The Pyramid by Henning Mankell Read Free Book Online Page B

looking for them. But I can't explain the blaze.'
    'Can't you explain it a different way?' Hemberg suggested. 'If you tweak Hålén's motive a little. Where does that put you?'
    Wallander suddenly realised what Hemberg was getting at.
    'Maybe he wasn't afraid,' Wallander said. 'He had maybe just decided never to be parted from his diamonds.'
    Hemberg nodded.
    'You can draw one more conclusion. That someone knew that Hålén had these diamonds.'
    'And that Hålén knew that someone knew.'
    Hemberg nodded, pleased.
    'You're coming along,' he said. 'Even though it's going very slowly.'
    'But this doesn't explain the fire.'
    'You still have to ask yourself what is most important,' Hemberg said. 'Where is the centre? Where is the very kernel? The fire can be a distraction. Or the act of someone who is angry.'
    'Who?'
    Hemberg shrugged.
    'It'll be hard for us to find that out. Hålén is dead. How he has managed to get a hold of these diamonds I don't know. If I go to the public prosecutor with this he'll laugh in my face.'
    'What happens to the diamonds?'
    'They go to the General Inheritance Fund. And we can stamp our papers and send in our report about Hålén's death to go as deep in the basement as possible.'
    'Does this mean that the fire won't be investigated?'
    'Not very thoroughly, I suspect,' Hemberg said. 'There is no reason to.'
    Hemberg walked over to a cabinet that stood against one wall. He took a key from his pocket and unlocked it. Then he nodded at
Wallander to join him. He pointed at some folders with a ribbon around them that were lying to one side.
    'These are my constant companions,' Hemberg said. 'Three murder cases that are still neither solved nor old enough to have lapsed. I am not the one who is in charge of them. We review these cases once a year. Or if we receive additional information. These are not originals. They are copies. Sometimes I look at them. On occasion I dream about them. Most policemen aren't like this. They do their job and when they go home they forget what they are working on. But then there is another type, like me.
Who can never let go of an unsolved case. I even take these folders along with me on holiday. Three cases of murder. A nineteen-year-old girl. 1963.
Ann-Louise Franzén. She was found strangled behind some bushes by the highway leading north out of town. Leonard Johansson, also 1963.
Only seventeen years old. Someone had crushed his skull with a rock.
We found him on the beach south of the city.'
    'I remember him,' Wallander said. 'Didn't they suspect that it was a fight over a girl that had spiralled out of control?'
    'There was a fight over a girl,' Hemberg said. 'We interviewed the rival for many years. But we didn't get him. And I don't even think it was him.'
    Hemberg pointed to the file on the bottom.
    'One more girl. Lena Moscho. Twenty years old. 1959. The same year that I came here to Malmö. Her hands had been cut off and buried along a road out to Svedala. It was a dog that found her. She had been raped. She lived with her parents out in Jägersro. An upright sort who was studying to become a physician, of all things. It was in April. She was heading out to buy a newspaper but never returned. It took us five months to find her.'
    Hemberg shook his head.
    'You will discover what type you belong to,' he said and closed the cabinet. 'The ones who forget or the ones who don't.'
    'I don't even know if I measure up,' Wallander said.
    'You want to, at least,' Hemberg answered. 'And that's a good start.'
    Hemberg had started to put on his coat. Wallander checked his watch and saw that it was five minutes to seven.
    'I have to go,' he said.
    'I can give you a lift home,' Hemberg said, 'if you can hold your horses.'
    'I'm in a bit of a hurry,' Wallander said.
    Hemberg shrugged.
    'Now you know,' he said. 'Now you know what Hålén had in his stomach.'
    Wallander was lucky and managed to catch a taxi right outside.
When he got to Rosengård it was nine minutes past seven. He