“I started looking at the walls,” Nyberg said. “There was a discrepancy. It happens sometimes in old buildings; renovations end up changing the original floor plan. But I started measuring the room anyway, and found this.”
Nyberg led Wallander to the far end of the room. A part of the wall jutted into the room at a sharp angle.
“I started knocking on the walls,” Nyberg continued. “It sounded hollow. Then I saw this.”
Nyberg pointed to the floor. Wallander crouched down. If you looked closely you could see that the baseboard had been sawed loose from the floor. There was also a thin crack in the wall that had been carefully taped over and painted.
“Have you looked to see what’s behind this wall?”
“I wanted to wait for you.”
Wallander nodded. Nyberg carefully pulled away the tape, revealing a door about one and a half meters high. Then he stepped aside. Wallander pushed open the door, which gave way without a sound. Nyberg shone his flashlight into the opening.
The concealed room was bigger than Wallander had imagined. He wondered if Setterkvist knew about this. He took Nyberg’s flashlight and looked around. He soon found the light switch.
The room was maybe eight square meters, with no windows but a small air vent. It was completely empty except for a table that looked like an altar. There were two candles on it and a photograph on the wall depicting Tynnes Falk. Wallander got the feeling that the picture had been taken in this very room. He asked Nyberg to hold the flashlight while he went closer to study the photograph. Falk was staring straight into the camera. His expression was serious.
“What’s that in his hand?” Nyberg asked.
Wallander took out his glasses and then peered up at the photo again.
“I don’t know what you think,” he said finally straightening out his back. “But it looks to me as if he has a remote control in his hand.”
They switched places. Nyberg came to the same conclusion. It was a remote control.
“Tell me what I’m looking at,” said Wallander. “I’m at a loss.”
“Did he worship himself?” Nyberg asked in a confounded tone of voice. “Was the man a lunatic?”
“I don’t know,” Wallander said.
They turned their attention to the rest of the room, but there was nothing else to look at. Wallander put on a pair of rubber gloves and carefully removed the picture. He looked on the back, but there was no writing. He handed the picture over to Nyberg.
“You’ll have to look it over.”
“Maybe this room is part of a series of rooms,” Nyberg suggested doubtfully. “Like a series of Chinese boxes. Maybe there’s another secret room somewhere.”
They searched the room together but found nothing. The walls were solid.
They returned to the first room.
“You haven’t found anything else?” Wallander asked.
“No. It seems as if the room was cleaned recently.”
“Falk was a clean freak,” Wallander said. He recalled both the diary entries and what Siv Eriksson had told him.
“I don’t think I can do much more tonight,” Nyberg said. “But I’ll come back tomorrow to finish up.”
“We’ll also bring in Martinsson,” Wallander said. “I want to know what’s in that computer.”
Wallander helped Nyberg collect his things.
“How the hell can someone worship himself?” Nyberg asked when they had finished and were ready to leave.
“I can give you countless examples of it,” Wallander said.
“At least I won’t have to deal with this any more in a couple of years,” Nyberg said. “Lunatics who pray to their own image.”
They loaded all the bags into Nyberg’s car. Wallander nodded to him and watched him drive off. The wind had picked up. It was close to ten thirty. He was hungry, but the thought of going home and cooking something was not appealing. He got in the car and drove to a fast-food kiosk that was still open. When his food came, some boys had started playing a noisy video game. He decided to take his hot dogs and mashed potatoes out to the car. With the very first bite he managed to spill something on Martinsson’s coat. His reaction was a desire to open the car door and throw everything on the ground. But he managed to calm himself down.
Once he had finished eating, he wasn’t sure if he should go home or down to the station. He needed to sleep, but his anxiety wasn’t letting up. He drove to the station. There was no one in the lunchroom, but the coffee machine had been fixed. Someone had written an angry note about not pulling too hard on the levers.
What levers? Wallander thought helplessly. I put my cup down and push a button. I’ve never even seen a lever He took his coffee and went back to his office. The hallway was deserted. He had no idea how many late nights he had spent there alone.
Once, when he was still married to Mona and Linda was a young child, Mona had turned up at his office fuming and told him he had to make a choice between his family and his work. That time, he had immediately gone home with her. But there had been many times when he had chosen to stay on and work.
He took Martinsson’s coat with him to the bathroom and tried to clean it, but without success. Then he returned to his office and spent a half-hour making notes about his conversation with Siv Eriksson. When he was done, he yawned and stretched. It was half past eleven and he knew he had to go home and try to sleep, but he forced himself to read through what he had written. He kept thinking about Falk’s strange personality and his secret room with an altar for worshipping his own image. And the fact that no one knew where he had his mail sent. Then he thought about something Siv Eriksson had said that had stuck in his mind.
Tynnes Falk had declined a number of lucrative job offers because he felt he had enough as it was.
Wallander checked the time. Twenty minutes to midnight. He wanted to talk to Marianne Falk to ask about Falk’s will but decided it was too late to call, even though something told him she wasn’t asleep yet.
Wallander yawned. He put on his coat and turned off the light. As he was walking out through the reception area, one of the officers on the night shift stuck his head out of the control room.
“I think I have something for you,” he said.
Wallander shut his eyes tightly and hoped it wasn’t anything that would keep him up all night. Then he walked over and took the receiver that the man held out to him.
“Someone has discovered a body,” the officer said.
Not another one, Wallander thought. We can’t handle it. Not right now.
He held the receiver to his ear.
“Kurt Wallander. What seems to be the matter?”
The man speaking on the other end was clearly agitated. He was screaming into the phone. Wallander held the receiver farther from his ear.
“Please speak more slowly,” Wallander said. “Clearly and slowly. Otherwise we’re not going to be able to get anywhere. What is your name, please?”
“My name is Nils Jönsson. There’s a dead man on the street.”
“Where are you?”
“In Ystad! I tripped over him. He’s naked and he’s dead. It’s horrible! I shouldn’t have to see things like this. I have a weak heart!”
“Calm down,” Wallander said. “Nice and easy, now. You say there’s a naked dead man on the street?
“Isn’t that what I said?”
“Yes, you did. Now tell me what street you’re on.”
“I don’t know. It’s a fucking parking lot!”
Wallander shook his head.
“Is it a street or a parking lot?”
“I guess it’s something in between.”
“And where is it?”