The Pyramid (41 page)

'But we still had to look into it.'

'Police work often consists of doing what one knows from the start to be meaningless,' Rydberg said. 'But it is as you say. No stone can be left unturned.'

Then they talked about New Year's Eve.

'I don't envy my colleagues in the big cities,' Rydberg said.

'It can get messy here too.'

Rydberg asked Wallander what he was going to do.

'I'll be out with the old man in Löderup. He wants cognac, we'll have a bite to eat, play cards, yawn and then drink a toast at midnight.
Then I'll go home.'

'I try to avoid staying up,' Rydberg said. 'New Year's Eve is a ghost.
It's one of the few times during the year that I take a sleeping pill.'

Wallander wanted to ask how Rydberg was feeling, but he decided to let it be.

They shook hands, as if to mark the day as special.

Then Wallander went to his office, put out an almanac for 1990 and cleaned out his drawers. It was a habit he had acquired over the past few years. New Year's Eve was for cleaning out drawers, to rid himself of old paper.

Wallander was amazed at all the old junk he found. A bottle of glue had leaked in one of the drawers. He fetched a knife from the break room and started to scrape it away. From the corridor he could hear an outraged drunk let it be known that he did not have time to waste at the station because he was on his way to a party. It's already started,
Wallander thought, and he took the knife back to the break room. He threw the bottle of glue into the bin.

At seven o'clock he went home, had a shower and changed his clothes. Shortly after eight he was out in Löderup. On the road he had continued to grope around for the thought that bothered him, without success. His father had made a fish gratin that was surprisingly tasty.
Wallander had managed to buy cognac and his father nodded approvingly when he saw that it was Hennessy. The bottle of champagne was put in the fridge. They drank beer with their dinner. His father had put on his old suit for the occasion and also a tie that he had tied in a way Wallander had never seen before.

A little after nine they sat down and played poker. Wallander got three of a kind two times but threw one of his cards away each time so that his father could win. At around eleven, Wallander walked outside to relieve himself. It was clear and had grown colder. The stars were sparkling.

Wallander thought of the pyramids. The fact that they were lit by strong spotlights meant the Egyptian night sky had been all but invisible. He went back inside. His father had downed several glasses of cognac and was starting to get drunk. Wallander only had small sips since he was planning to drive back. Even though he knew where the traffic controls were going to be, it was unacceptable for him to drive while over the legal limit. Not on New Year's Eve. Sometimes it ended up happening, and each time Wallander told himself he would never let it happen again.

Linda called at half past eleven. They took turns talking to her. In the background Wallander heard the sounds of a stereo turned up very high. They had to shout at each other.

'You would have had a better time with us,' Wallander shouted.

'You don't know anything about it,' she yelled back, but it sounded friendly.

They wished each other a happy new year. His father had yet another glass of cognac. He was starting to spill as he refilled his glass. But he was in good spirits. And that was the only thing that mattered to Wallander.

They sat in front of the TV at twelve and watched Jarl Kulle ring in the new year. Wallander glanced at his father, who actually had tears in his eyes. He was not touched himself, only tired. He also thought with dread about the coming day when he would get together with Emma
Lundin. It was as if he was cheating at cards with her. If he was going to make a New Year's resolution this evening it should be to tell her the truth as soon as possible, that he did not want to continue the relationship.

But he made no resolution.

He went home a little before one. But first he had helped his father into bed. He had taken off his shoes and spread a blanket over him.

'We'll go to Italy soon,' his father said.

Wallander cleaned up in the kitchen. His father's snores were already rolling through the house.

On the morning of New Year's Day, Wallander woke up with a headache and a sore throat. He said as much to Emma Lundin when she came by at twelve o'clock. Since she was a nurse and Wallander was both hot and pale she didn't doubt that it was true. She checked his throat.

'A three-day cold,' she pronounced. 'Stay home.'

She made some tea that they drank in the living room. Wallander tried several times to tell her what he was thinking. But when she left at around three they had not arrived at anything except that Wallander would be in touch with her when he felt better.

Wallander spent the rest of the day in bed. He started to read several books without being able to concentrate. Not even
The Mysterious
Island
by Jules Verne, his favourite, was able to kindle his interest. But he was reminded of the fact that one of the characters in the book had the same name – Ayrton – as one of the dead pilots who had finally been identified.

For long periods of time he lay in a kind of half-stupor. The pyramids returned again and again in his thoughts. His father climbed and fell, or else he found himself deep down in a narrow passageway where enormous masses of stone were suspended above his head.

In the evening he managed to find a packet of dried soup in one of the kitchen drawers, which he made. But he poured almost all of it out. His appetite was almost non-existent.

The following day he still felt ill. He called Martinsson and said he was planning to stay in bed. He was told that New Year's Eve had been a calm affair in Ystad but unusually troublesome in other parts of the country. At around ten o'clock he went out and bought groceries, since his fridge and pantry were almost empty. He also went by the chemist and bought some headache tablets. His throat felt better, but now his nose was running. He sneezed as he was about to pay for the painkillers.
The cashier looked disapprovingly at him.

He went back to bed and fell asleep again.

Suddenly he woke up with a start. He had dreamed about the pyramids again. But it was something else that had awakened him.
Something that had to do with the thought that had eluded him.

What is it that I don't see? he wondered. He lay in absolute stillness and stared out into the darkened room. It had something to do with the pyramids. And with New Year's Eve at his father's in Löderup. When he had been standing out in the garden, staring up at the sky, he had seen the stars. Since it was dark all around him. The pyramids outside
Cairo had been illuminated by strong lights. They had detracted from the light of the stars.

He finally grasped the thought that had nagged at him.

The plane that had sneaked in over the Swedish coast had dropped something. Lights had been observed beyond the woods. An area had been marked out in order for the plane to find it. Spotlights had been set up in the fields and then taken down again.

It was the spotlights that had nagged at him. Who had access to strong lights of this kind?

The idea was a long shot. Nonetheless he trusted his intuition. He thought about it for a while, sitting up in bed. Then he made up his mind, got up, put on his old dressing gown and called the police station.
He wanted to talk to Martinsson. It took a couple of minutes for him to get to the phone.

'Do me a favour,' Wallander said. 'Call Rolf Nyman. The guy who shared that house with Holm outside Sjöbo. Call and make it sound like a routine inquiry. Some facts that need to be filled in. Nyman told me he worked as a DJ at various discos. Ask him in passing for the names of all the places where he's worked.'

'Why is this important?'

'I don't know,' Wallander said. 'But please do me this favour.'

Martinsson promised to get back to him. Wallander had already started to doubt himself. It was too much of a long shot. But it was as
Rydberg always said: no stone should be left unturned.

The hours went by. It was already afternoon. Martinsson did not call.
Wallander's fever was starting to go down. But he was still plagued by sneezing attacks. And a runny nose. Martinsson called at half past four.

'No one answered the phone until just now,' he said. 'But I don't think he suspected anything. I have a list here of the four discos. Two in Malmö, one in Lund, and one out in Råå, outside Helsingborg.'

Wallander wrote down the names.

'Good,' he said.

'I hope you realise that I'm curious.'

'It's just an idea I've had. We'll talk about it tomorrow.'

Wallander finished the conversation. He got dressed without a second thought, let a couple of painkillers dissolve in a glass of water, had a cup of coffee and took out a roll of toilet paper to bring along.
At a quarter past five he was in his car and on his way.

The first disco was housed in an old warehouse in the Malmö
Frihamn area. Wallander was in luck. Just as he stopped the car, a man walked out of the closed disco. Wallander introduced himself and learned that the person in front of him was called Juhanen, from
Haparanda, and the owner of the disco Exodus.

'How does someone from Haparanda end up in Malmö?' Wallander asked.

The man smiled. He was around forty and had bad teeth.

'He meets a girl,' he said. 'Most people who move do so for one of two reasons. To find work. Or because they meet someone.'

'I actually want to ask you about Rolf Nyman,' Wallander said.

'Anything wrong?'

'No,' Wallander answered. 'Routine questions. He works for you sometimes?'

'He's good. Perhaps a little conservative in his music selection. But skilled.'

'A disco lives on the high volume of its music and its light effects,'
Wallander said, 'if I'm not completely mistaken?'

'Correct,' Juhanen said. 'I always stuff my ears, or I would have lost my hearing a long time ago.'

'Rolf Nyman never borrowed any lighting equipment, did he?'
Wallander asked. 'Some of the high-intensity spotlights?'

'Why would he do that?'

'It's just a question.'

Juhanen shook his head firmly.

'I keep an eye on both the staff and the equipment,' he said. 'Nothing disappears around here. Or gets borrowed.'

'That's all I needed to know,' Wallander said. 'Also, I would rather you didn't mention this to anyone for now.'

Juhanen smiled.

'You mean, I shouldn't tell Nyman?'

'Exactly.'

'What's he done?'

'Nothing. But we have to snoop around in secret sometimes.'

Juhanen shrugged.

'I won't say anything.'

Wallander drove on. The second disco was located in the inner city.
It was open. The volume hit Wallander's head like a club as he walked in the door. The disco was owned by two men, one of whom was present. Wallander convinced him to walk out onto the street. He also had a negative answer to give. Rolf Nyman had never borrowed any lights. Nor had any equipment gone missing.

Wallander got back in his car and blew his nose into some toilet paper. This is meaningless, he thought. What I am doing right now is just throwing away my efforts. The only result will be that I'll end up staying ill longer.

Then he drove to Lund. The sneezing attacks came and went in waves. He noticed that he was sweating. He was probably running a temperature again. The disco in Lund was called Lagårn – the Barn – and was in the eastern corner of the city. Wallander made several wrong turns before he found it. The sign was not illuminated and the doors were locked. Lagårn was located in a building that had earlier been a dairy, Wallander was able to read from the facade. He wondered why the disco had not been given that name instead, the Dairy. Wallander looked around. There was some small industry on either side of the disco. A little further away there was a house with a garden. Wallander walked over, opened the gate and rang the doorbell. A man around his own age opened it. Wallander heard opera music in the background.

Wallander showed him his police ID. The man let Wallander into the hall.

'If I'm not mistaken, it's Puccini,' Wallander said.

The man looked more closely at him.

'That's right,' he said. '
Tosca
.'

'I'm actually here to talk about a different kind of music,' Wallander said. 'I'll keep this brief. I need to know who owns the disco next to you.'

'How on earth would I know that? I'm a genetic researcher. Not a disc jockey.'

'But you are neighbours, after all,' Wallander said.

'Why not ask your colleagues?' the man suggested. 'There are often fights outside. They would know.'

He's right, Wallander said.

The man pointed to a telephone on a table in the hall. Wallander had the number of the Lund police memorised. After being transferred several times he got the information that the disco was owned by a woman with the last name Boman. Wallander made a note of her address and telephone number.

'It's easy to find,' the officer he spoke to said. 'She lives in the building downtown that's across from the station.'

Wallander hung up.

'That is a very beautiful opera,' Wallander said. 'The music, I mean.
I have unfortunately never seen it performed.'

'I never go to the opera,' the man said. 'The music is enough for me.'

Wallander thanked him and left. Then he drove around for a long time until he managed to find the station in Lund. The pedestrian streets and dead ends seemed innumerable. He parked in a no-parking zone.
Then he tore off a number of sheets of toilet paper, put them in his pocket and walked across the street. He pressed the button with the name Boman. The door lock buzzed open and Wallander walked in.
The apartment was on the second floor. Wallander looked around for a lift, but there was none. Even though he walked slowly, he got out of breath. A woman who was very young, hardly twenty-five, was standing in the doorway waiting for him. She had very short hair and several rings in her ears. Wallander introduced himself and showed her his ID.
She didn't even glance at it but asked him to come in. Wallander looked around with astonishment. There was almost no furniture in the apartment.
The walls were bare. And yet it was cosy somehow. There was nothing in the way. It only contained what was absolutely necessary.