The Pyramid

Nyberg was waiting next to the ruins of the house, which were still smoking. He got straight to the point.

'This was not only arson,' he said. 'It was murder.'

'Murder?'

Nyberg gestured for him to follow. The two bodies in the ruin had now been dug out. They crouched down next to one and Nyberg pointed to the cranium with a pen.

'A bullet hole,' he said. 'She's been shot, assuming it is one of the sisters. But I suppose we are assuming that.'

They stood up and walked over to the second body.

'Same thing here,' he said and pointed. 'Just above the neck.'

Wallander shook his head in disbelief.

'Someone shot them?'

'Looks like it. What's worse is that it was execution-style. Two shots to the back of the head.'

Wallander had trouble taking in what Nyberg had just said. It was too preposterous, too brutal. But he also knew that Nyberg never said anything he wasn't absolutely sure about.

They walked back out to the street. Nyberg held up a small plastic bag in front of Wallander.

'We found one of the bullets,' he said. 'It was still stuck in the cranium. The other one exited through the forehead and has melted in the heat. But the medical examiner will of course do a thorough examination.'

Wallander looked at Nyberg while he tried to think.

'So we have a double murder that someone tried to cover up with a fire?'

Nyberg shook his head.

'That doesn't make sense. A person who executes people by shooting them in the back of the head most likely knows that fires normally leave skeletons intact. After all, it's not a crematorium.'

Wallander realised that Nyberg had said something important.

'What's the alternative?'

'The murderer may have wanted to conceal something else.'

'What can you conceal in a sewing shop?'

'That's your job to figure out,' Nyberg replied.

'I'll go and get a team together,' Wallander said. 'We'll start at one.' He checked his watch. It was eleven. 'Can you make it?'

'I won't be done here, of course,' Nyberg said. 'But I'll come by.'

Wallander returned to his car. He was filled with a feeling of unreality. Who could have a motive for executing two old ladies who sold needles and thread and one or two zips? This was beyond anything he had been involved in before.

When he reached the station he walked straight to Rydberg's office. It was empty. Wallander found him in the break room, where he was eating a rusk and drinking tea. Wallander sat down and told him what Nyberg had discovered.

'That's not good,' Rydberg said when Wallander was finished. 'Not good at all.'

Wallander stood up. 'I'll see you at one,' he said. 'For now, let Martinsson focus on the plane. But Hansson and Svedberg should be there. And try to get Åkeson. Have we ever had anything like this?'

Rydberg considered. 'Not that I can remember. There was a lunatic who planted an axe in a waiter's head about twenty years ago. The motive was an unpaid debt of thirty kronor. But I can't think of anything else.'

Wallander lingered at the table.

'Execution-style,' he said. 'Not particularly Swedish.'

'And what is Swedish, exactly?' Rydberg asked. 'There are no longer any borders. Not for aeroplanes nor serious criminals. Once Ystad lay at the outskirts of something. What happened in Stockholm did not happen here. Not even things that occurred in Malmö were typical in a small town like Ystad. But that time is over.'

'What happens now?'

'The new era will need a different kind of police, particularly out in the field,' Rydberg said. 'But there will still be a need for those like you and me, the ones who can think.'

They walked together along the corridor. Rydberg walked slowly. They parted outside Rydberg's door.

'One o'clock,' Rydberg said. 'The double murder of two old ladies. Is that what we should call this? The case of the little old ladies?'

'I don't like it,' Wallander said. 'I don't understand why anyone would shoot two honourable old ladies.'

'That may be where we have to begin,' Rydberg said thoughtfully. 'By examining if they were actually as honourable as everyone appears to believe.'

Wallander was taken aback.

'What are you insinuating?'

'Nothing,' Rydberg said, and smiled suddenly. 'It's possible that one sometimes draws conclusions too quickly.'

Wallander stood by the window in his office and absent-mindedly watched some pigeons flapping around the water tower. Rydberg is right, he thought. As usual. If there are no witnesses, if we don't get any observations from outside, then this is where we have to start: who were they really, Anna and Emilia?

They were all assembled in the conference room at one o'clock. Hansson had tried to get hold of Björk, without success. But Per Åkeson was there.

Wallander gave an account of the discovery that the two women had been shot. A sombre mood spread through the room. Evidently everyone had been to the sewing shop at least once. Then Wallander turned to Nyberg.

'We're still digging around in the rubble,' Nyberg said. 'But so far we haven't found anything of interest.'

'The cause of the fire?' Wallander asked.

'It's too early to tell,' he replied. 'But according to the neighbours there was a loud blast. Someone described it as a muted explosion. And then, within the span of a minute, the whole building was on fire.'

Wallander looked around the table.

'Since there is no immediately apparent motive, we have to begin by finding out what we can about these sisters. Is it true, as I believe, that they didn't have any relatives? Both were single. Had they ever been married? How old were they? I thought of them as old ladies already when I moved here.'

Svedberg answered that he was sure that Anna and Emilia had never been married, and that they had no children. But he would find out more in greater detail.

'Bank accounts,' said Rydberg, who had not said anything until then. 'Did they have money? Either stuffed under the mattress at home or at the bank. There are rumours about such things. Can that have been the reason for the murder?'

'That doesn't explain the execution-style method,' Wallander said. 'But we need to find out about this. We need to know.'

They divvied up the usual tasks among themselves. They were the same methodical and time-consuming tasks that had to be performed at the beginning of every investigation. When it was a quarter past two, Wallander had only one more thing to say.

'We need to speak to the media,' he said. 'This will interest them. Björk should be present, of course. But I would be happy to get out of it.'

To everyone's surprise, Rydberg offered to speak to the reporters. Normally he was as reticent as Wallander on such occasions.

They broke up. Nyberg returned to the fire scene. Wallander and Rydberg stayed behind for a moment.

'I think we have to place some hope in the public,' Rydberg said. 'More than usual. It's clear that there must have been a motive for killing these sisters. And I have trouble thinking it could have been anything other than money.'

'We've encountered this before,' Wallander said. 'People who don't own a penny but who get attacked because there are rumours of wealth.'

'I have some contacts,' Rydberg said. 'I'll do a little investigating on the side.'

They left the room.

'Why did you take on the press conference?' Wallander asked.

'So that you wouldn't have to do it for once,' Rydberg said and went to his office.

Wallander managed to reach Björk, who was at home with a migraine.

'We're planning a press conference at five o'clock today,' Wallander said. 'We're all hoping you can be there.'

'I'll be there,' Björk said. 'Migraine or not.'

The investigative machine had been set in motion, slow but thorough. Wallander went back to the scene of the fire once more and talked to Nyberg, who was up to his knees in rubble. Then he returned to the station. But when the press conference started, he stayed away. He arrived home around six o'clock. This time his father answered when Wallander called.