The Pyramid (18 page)

Wallander left the police station shortly before five and took the coastal road to Svarte. This time he parked further into the village. He took a pair of wellingtons out of the boot, put them on, then walked down to the beach. In the distance he could see a cargo ship steaming westward.

He started walking along the beach, examining the houses on his right side. There seemed to be somebody living in every third house.
He kept on walking until he had left Svarte behind. Then he returned.
He suddenly realised that he was hoping Mona would appear from nowhere, walking towards him. He thought back to the time they had gone to Skagen. That had been the best part of their life together. They had so much to talk about, things they never had time to do.

He shook off these unpleasant thoughts and forced himself to concentrate on Göran Alexandersson. As he walked along the sand he tried to make a summary of the case so far.

What did they know? That Alexandersson lived by himself, that he owned two electronics shops, that he was forty-nine years old, and that he had travelled to Ystad and stayed at the King Charles Hotel. He had told his staff he was going on holiday. While at the hotel he had received no telephone calls or visitors. Nor had he used the phone in his room himself.

Every morning he had taken a taxi out to Svarte, where he had spent the day walking up and down the beach. In the afternoon, he had returned to Ystad after borrowing Agnes Ehn's telephone. On the fourth day, he had entered the back seat of a taxi and died.

Wallander stopped and looked around. The beach was still deserted.
Alexandersson is visible nearly all the time, he thought, but somewhere along the sand he disappears. Then he comes back again, and a few minutes later, he's dead.

He must have met somebody here, Wallander thought. Or rather, he must have arranged to meet somebody. You don't bump into a poisoner by accident.

Wallander started walking again. He eyed the houses along the beach.
The following day they would start knocking on doors here. Somebody must have seen Alexandersson walking on the beach, somebody might have seen him meeting somebody else.

Wallander saw that he was no longer alone on the beach. An elderly man was coming towards him. He had a black Labrador trotting decorously along by his side. Wallander paused and looked at the dog. Lately he had been wondering if he should suggest to Mona that they buy a dog. But he hadn't done so because he so often found himself working unsociable hours. In all probability a dog would mean more guilt rather than more company.

The man raised his cap as he approached Wallander.

'Are we going to have any spring this year, do you think?' the man asked.

Wallander noticed that he didn't speak with a local accent.

'I expect it will show up eventually, as usual,' Wallander replied.

The man was about to continue on his way when Wallander spoke again.

'I take it you go walking along the beach every day?' he asked.

The man pointed at one of the houses.

'I've been living here ever since I retired,' he said.

'My name's Wallander and I'm a police officer in Ystad. Did you happen to see a man of about fifty walking along the sand here by himself in recent days?'

The man's eyes were blue and bright. His white hair stuck out from under his cap.

'No,' he said, with a smile. 'Who would want to come walking here?
I'm the only person who walks along this beach. Now, in May, when it gets a bit warmer, it will be a different story.'

'Are you absolutely sure?' Wallander asked.

'I walk the dog three times every day,' said the man. 'And I haven't seen any man wandering around here by himself. Until you appeared, that is.'

Wallander smiled.

'Don't let me disturb you any longer,' he said.

Wallander resumed walking. When he stopped and turned round, the man with the dog had disappeared.

Where the thought – or rather, the feeling – came from, he never managed to figure out. Nevertheless, from that moment on, he was quite certain. There had been something about the man's expression, a faint, almost imperceptible movement of his eyes, when Wallander asked him if he had seen a solitary man walking along the beach. He knows something, Wallander thought. But what?

Wallander looked around once more. The beach was deserted.

He stood there motionless for several minutes.

Then he went back to his car and drove home.

Wednesday, 29 April, was the first day of spring in Skåne that year.
Wallander woke up early, as usual. He was sweaty and knew he had had a nightmare but couldn't remember what it was about. Perhaps he had dreamed yet again about being chased by bulls? Or that Mona had left him? He took a shower, had a cup of coffee and leafed absentmindedly through the
Ystad Chronicle
.

He was in his office by six thirty. The sun was shining from a clear blue sky. Wallander hoped that Martinsson had recovered and could take over the register searches from Hansson. That usually produced better and faster results. If Martinsson was well again, Wallander could take Hansson with him to Svarte and start knocking on doors. But perhaps the most important thing just now was to try to create as accurate a picture as possible of Göran Alexandersson. Martinsson was much more thorough than Hansson when it came to contact with people who might be able to provide information. Wallander also made up his mind that they should make a serious effort to find out what had really happened when Alexandersson's son had been beaten to death.

When the clock struck seven, Wallander tried to get hold of Jörne, who had done the autopsy on Alexandersson, but in vain. He realised he was being impatient. The case of the dead man in the back seat of
Stenberg's taxi was making him uneasy.

It was 7.58 when they assembled in the conference room. Rydberg reported that Martinsson still had a fever and a very sore throat.
Wallander thought how typical it was that Martinsson should succumb to something like this when he was so obsessed by germs in general.

'OK, in that case it'll be you and me knocking on doors in Svarte today,' he said. 'You, Hansson, stay here and keep digging away. I'd like to know more about Alexandersson's son, Bengt, and how he died. Ask
Rendel for help.'

'Do we know any more about that poison yet?' asked Rydberg.

'I tried to find out this morning,' Wallander said, 'but I haven't heard anything yet and I can't get a response from anybody.'

The meeting was very short. Wallander asked for an enlargement of the photograph on Alexandersson's driver's licence, plus several copies. Then he went to see Björk, the chief of police. On the whole, he thought Björk was good at his job and let everybody get on with their own work. Occasionally, however, the chief would suddenly become proactive and ask for a rundown on the latest situation in an investigation.

'How's it going with that gang exporting the luxury cars?' Björk asked, dropping his hands onto his desk as a sign that he wanted a concise answer.

'Badly,' said Wallander, truthfully.

'Are any arrests imminent?'

'No, none,' Wallander told him. 'If I were to go to one of the prosecutors with the evidence I have available, they'd throw me out immediately.'

'We mustn't give up, though,' said Björk.

'Of course not,' said Wallander. 'I'll keep working away. As soon as we've solved this case of the man who died in the back seat of a taxi.'

'Hansson told me about that,' said Björk. 'It all sounds very strange.'

'It
is
strange,' said Wallander.

'Can that man really have been murdered?'

'The doctors tell us he was,' Wallander said. 'We'll be knocking on doors today out at Svarte. Somebody must have seen him.'

'Keep me informed,' said Björk, standing up as a signal that the conversation was at an end.

They drove to Svarte in Wallander's car.

'Skåne is beautiful,' said Rydberg, apropos of nothing.

'On a day like this, at least,' said Wallander. 'But let's face it, it can be pretty awful in the autumn. When the mud's higher than your doorstep. Or when it seeps in under your skin.'

'Who's thinking about autumn now?' said Rydberg. 'Why worry about the bad weather in advance? It'll come eventually, like it or not.'

Wallander didn't respond. He was too busy passing a tractor.

'Let's start with the houses along the beach to the west of the village,' he said. 'We can go in different directions and work our way towards the middle. Try to find out who lives in the empty houses as well.'

'What are you hoping to find?' Rydberg asked.

'The solution,' he replied, without beating around the bush.

'Somebody must have seen him out there on the beach. Somebody must have seen him meeting some other person.'

Wallander parked the car. He let Rydberg start with the house where
Agnes Ehn lived. Meanwhile Wallander tried to contact Jörne from his mobile phone. No luck this time either. He drove a bit further west, then parked the car and started working his way east. The first house was an old, well-cared-for traditional Skåne cottage. He opened the gate, went down the path and rang the doorbell. When there was no reply, he rang again, and was just about to leave when the door was opened by a woman in her thirties, dressed in stained overalls.

'I don't like being interrupted,' she said, glaring at Wallander.

'Sometimes it's necessary, I'm afraid,' he said, showing her his ID.

'What do you want?' she asked.

'You may find my question a little strange,' Wallander said, 'but I want to know if you've seen a man aged about fifty wearing a light blue overcoat walking along the beach in the last few days.'

She raised her eyebrows and looked at Wallander with a smile.

'I paint with the curtains drawn,' she said. 'I haven't seen anything at all.'

'You're an artist,' said Wallander. 'I thought you needed light.'

'I don't. But that's not a jailable offence, is it?'

'So you haven't seen anything at all?'

'No, nothing – that's what I just said, isn't it?'

'Is there anybody else here in the house who might have seen something?'

'I have a cat who likes to lie on a windowsill behind the curtains.
You can ask him if you like.'

Wallander could feel himself getting annoyed.

'It's sometimes necessary for police officers to ask questions, you know. Don't think I'm doing this for fun. I won't disturb you any longer.'

The woman shut the door. He heard her turning several locks. He moved on to the next property. It was a relatively recently built two-storey house. There was a little fountain in the garden. When he rang the bell a dog started barking. He waited.

The dog stopped barking and the door opened. He was facing the old man he had met on the beach the previous day. Wallander had the immediate impression that the man was not surprised to see him. He had been expecting him, and was on his guard.

'You again,' said the man.

'Yes,' Wallander said. 'I'm knocking on the doors of people who live in houses along the beach.'

'I told you yesterday that I hadn't seen anything.'

Wallander nodded.

'People sometimes remember things afterwards,' he said.

The man stepped aside and let Wallander into the house. The
Labrador sniffed him inquisitively.

'Do you live here year-round?' asked Wallander.

'Yes,' said the man. 'I was a doctor in Nynäshamn for twenty years.
When I retired we moved here, my wife and I.'

'Maybe she saw something?' Wallander said. 'Assuming she's here?'

'She's ill,' said the man. 'She hasn't seen anything.'

Wallander produced a notebook from his pocket.

'Can I have your name?' he asked.

'I'm Martin Stenholm,' the man said. 'My wife's name is Kajsa.'

Wallander noted down the names and put the book back in his pocket.

'I won't disturb you any more,' he said.

'No problem,' said Stenholm.

'I might come back in a few days' time and speak to your wife,' he said. 'Sometimes it's better for people to say for themselves what they've seen or haven't seen.'

'I don't think there would be much point,' said Stenholm. 'My wife is very ill. She has cancer and is dying.'

'I understand,' Wallander said. 'In that case I won't come back and intrude.'

Stenholm opened the door for him.

'Is your wife also a doctor?' Wallander asked.

'No,' said the man. 'She was a lawyer.'

Wallander walked down the path to the road, then on to three more houses, none of which produced any information. He caught sight of
Rydberg and could tell he had almost finished his quota of doors.
Wallander went to get his car and waited for Rydberg outside Agnes
Ehn's house. When Rydberg arrived, he had no positive information.
Nobody had seen Göran Alexandersson on the beach

'I always thought people were curious,' Rydberg said. 'Especially in the country, and especially where strangers are concerned.'

They drove back to Ystad. Wallander didn't say a word. When they got back to the police station he asked Rydberg to find Hansson and bring him to Wallander's office. He then phoned the medico-legal unit in Lund and this time managed to get hold of Jörne. Hansson and
Rydberg had arrived by the time he had finished the call. Wallander looked questioningly at Hansson.

'Any news?' he asked.

'Nothing that changes the picture we already have of Alexandersson,'
Hansson said.

'I've just spoken to Jörne,' said Wallander. 'The poison that killed
Alexandersson could very well have been administered without him noticing it. It's not possible to say precisely how fast it works. Jörne guessed it would be at least half an hour. When death does come, it happens very quickly.'

'So we're right in our suppositions so far,' said Hansson. 'Does this poison have a name?'

Wallander read out the complicated chemical description he had written down on his notepad.

Then he told them about the conversation he'd had with Martin
Stenholm in Svarte.

'I don't know why,' he said, 'but I can't help feeling we'll find the solution to our problem in that doctor's house.'