wallander was about to lift the glass to his lips when he saw Rydberg flinch, as if he had been given a shock.

  Then his upper body slumped over the table.

  As if he was dead.

  CHAPTER 7

  Later, Wallander would remember that for a few seconds he had been entirely convinced that Rydberg had died. Everyone who was in the room when Rydberg collapsed thought the same thing: that Rydberg's heart had suddenly stopped. It was Svedberg who reacted first. He had been sitting next to Rydberg and could tell that his colleague was still alive. He grabbed the telephone and called for an ambulance. Wallander and Hansson lowered Rydberg onto the floor and unbuttoned his shirt. Wallander listened to his heart and heard it beating very quickly. Then the ambulance arrived and Wallander accompanied it on its short drive to the hospital. Rydberg received immediate treatment, and after less than half an hour Wallander had been informed that it was not likely to have been a heart attack. Rather, Rydberg had collapsed for some as yet unknown reason. He was conscious at this point but shook his head when Wallander wanted to talk to him. He was judged to be in stable condition and admitted to the hospital for observation. There was no longer any reason for Wallander to stay. A patrol car was waiting outside to drive him back to the station. His colleagues had remained in the conference room. Even Björk was present. Wallander could inform them that the situation was under control.

  'We work too hard,' he said and looked at Björk. 'We have more and more to do. But our numbers have not increased. Sooner or later what happened to Rydberg can happen to all of us.'

  'It is a troubling situation,' Björk admitted. 'But we have limited resources.'

  For the next half an hour the investigation was set aside. Everyone was shaken and talked about the working conditions. After Björk left the room, the words became sharper. About impossible planning, strange priorities and a continual lack of information.