The Pyramid Read Online Free Page A

up and that the shot was fired by
Hålén's own hand.
    Wallander decided to leave the apartment. It was time to freshen up and change his clothes before leaving to meet Mona. But something kept him there. He walked over to the chest and started pulling open the drawers. He immediately found the two sea logs. Artur Hålén had been a handsome man in his youth. Blond hair, a big wide smile.
Wallander had trouble connecting this image with the same man who had lived out his days in Rosengård in peace and quiet. Least of all he felt that these were pictures of someone who would one day come to take his own life. But he knew how wrong his thinking was. People who ended up committing suicide could never be characterised from a given model.
    He found the colourful beetle and took it over to the window. On the bottom of the jar he thought he could make out the stamped word
'Brazil'. A souvenir that Hålén had bought on some trip. Wallander continued to go through the drawers. Keys, coins from various countries, nothing that caught his attention. Halfway under the worn and torn drawer liner he found a brown envelope. Inside was an old photograph, a wedding picture. On the back was the name of the studio and a date: 15 May 1894. The studio was located in Härnösand. There was also the note: Manda and I the day we got married . His parents,
Wallander thought. Four years later their son was born.
    When he was done with the chest of drawers he walked over to the bookcase. To his surprise he found several books in German. They were well thumbed. There were also some books by Vilhelm Moberg, a Spanish cookbook and a few issues of a magazine for people interested in model aeroplanes. Wallander shook his head in bewilderment.
Hålén was considerably more complex than he could have imagined.
He walked away from the bookcase and checked under the bed.
Nothing. He then went on to the cupboard. The clothes were neatly hung; three pairs of shoes, well polished. It is only the unmade bed,
Wallander thought again. It doesn't fit.
    He was about to shut the cupboard door when the doorbell rang.
Wallander flinched. Waited. There was another ring. Wallander had the feeling that he was trespassing on forbidden territory. He kept waiting, but when it rang the third time he went over and opened the door.
    Outside there was a man in a grey coat. He looked enquiringly at
Wallander.
    'Am I mistaken?' he asked. 'I am looking for Mr Hålén.'
    Wallander tried to adopt a formal tone that would sound appropriate.
    'May I ask who you are?' he said with unnecessary brusqueness.
    The man frowned.
    'And if I could ask the same of you?' he asked.
    'I am from the police,' Wallander said. 'Detective Sergeant Kurt
Wallander. Would you now be so kind as to answer my question: who are you and what do you want?'
    'I sell encyclopedias,' the man said meekly. 'I was here last week and made a presentation of my books. Artur Hålén asked me to come back today. He has already sent in the contract and the first payment. I was to deliver the first volume and then the gift book that all new clients receive as a welcome bonus.'
    He took two books out of his briefcase as if to assure Wallander that he was telling the truth.
    Wallander had been listening with increasing amazement. The feeling that something didn't add up was strengthened. He stepped aside and nodded for the salesman to come in.
    'Has anything happened?' the man asked.
    Wallander ushered him into the kitchen without answering and indicated that he should sit down at the table.
    Then Wallander realised that he was now going to deliver the news of a death. Something he had always dreaded. But he reminded himself that he was not talking to a relative, only to an encyclopedia salesman.
    'Artur Hålén is dead,' he said.
    The man on the other side of the table did not seem to understand this.
    'But I spoke to him earlier today.'
    'I thought you said you had spoken to him last week?'
    'I called him this morning and asked