Firewall - By Henning Mankell & Ebba Segerberg Page 0,131

was able to get around it somehow."

"No ordinary burglar. It was someone very skilled with computers."

"I haven't even been able to think that far" she said. "I'm too distraught."

"That's understandable. What was your password?"

"'Cookie' – it was my nickname as a child."

"Did anyone else know it?"

"No."

"Not even Falk?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Was it written down anywhere?" No.

"Are you sure?"

She paused before she replied. "Yes."

Wallander sensed that they were honing in on a crucial point. He advanced carefully. "Did anyone else know about this nickname?"

"My mother, of course, but she's basically senile."

"No-one else?"

"I have a friend who lives in Austria. She knows it."

"Do you exchange letters with her?"

"Yes. But the past few years it's been mainly e-mail."

"Do you sign those with your nickname?"

"Yes."

Wallander sat back and took a minute to think.

"I don't know how this works," he said, "but I suppose those letters are stored in your computer."

"Yes."

"So if someone accessed them they would have been able to see your nickname, and perhaps guessed it might have been used as a password."

"That's impossible. They would need the password up front to gain access to my letters."

"But someone did manage to break into your computer and delete your files," Wallander said.

She shook her head obstinately. "Why would anyone do that?"

"You're the only person who can answer that question. It's a crucial question, as I hope you realise. What did you have in your computer that someone must have wanted?"

"I never worked with classified information."

"This is very important. You have to think carefully."

"You don't have to remind me."

Wallander waited. She looked as though she were thinking hard.

"There was nothing," she said finally.

"Perhaps there was something there that you didn't realise was valuable?"

"And what would that have been?"

"Again, only you can tell me."

Her voice was firm when she answered him. "I pride myself on keeping all areas of my life, particularly my work, in meticulous order," she said. "I am forever cleaning and sorting files. And I never worked on especially advanced projects, as I told you."

Wallander also thought hard before proceeding. "Did Falk ever come over and use your computer?"

"Why would he do that?"

"I have to ask. Could he have come here without your knowledge? He had keys to your flat."

"I would have noticed it. It's hard to explain without getting too technical."

"I see. But Falk was very good at these things. Isn't it possible that he could have erased all trace of what he had done? It's so often a question of who is better at staying one step ahead – the intruder or the investigator."

"I can't see what would be the point of his using my computer."

"Perhaps he wanted to hide something. The cuckoo hides his eggs in other birds' nests."

"But why?"

"We don't know why. It may also simply be that someone thought he had hidden something here. And now that Falk is dead they need to make sure there isn't something here that you would eventually discover."

"Who are these people?"

"That's what I want to know."

This is what must have happened, Wallander thought. There is no other reasonable explanation. There's a lot of frenetic cleaning going on around this town. Something needs to be kept secret at all costs.

He repeated the words in his head. Something needs to be kept secret at all costs. That was the case in a nutshell. If they could find the secret, the case would solve itself.

Wallander sensed that he was running out of time.

"Did Falk ever talk of the number 20?" he asked.

"Why? Is that important?"

"Just answer the question, please."

"Not as far as I remember."

Wallander got out his mobile and called Nyberg. There was no answer. He called Irene and asked her to find him.

"I'll be sending over a forensic team," he said. "I'd be grateful if you could not touch anything in your study. They might find some fingerprints."

Eriksson escorted him to the door. "I don't know what I'm going to do," she said desperately. "Everything is gone. My whole career has vanished overnight."

Wallander didn't know how to comfort her. He recalled Erik Hökberg's words about society's vulnerability.

"Was Falk a religious man?" he said.

Her surprise was genuine. "He never said anything to suggest such a thing."

Wallander promised to be in touch. When he came down to the street he was at a loss. The person he most needed to talk to was Martinsson, but the question was: should he take Höglund's advice? He wanted to confront him with what she had told him. Then he was smitten by fatigue. The betrayal was so hurtful and unexpected.