Falk's case."
"What else could he have died of?"
"That I don't know. But I wanted it clear that whatever killed him it wasn't his heart."
"I'll pass on what you've told me," Wallander said. "Was there anything else?"
"Something must have happened," Enander said. "I don't know if I'm right about this, but I gather he had a head wound. I think he was probably attacked. Killed."
"Nothing points to that conclusion. His wallet wasn't taken."
"I'm neither a pathologist nor a forensic specialist, so I can't tell you what killed him," Enander said. "But it wasn't his heart. I'm sure of it."
Wallander made a note of Enander's phone number and address. Then he got up. The conversation was over. He didn't have any more time.
Wallander saw Enander back to reception, then returned to his office. He put the notes about Falk in a drawer and used the following hour to write up the events of the night before.
As he typed, he thought about the fact that he had once thought of his computer with distaste. But then one day he realised that it actually made his work easier. His desk was no longer drowning in random notes jotted on odd pieces of paper. He still typed with two fingers and often made mistakes, but nowadays when he wrote up his reports he no longer had to use Tipp-Ex to remove all his mistakes. That in itself was a huge blessing.
Martinsson came in with the list of people who had keys to the power substation. There were five altogether. Wallander glanced at the names.
"Everyone can account for their keys," Martinsson said. "Not one of them has let them out of their possession. Apart from Moberg, no-one has been to the substation in the past few days. Should I look into what they were doing during the time that Hökberg was missing?"
"Let's hold on that," Wallander said. "Until the forensic reports come back we can't do much except wait."
"What should we do with Persson?"
"She should be questioned again, more thoroughly."
"Are you going to do that?"
"No thanks. I thought we would leave that to Höglund. I'll put it to her."
By noon, Wallander had brought her up to date on the Lundberg case. His throat was feeling better, but he still felt tired. He had tried, without success, to start his car and, in despair, he called a garage and asked them to collect it. He left the keys with Irene and walked into town to have lunch. At the next table, people were talking about the power cut. Afterwards he went to the chemist's and bought soap and painkillers. When he returned to the station his car was gone. He called the mechanic, but they hadn't had time to identify the problem. When he asked how much the repair was going to cost the answer was vague. He hung up and decided that enough was enough. He was going to get a new car.
Then he let himself sink down into his thoughts. The more he thought about it the more he was convinced that Hökberg had not ended up at that substation by accident. And it was no coincidence that it was one of the most vulnerable points in Skåne's power distribution system.
He reached for Martinsson's list. Five people, five sets of keys: Andersson, line repairman; Lars Moberg, line repairman; Hilding Olofsson, power manager; Artur Wahlund, safety manager; Stefan Molin, technical director.
The names still told him as little as when he had first looked at them. He called Martinsson, who answered immediately.
"These key people," he said. "You haven't by any chance looked them up in the police register, have you?"
"Should I have?"
"Not necessarily, but I know you're very thorough."
"I can do it now, if you like."
"Perhaps it's not a priority. There's nothing from the pathologist?"
"I don't think they'll be able to give us anything until tomorrow at the earliest."
"Then plug in the names. If you have time."
In contrast to Wallander, Martinsson loved his computer. If anyone at the station was having a problem they always turned to him for help.
Wallander turned back to the Lundberg murder case. At 3 p.m. he went for some
"What else could he have died of?"
"That I don't know. But I wanted it clear that whatever killed him it wasn't his heart."
"I'll pass on what you've told me," Wallander said. "Was there anything else?"
"Something must have happened," Enander said. "I don't know if I'm right about this, but I gather he had a head wound. I think he was probably attacked. Killed."
"Nothing points to that conclusion. His wallet wasn't taken."
"I'm neither a pathologist nor a forensic specialist, so I can't tell you what killed him," Enander said. "But it wasn't his heart. I'm sure of it."
Wallander made a note of Enander's phone number and address. Then he got up. The conversation was over. He didn't have any more time.
Wallander saw Enander back to reception, then returned to his office. He put the notes about Falk in a drawer and used the following hour to write up the events of the night before.
As he typed, he thought about the fact that he had once thought of his computer with distaste. But then one day he realised that it actually made his work easier. His desk was no longer drowning in random notes jotted on odd pieces of paper. He still typed with two fingers and often made mistakes, but nowadays when he wrote up his reports he no longer had to use Tipp-Ex to remove all his mistakes. That in itself was a huge blessing.
Martinsson came in with the list of people who had keys to the power substation. There were five altogether. Wallander glanced at the names.
"Everyone can account for their keys," Martinsson said. "Not one of them has let them out of their possession. Apart from Moberg, no-one has been to the substation in the past few days. Should I look into what they were doing during the time that Hökberg was missing?"
"Let's hold on that," Wallander said. "Until the forensic reports come back we can't do much except wait."
"What should we do with Persson?"
"She should be questioned again, more thoroughly."
"Are you going to do that?"
"No thanks. I thought we would leave that to Höglund. I'll put it to her."
By noon, Wallander had brought her up to date on the Lundberg case. His throat was feeling better, but he still felt tired. He had tried, without success, to start his car and, in despair, he called a garage and asked them to collect it. He left the keys with Irene and walked into town to have lunch. At the next table, people were talking about the power cut. Afterwards he went to the chemist's and bought soap and painkillers. When he returned to the station his car was gone. He called the mechanic, but they hadn't had time to identify the problem. When he asked how much the repair was going to cost the answer was vague. He hung up and decided that enough was enough. He was going to get a new car.
Then he let himself sink down into his thoughts. The more he thought about it the more he was convinced that Hökberg had not ended up at that substation by accident. And it was no coincidence that it was one of the most vulnerable points in Skåne's power distribution system.
He reached for Martinsson's list. Five people, five sets of keys: Andersson, line repairman; Lars Moberg, line repairman; Hilding Olofsson, power manager; Artur Wahlund, safety manager; Stefan Molin, technical director.
The names still told him as little as when he had first looked at them. He called Martinsson, who answered immediately.
"These key people," he said. "You haven't by any chance looked them up in the police register, have you?"
"Should I have?"
"Not necessarily, but I know you're very thorough."
"I can do it now, if you like."
"Perhaps it's not a priority. There's nothing from the pathologist?"
"I don't think they'll be able to give us anything until tomorrow at the earliest."
"Then plug in the names. If you have time."
In contrast to Wallander, Martinsson loved his computer. If anyone at the station was having a problem they always turned to him for help.
Wallander turned back to the Lundberg murder case. At 3 p.m. he went for some
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