returned to the station.
It was half past one. Hemberg was unavailable. What he should do with himself, he didn't know. He should really talk to Lohman about what he was expected to do during the afternoon. But he didn't. Instead he pulled out the lists that Helena had given him. Again he browsed through the names. Tried to see the faces, imagine their lives. Sailors and engineers. Their birth information was noted in the margins.
Wallander put the lists down again. From the corridor he heard something that sounded like a taunting laugh.
Wallander tried to think about Hålén. His neighbour. Who had turned in betting sheets, put in an extra lock and thereafter shot himself.
Everything pointed to Hemberg's theory holding water. For some reason Hålén had killed Alexandra Batista and then taken his own life.
That's where it came to a stop for Wallander. Hemberg's theory was logical and straightforward. Nonetheless Wallander thought it was hollow. The outside coordinates matched up. But the content? It was still very murky. Not least, this idea did not fit very well with the impression Wallander had had of his neighbour. Wallander had never found anything passionate or violent in him.
Of course even the most retiring person was capable of exploding in anger and violence under certain circumstances. But did it actually make sense to think that Hålén had taken the life of the woman he most likely had a relationship with?
Something is missing, Wallander thought. Inside this shell there is nothing.
He tried to think more deeply but didn't get anywhere. Absently he gazed at the lists on the table. Without being able to say where the thought came from, he suddenly started to look through all of the birth information in the margins. How old had Hålén been? He recalled that he was born in 1898. But which date? Wallander called reception and asked to be put through to Stefansson. He picked up at once.
'This is Wallander. I'm wondering if you have Hålén's birthdate available?'
'Are you planning to wish him a happy birthday?'
He doesn't like me, Wallander thought. But in time I'll show him that I am a much better investigator than he is.
'Hemberg asked me to look into something,' Wallander lied.
Stefansson put down the receiver. Wallander could hear him riffling through papers.
'It's 17 September 1898,' Stefansson said. 'Anything else?'
'That's all,' Wallander said and hung up.
Then he pulled over the lists again.
On the third page he found what he had not been consciously aware of looking for. An engineer who was born on 17 September 1898. Anders
Hansson. Same initials as Artur Hålén, Wallander thought.
He went through the rest of the entries to assure himself that there were no others who were born on the same day. He found a sailor who was born on 19 September 1901. That was the closest thing. Wallander took out the phone book and looked up the number of his local pastor's office. Since Wallander and Hålén had lived in the same building, they must also be registered in the same parish. He dialled the number and waited. A woman answered. Wallander thought he might as well continue to introduce himself as a detective.
'My name is Wallander and I'm with the Malmö police,' he started.
'This is in regard to a violent death that occurred a few days ago. I'm from the homicide unit.'
He gave Hålén's name, address and birthdate.
'What is it you want to know?' the woman asked.
'If there is any information about Hålén possibly having a different name earlier in his life.'
'You mean such as changing his last name?'
Damn it, Wallander thought. People don't change their first names.
Only their last names.
'Let me check,' the woman said.
This was wrong, Wallander realised. I react before I've thought my ideas through enough.
He wondered if he should just hang up. But the woman would wonder about that, think the call had been cut off, and might call for him at the station. He waited. It took a long time before
It was half past one. Hemberg was unavailable. What he should do with himself, he didn't know. He should really talk to Lohman about what he was expected to do during the afternoon. But he didn't. Instead he pulled out the lists that Helena had given him. Again he browsed through the names. Tried to see the faces, imagine their lives. Sailors and engineers. Their birth information was noted in the margins.
Wallander put the lists down again. From the corridor he heard something that sounded like a taunting laugh.
Wallander tried to think about Hålén. His neighbour. Who had turned in betting sheets, put in an extra lock and thereafter shot himself.
Everything pointed to Hemberg's theory holding water. For some reason Hålén had killed Alexandra Batista and then taken his own life.
That's where it came to a stop for Wallander. Hemberg's theory was logical and straightforward. Nonetheless Wallander thought it was hollow. The outside coordinates matched up. But the content? It was still very murky. Not least, this idea did not fit very well with the impression Wallander had had of his neighbour. Wallander had never found anything passionate or violent in him.
Of course even the most retiring person was capable of exploding in anger and violence under certain circumstances. But did it actually make sense to think that Hålén had taken the life of the woman he most likely had a relationship with?
Something is missing, Wallander thought. Inside this shell there is nothing.
He tried to think more deeply but didn't get anywhere. Absently he gazed at the lists on the table. Without being able to say where the thought came from, he suddenly started to look through all of the birth information in the margins. How old had Hålén been? He recalled that he was born in 1898. But which date? Wallander called reception and asked to be put through to Stefansson. He picked up at once.
'This is Wallander. I'm wondering if you have Hålén's birthdate available?'
'Are you planning to wish him a happy birthday?'
He doesn't like me, Wallander thought. But in time I'll show him that I am a much better investigator than he is.
'Hemberg asked me to look into something,' Wallander lied.
Stefansson put down the receiver. Wallander could hear him riffling through papers.
'It's 17 September 1898,' Stefansson said. 'Anything else?'
'That's all,' Wallander said and hung up.
Then he pulled over the lists again.
On the third page he found what he had not been consciously aware of looking for. An engineer who was born on 17 September 1898. Anders
Hansson. Same initials as Artur Hålén, Wallander thought.
He went through the rest of the entries to assure himself that there were no others who were born on the same day. He found a sailor who was born on 19 September 1901. That was the closest thing. Wallander took out the phone book and looked up the number of his local pastor's office. Since Wallander and Hålén had lived in the same building, they must also be registered in the same parish. He dialled the number and waited. A woman answered. Wallander thought he might as well continue to introduce himself as a detective.
'My name is Wallander and I'm with the Malmö police,' he started.
'This is in regard to a violent death that occurred a few days ago. I'm from the homicide unit.'
He gave Hålén's name, address and birthdate.
'What is it you want to know?' the woman asked.
'If there is any information about Hålén possibly having a different name earlier in his life.'
'You mean such as changing his last name?'
Damn it, Wallander thought. People don't change their first names.
Only their last names.
'Let me check,' the woman said.
This was wrong, Wallander realised. I react before I've thought my ideas through enough.
He wondered if he should just hang up. But the woman would wonder about that, think the call had been cut off, and might call for him at the station. He waited. It took a long time before
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