‘Perhaps,’ Hemberg said. ‘Why “perhaps”?’
‘Because there could be another explanation.’
‘Like what, for example?’
Wallander searched frantically for an alternative without finding one.
‘I don’t know,’ he replied. ‘I can’t find another alternative. At least not right now.’
Hemberg took a wafer.
‘I can’t either,’ he said. ‘Which means that the explanation may still be in the apartment. Without us having been able to find it. If this had all stopped at the nightly visit, this case would have ended as soon as the results of the weapons examination and autopsy were in. But with this fire, we’ll probably have to do another round in there.’
‘Did Halen really not have any relatives?’ Wallander asked.
Hemberg pushed away his cup and got to his feet.
‘Come by my office tomorrow and I’ll show you the report.’
Wallander hesitated.
‘I don’t know when I’ll get time for that. We have to do a sweep of the Malmo parks tomorrow. Drugs.’
‘I’ll talk to your superior officer,’ Hemberg said. ‘We’ll work it out.’
A little after eight the following day, 7 June, Wallander was reading through all of the case material that Hemberg had collected on Halen. It was extremely sparse. He had no fortune but also no debt. He appeared to have lived completely within the means of his pension. The only recorded relative was a sister who had died in 1967 in Katrineholm. The parents had passed away earlier.
Wallander read the report in Hemberg’s office while Hemberg attended a meeting. He returned shortly after half past eight.
‘Have you found anything?’ he asked.
‘How can a person be so alone?’
‘You may ask,’ Hemberg said, ‘but it gives us no answers. Let’s go over to the apartment.’
That morning the forensic technicians were making a thorough examination of Halen’s apartment. The man leading the work was small and thin and said almost nothing. His name was Sjunnesson; he was a legend in Swedish forensics.
‘If there’s anything here, he’ll find it,’ Hemberg said. ‘Stay here and learn from him.’
Hemberg suddenly received a message and left.
‘A man up in Jagersro has hanged himself in a garage,’ he said when he returned.
Then he left again. When he returned, his hair had been trimmed.
At three o’clock Sjunnesson called the work to a halt.
‘There’s nothing here,’ he said. ‘No hidden money, no drugs. It’s clean.’
‘Then there was someone who imagined there was something here,’ Hemberg said. ‘And who was wrong. Now we’ll close this case.’
Wallander followed Hemberg out onto the street.
‘You have to know when it’s time to quit,’ Hemberg said. ‘That may be the most important thing of all.’
Wallander went back to his apartment and called Mona. They agreed to meet later that evening and take a drive. She had borrowed a car from a friend. She would drop by and pick Wallander up at seven.
‘Let’s go to Helsingborg,’ she suggested.
‘Why?’
‘Because I’ve never been there.’
‘Me neither,’ Wallander said. ‘I’ll be ready at seven. And then we’ll go to Helsingborg.’
But Wallander never made it to Helsingborg that evening. Shortly before six o’clock the phone rang. It was Hemberg.
‘Come down here,’ he said. ‘I’m in my office.’
‘Actually I have other plans,’ Wallander said.
Hemberg interrupted him.
‘I thought you were interested in what had happened to your neighbour. Come down here and I’ll show you. It won’t take long.’
Wallander’s curiosity was aroused. He called Mona at home but did not get an answer.
I’ll make it back in time, he thought. I can’t really afford a taxi but that can’t be helped. He tore off a piece of paper from a bag and scribbled that he would be back at seven. Then he called for a cab. This time he was able to get through immediately. He attached the note to the door with a drawing pin and left for the police headquarters. Hemberg was sitting in his office with his feet on the table.
He gestured for Wallander to sit down.
‘We were wrong,’ he said. ‘There was an alternative that we didn’t think of. Sjunnesson didn’t make a mistake. He told the truth: there wasn’t anything in Halen’s apartment. And he was right. But there had been something there.’
Wallander did not know what Hemberg was talking about.
‘I also admit that I was tricked,’ Hemberg said. ‘But Halen had removed what was in the apartment.’
‘But he was dead.’
Hemberg nodded.
‘The medical examiner called,’ he said. ‘The autopsy is complete. And he found something very interesting in Halen’s stomach.’
Hemberg swung his feet off the desk. Then he took out a little folded piece of cloth from one of the drawers and carefully unwrapped it in front of Wallander.
There were stones inside. Precious stones. Of which type, Wallander was unable to determine.
‘I had a jeweller here just before you arrived,’ Hemberg said. ‘He made a preliminary examination. These are diamonds. Probably from South African mines. He said they were worth a minor fortune. Halen had swallowed them.’
‘He had these in his stomach?’
Hemberg nodded.
‘No wonder we didn’t find them.’
‘But why did he swallow them? And when did he do this?’
‘The last question is perhaps the most important. The doctor said that he swallowed them only a few hours before he shot himself. Before his intestines and stomach stopped working. Why do you think that might be?’
‘He was afraid.’
‘Exactly.’
Hemberg pushed the packet of diamonds away and put his feet back up on the table. Wallander caught a whiff of foot odour.
‘Summarise this for me.’
‘I don’t know if I can.’
‘Try it!’
‘Halen swallowed the diamonds because he was afraid that someone was going to steal them. And then he shot himself. The person who was there that night was looking for them. But I can’t explain the blaze.’
‘Can’t you explain it a different way?’ Hemberg suggested. ‘If you tweak Halen’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 Halen had these diamonds.’
‘And that Halen 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. Halen 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 Halen’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 Franzen. 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.’