Wallander less than five minutes to return to the building at Runnerströms Torg. At the top of the stairs, he saw Nyberg smoking on the landing outside the flat. He realised how extremely tired Nyberg was. He never smoked unless he was almost at the point of collapse. The last time that had happened was during the difficult homicide investigation that led to the capture of Stefan Fredman.
Nyberg stubbed the cigarette out in his matchbox and nodded to Wallander to follow him in.
"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 tapping on the walls. Here it sounded hollow. Then I saw this." He pointed to the floor.
Wallander crouched down. If you looked closely you could see that the skirtingboard had been sawn loose from the floor. There was also a thin crack in the wall from which Nyberg had removed part of a tape which had been painted over.
"Have you looked to see what's behind?"
"I wanted to wait for you."
Wallander nodded. Nyberg carefully pulled away the rest of the tape, revealing a low door, about 1.5 metres high. Then he stepped aside. Wallander pushed the door open, which gave way without a sound. Nyberg shone his flashlight into the opening.
The hidden space was bigger than Wallander had imagined. He wondered if Setterkvist knew about this. He took Nyberg's flashlight and looked around for the light switch.
The room was perhaps 8 metres square with no window but one small air vent. The room was empty save for a table that looked like an altar. There were two candles on it. There was a photograph of Falk on the wall. Wallander had 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 said.
Wallander took out his glasses and then peered at the photograph again.
"I don't know what you think," he said, finally straightening up, "but it looks to me as if he has a remote control in his hand."
Nyberg came to the same conclusion.
"Tell me what I'm looking at," said Wallander. "I'm at a loss."
"Did he worship himself?" Nyberg said in a confounded tone of voice. "Was the man a lunatic?"
"I don't know yet," 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 to Nyberg.
"You'll have to look it over."
"Maybe this room is part of a series of rooms," Nyberg said, doubtfully. "Like a series of Chinese boxes. Maybe there's another secret space further along."
Together they searched the room but found nothing. The walls were all solid.
They returned to the living room.
"You haven't found anything else?" Wallander said.
"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 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 show you countless examples," Wallander said.
"I won't have to deal with any more of this in a couple of years," Nyberg said. "Lunatics praying before their own image."
They loaded the bags into Nyberg's car. Wallander saluted him and watched him drive off. The wind had picked up. It was close to 10.30 p.m. He was hungry, but the thought of going home and cooking something was not appealing. He got into the car and drove to a fast-food place that was open. When his meal 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 first reaction was to open the