He received no answer. Rydberg remained silent.
It was half past seven. Wallander sat down again. He had to prepare for their meeting. After all, he was the one who had to lead the work. In order to try to gain a new perspective on the events, he backtracked. Which events lay at the bottom of all this? What were the possible connections? It was like charting a solar system where the planets circled not a sun, but a black hole.
There’s a main figure in all this, he thought. There’s always a lead character. Not everyone is of equal importance. Some of the people who have died are minor players. But who is who, and how am I supposed to tell them apart? What story is being enacted?
He was back where he started. The only thing he felt sure of was that the taxi driver’s murder was not a potential center, nor a catalyst for the events that followed.
That left Tynnes Falk. There was a connection between him and Sonja Hökberg, indicated by the electrical relay and the blueprint of the power substation. That’s what they had to concentrate on. The connection was tenuous and inexplicable, but it was there.
He pushed away his notes. I can’t see anything in what I’ve written, he thought despondently.
He sat there for a few more minutes. He heard Höglund laugh in the hallway. That didn’t happen every day. Finally he gathered up his papers and headed to the conference room.
They did a thorough review of the material, a task which took almost three hours. The tired and somewhat despondent feeling in the room slowly dissipated.
Nyberg walked in at half past eight. He sat down at the opposite end of the table without saying a word. Wallander looked at him, but Nyberg shook his head. He had nothing urgent to announce.
“Could someone be laying out false tracks deliberately?” Höglund wondered while they were taking a short break to stretch their legs. “Maybe this is all very simple when it comes down to it. Maybe we just need a motive.”
“And what would that be?” Martinsson asked. “A person who robs a taxi driver has very different motives from one who burns a young woman to death, thereby causing blackouts in large parts of Scania. We should also keep in mind that we don’t even know for sure whether Falk was murdered. My inclination is still to chalk it up to a natural death, or at the most an accident.”
“It would be easier if he was murdered,” Wallander said. “Then we could be sure that we’re dealing with a series of criminal events.”
They closed the windows and sat back down at the table.
“It seems to me that the most serious event so far is that someone tried to shoot you,” Höglund said. “It’s not very often that a burglar is willing to kill someone who crosses his path.”
“I don’t know if I would call it more serious than anything else here,” Wallander objected. “But it does say something about the degree of ruthlessness in the people who are behind all this. Whatever it is they’re really trying to do.”
They continued discussing the various crimes, turning each in as many directions as possible. Wallander didn’t say much but listened attentively to the others. During other difficult investigations, it had sometimes been a casually thrown-out phrase, or even a rephrasing of something, that had caused the whole case to break open. They were looking for openings now, and, not least, a center.
During the final hour, each person went through the tasks he or she had completed and what was still waiting to be done. Shortly before eleven Wallander realized they could go no further.
“This is going to take time,” he said. “It’s possible that we’re going to need more personnel. I’ll talk to Holgersson about it. I don’t think there’s any use staying here any longer, though that doesn’t mean we get to take the weekend off. We need to keep going.”
Hansson left to speak to a prosecutor who had demanded to be kept up to date. Martinsson went to his office to call home. Wallander had asked him earlier to accompany him to the office on Runnerström Square when the meeting was over. Nyberg sat at the table for a while longer, pulling at his thin wisps of hair. Then he got up and walked out without saying a word. Höglund was the only one left. Wallander realized she wanted to talk to him about something, so he closed the door.
“I’ve been thinking about something,” she said. “That man who shot at you.”
“Yes?”
“He saw you. And he didn’t hesitate for a second.”
“I’d rather not think too much about that.”
“But maybe you should.”
Wallander looked at her closely.
“What do you mean?”
“I just think maybe you should be extra careful. He may have been taken by surprise, but I don’t think we can rule out that he thinks you know something. And he may try again.”
Wallander was surprised that he hadn’t considered this himself. It frightened him.
“I don’t want to scare you,” she said. “But I had to say it.”
He nodded.
“I’ll think about it. The question is what he thinks I know.”
“Maybe he’s right. Maybe you’re just not aware of what you know.” Another thought came to Wallander.
“Maybe we should post some officers at Apelbergsgatan and Runnerström Square. No patrol cars, nothing too noticeable. Just in case.”
She agreed with him and left to arrange it. Wallander was left with his fear. He thought about Linda. Then he shook out his arms and shoulders and walked out to the reception area to wait for Martinsson.
They stepped into the apartment at Runnerström Square shortly before noon. Although Martinsson was mainly interested in the computer, Wallander wanted to show him the secret room with the altar first.
“Too much time in cyberspace makes people a little strange,” Martinsson said, shaking his head. “This whole apartment gives me the creeps. ”
Wallander didn’t answer. He was thinking about Martinsson’s choice of words. Cyberspace. Could that be ‘c-space’? The strange word Tynnes Falk had used in his diary.
C-space is quiet. No messages from his friends.
What message was he waiting for? Wallander thought. I’d give a lot to know that right now.
Martinsson took off his coat and sat down at the computer. Wallander stood behind him peering over his shoulder.
“This programming looks pretty complicated,” Martinsson said once the computer had been turned on. “I don’t recognize the code. Some of this may be more than I can handle.”
“I’d still like you to do what you can. If you get stuck, we’ll call in the technology division of the National Police and get some of their computer whizzes on it.”
Martinsson didn’t answer. He was absorbed by his task, staring straight ahead at the screen. Then he got up and walked around to look at the computer from the back. As Wallander watched him, he returned to the chair. The screen had come alive with a number of symbols flitting by. Then it settled into an image of the night sky.
Cyberspace. At least Falk is consistent, Wallander thought.
“The computer seems to automatically connect with a server when you turn it on,” Martinsson said. “Do you want me to talk you through what I’m doing?” he added.
“I don’t think I’d be able to follow you.”
Wallander put on his glasses and leaned closer to the screen as Martinsson tried to open one of the files on the hard drive. After clicking on the file, Martinsson frowned.
“What happened?” Wallander asked.