Firewall - By Henning Mankell & Ebba Segerberg Page 0,58

be a standard breaking-and-entering. Possibly a drug addict."

"No clues?"

"We have fingerprints, but they could all belong to Falk. I'm not sure how we're going to verify that now that the body is gone."

"We'll find it sooner or later."

"I doubt it. If someone steals a body it's surely to bury it."

Nyberg was right. He had an idea, but Nyberg got there first.

"I asked Martinsson to look up Falk in the police files. We couldn't rule out the possibility that we already had something on him."

"And what did he find?"

"He was there in fact. But not his fingerprints."

"What had he done?"

"According to Martinsson, Falk had been sued and fined for damaging property."

"In connection with what?"

"You'll have to get the details from Martinsson," Nyberg said irritably.

It was 1.10 p.m. Wallander filled up the car and returned to the station. Martinsson walked in at the same time.

"None of the neighbours heard or saw anything," Martinsson said as they crossed the car park together. "I managed to talk to all of them. Some are retired and home most of the day. One of them was a physiotherapist, about your age."

Wallander had no comments to make. Instead he said, "What was all that business about Falk damaging property?"

"I have the paperwork in my office. Something about a mink farm."

Wallander read the report in Martinsson's office. Falk had been arrested in 1991, north of S枚lvesborg. One night, a mink farmer had discovered that someone was opening the cages. He had called the police and two patrol cars had been dispatched. Falk had not been alone, but he was the only one caught. He had confessed and told the officer that he was vehemently opposed to animals being killed for fur. He had, however, denied acting on behalf of any organisation and had never given the names of his accomplices.

Wallander put down the report. "I thought only young people did things like this," he said. "Falk was 40-plus in 1991."

"I suppose we could be more sympathetic to their cause," Martinsson said. "My daughter is a Greenpeace supporter."

"There's a difference between wanting to protect the environment and taking away a mink farmer's livelihood."

"These organisations teach you an enormous respect for animal life."

Wallander didn't want to be dragged into a debate he felt he would eventually lose, but he was perplexed by Falk's involvement in animal rights activism.

Wallander called Mrs Falk. An answering machine cut in, but as he started leaving his message her voice came on the line. They agreed to meet in the flat on Apelbergsgatan around 3 p.m. Wallander arrived in good time. Nyberg and his forensic team had left. A patrol car was parked outside. As Wallander was walking up the stairs to the flat the door to the flat below, the one he would rather have forgotten about, opened. The door was opened by a woman who looked familiar, but he wasn't sure.

"I saw you from the window," she said, smiling. "I just wanted to say hello. If you remember me, that is."

"Of course I do," Wallander said.

"You know, you never got in touch as you promised."

Wallander couldn't remember making any promises, but he knew it was possible. When he was drunk and strongly attracted to a woman, he was capable of promising almost anything.

"Things came up," he said. "You know how it is."

"I do?"

Wallander mumbled something.

"Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?"

"As you may have heard, there's been a break-in upstairs. I don't have time right now."

She pointed to her door. "I had a security door put in several years ago. Almost all of us did. Everyone except Falk."

"Did you know him?"

"He kept to himself. We said hello if we met on the stairs, but that was it."

Wallander suspected she wasn't telling the truth, but he decided not to prove it. The only thing he wanted was to get away.

"I'll have to take a rain check on that coffee," he said.

"We'll see," she said.

The door closed. Wallander was sweating. He ran up the last flight. At least she had produced a significant fact. People in the building had put in security doors, but not Falk, the man whom his wife described as anxious and surrounded by enemies.

The door had not yet been repaired. He walked into the flat and saw that Nyberg and his team had left the chaos intact. He walked into the kitchen and sat at the table. It was very quiet in the flat. He looked at his watch. It was 2.50 p.m. He thought he could