A car pulled up to the kerb. Wallander saw to his surprise that it was Hemberg. He waved Wallander over.

'I heard the dispatch,' he said. 'Lundin was supposed to take it, but I thought I would take over since I recognised the address.'

'The fire chief thinks it's arson.'

Hemberg made a face.

'People believe a hell of a lot of things,' he said. 'I've known Faråker for almost fifteen years. It doesn't matter if it's a burning chimney or car engine. For him everything is a suspected case of arson. Come with me and you may learn something.'

Wallander followed him.

'What do you say about this?' Hemberg asked.

'Arson.'

Faråker sounded extremely sure. Wallander sensed that there was a deep-seated, mutual antipathy between the two men.

'The man who lives here is dead. Who would have started a fire in there?'

'That's your job to find out. I'm just saying it was arson.'

'Can we go in?'

Faråker shouted out to one of the firemen, who gave an all-clear signal. The fire was out and the worst of the smoke gone. They went in. The part of the entrance hall by the front door was scorched. But the flames had never reached further than the curtain that divided the hall from the main room. Faråker pointed to the letter box in the door.

'It might have been started here,' he said. 'Smouldered first, and then caught fire. There aren't any electrical wires or anything else that could catch fire on their own.'

Hemberg crouched down next to the door. Then he sniffed.

'It's possible that you're right for once,' he said and stood back up. 'It has a smell. Kerosene, maybe.'

'If it had been petrol, the fire would have been different.'

'So someone put it through the letter box?'

'That's the most likely scenario.'

Faråker poked the remains of the hall mat with his foot.

'Hardly paper,' he said. 'More likely a piece of cloth. Or cotton batting.'

Hemberg shook his head gloomily.

'Damn people who start fires in the homes of people who are already dead.'

'Your problem,' Faråker said. 'Not mine.'

'We'll have to ask forensics to take a look at this.'

For a moment Hemberg appeared concerned. Then he looked at Wallander.

'Any possibility of getting a cup of coffee?'

They walked into Wallander's apartment. Hemberg looked at the overturned bowl and the pool of water on the floor.

'Were you trying to put the fire out yourself?'

'I was taking a footbath.'

Hemberg regarded him with interest.

'Footbath?'

'Sometimes my feet hurt.'

'Then you must have the wrong kind of shoes,' Hemberg said. 'I patrolled for more than ten years but my feet never gave me any trouble.'

Hemberg sat down at the kitchen table while Wallander prepared the coffee.

'Did you hear anything?' Hemberg asked. 'Anyone on the stairs?'

'No.'

Wallander thought it was embarrassing to admit he was sleeping this time as well.

'If anyone had been moving around out there, would you have heard them?'

'You can hear the front door slam,' Wallander said with deliberate vagueness. 'I probably would have heard someone come in. If the person didn't stop the door from slamming.'

Wallander set out a packet of plain vanilla wafers. It was the only thing he had to serve with the coffee.

'There's something strange here,' Hemberg said. 'Everything points to the fact that it was a perfect suicide. Hålén must have had a steady hand. He aimed well. Straight through the heart, no hesitation. The medical examiners aren't done yet, but we don't need to look for a cause of death other than suicide. There is none. The question is rather what this person was looking for. And why someone tried to burn down the apartment. It's probably the same person.'

Hemberg nodded to Wallander, indicating that he wanted more coffee.

'Do you have an opinion on this?' Hemberg asked abruptly. 'Show me now if you can think.'

Wallander was completely unprepared for this.

'The person who was here last night was looking for something,' he started. 'But probably he didn't find anything.'

'Because you interrupted him? Because otherwise he would have left already?'

'Yes.'

'What was he looking for?'

'I don't know.'

'And now tonight someone sets fire to the apartment. Let us assume it is the same person. What does this mean?'

Wallander pondered this.

'Take your time,' Hemberg said. 'If you are to make a good detective you have to learn to think methodically, and it is often the same thing as thinking slowly.'

'Perhaps he didn't want anyone else to find what he had been looking for?'

'Perhaps,' Hemberg said. 'Why "perhaps"?'

'Because there could be another explanation.'

'Like what, for example?'

Wallander searched frantically for an alternative without finding one.

'I don't know,' he replied. 'I can't find another alternative. At least not right now.'

Hemberg took a wafer.

'I can't either,' he said. 'Which means that the explanation may still be in the apartment. Without us having been able to find it. If this had all stopped at the nightly visit, this case would have ended as soon as the results of the weapons examination and autopsy were in. But with this fire, we'll probably have to do another round in there.'

'Did Hålén really not have any relatives?' Wallander asked.

Hemberg pushed away his cup and got to his feet.

'Come by my office tomorrow and I'll show you the report.'

Wallander hesitated.

'I don't know when I'll get time for that. We have to do a sweep of the Malmö parks tomorrow. Drugs.'

'I'll talk to your superior officer,' Hemberg said. 'We'll work it out.'

A little after eight the following day, 7 June, Wallander was reading through all of the case material that Hemberg had collected on Hålén. It was extremely sparse. He had no fortune but also no debt. He appeared to have lived completely within the means of his pension. The only recorded relative was a sister who had died in 1967 in Katrineholm. The parents had passed away earlier.

Wallander read the report in Hemberg's office while Hemberg attended a meeting. He returned shortly after half past eight.

'Have you found anything?' he asked.

'How can a person be so alone?'

'You may ask,' Hemberg said, 'but it gives us no answers. Let's go over to the apartment.'

That morning the forensic technicians were making a thorough examination of Hålén's apartment. The man leading the work was small and thin and said almost nothing. His name was Sjunnesson; he was a legend in Swedish forensics.

'If there's anything here, he'll find it,' Hemberg said. 'Stay here and learn from him.'

Hemberg suddenly received a message and left.

'A man up in Jägersro has hanged himself in a garage,' he said when he returned.

Then he left again. When he returned, his hair had been trimmed.

At three o'clock Sjunnesson called the work to a halt.

'There's nothing here,' he said. 'No hidden money, no drugs. It's clean.'

'Then there was someone who imagined there was something here,' Hemberg said. 'And who was wrong. Now we'll close this case.'

Wallander followed Hemberg out onto the street.

'You have to know when it's time to quit,' Hemberg said. 'That may be the most important thing of all.'

Wallander went back to his apartment and called Mona. They agreed to meet later that evening and take a drive. She had borrowed a car from a friend. She would drop by and pick Wallander up at seven.

'Let's go to Helsingborg,' she suggested.

'Why?'

'Because I've never been there.'

'Me neither,' Wallander said. 'I'll be ready at seven. And then we'll go to Helsingborg.'

But Wallander never made it to Helsingborg that evening. Shortly before six o'clock the phone rang. It was Hemberg.