The Pyramid Read Online Free

asked. 'They don't creak.'
     
    It was already a quarter past six when Wallander could finally lock the door to Hålén's apartment. There were still several hours left before he was supposed to meet Mona. He went back to his place and put on some coffee. The wind had picked up. He closed the window and sat down in the kitchen. He had not had any time to buy groceries and now the shop was closed. There was no shop that was open late nearby.
It occurred to him that he would have to take Mona out for dinner.
His wallet was on the table. There was enough money. Mona liked going out to dinner, but Wallander thought it was throwing away money for no reason.
    The coffee pot started to whistle. He poured himself a cup and added three lumps of sugar. Waited for it to cool.
    Something was nagging at him.
    Where it came from, he didn't know.
    But all at once the feeling was very strong.
    He did not know what it was, other than that it had to do with
Hålén. In his mind he went over what had happened. The bang that woke him, the door that was ajar, the dead body on the floor inside the room. A man who had committed suicide, a man who had been his neighbour.
    Nonetheless something didn't add up. Wallander walked into the main room and lay down on the bed. Listened in his memory to the bang. Had he heard anything else? Before or after? Had any sounds penetrated his dreams? He searched but found nothing. Still, he was sure. There was something he had overlooked. He continued to go through his memories. But he remembered only silence. He got up from his bed and walked back out into the kitchen. The coffee had cooled.
    I'm imagining things, he thought. I saw it, Hemberg saw it, everyone saw it. An old, lonely man who had had enough.
    And yet it was as if he had seen something without realising what he was seeing.
    At the same time he had to admit that there was something inherently attractive about this idea. That he may have noticed something that had escaped Hemberg. That would increase his chances of advancing to criminal investigator sooner rather than later.
    He checked his watch. He still had time before he had to leave and meet Mona at the Denmark ferry. He put the coffee cup in the sink, grabbed the keys and entered Hålén's apartment. When he reached the main room everything was as it had been when he discovered the body, except that the body itself was now missing. But the room was unchanged. Wallander looked around slowly. How do you do this? he wondered. How do you discover what you see but aren't seeing?
    It was something, he was sure of it.
    But he couldn't put his finger on it.
    He walked into the kitchen and sat down on the chair that Hemberg had used. The betting form lay in front of him. Wallander did not know very much about English football. Actually, he didn't know very much about football, period. If he felt like gambling, he bought a lottery ticket. Nothing else.
    The betting form was made out for this coming Saturday, he could see. Hålén had even written out his name and address.
    Wallander returned to the room and walked over to the window in order to look at it from another angle. His gaze stopped by the bed.
Hålén had been dressed when he took his life. But the bed was unmade.
Even though the rest of the apartment was characterised by a meticulous order. Why hadn't he made the bed? Wallander thought. He could hardly have slept with his clothes on, woken up and then shot himself without making his bed. And why leave a completed betting form on the kitchen table?
    It did not make sense, but on the other hand it did not necessarily mean anything. Hålén could have very quickly decided to kill himself.
Perhaps he had realised the senselessness of making his bed one last time.
    Wallander sat down in the room's only armchair. It was old and worn. I'm imagining things, he thought again. The medical examiner will establish that it was a suicide, the forensic investigation will confirm that the weapon and bullet match