One Step Behind

"What else do you see?"

"The boy, the second from the left, is yelling something to the photographer."

"They're sitting on a blanket with food spread out, and they're dressed up. What does that mean?"

"A masquerade of some sort. A party."

"Let's assume it's a summer event of some kind," Wallander said.

"The whole picture gives the impression of warm weather. It could very well be a Midsummer's Eve party, but it can't have been taken this summer, since Norman isn't in the picture."

"And Astrid Hillström seems a little younger."

Wallander agreed. "I thought that too. The picture could be a couple of years old."

"There's nothing threatening in the photograph," she said. "At that age, they're as happy as they can be. Life seems endless, the sorrows few."

"I have such a strange feeling about this," Wallander said. "I've never been at the begi

They left the room. Höglund took the envelope with the two photographs to give to Nyberg so he could check them for fingerprints. First she would make some copies of both. Wallander went to the lavatory and then drank almost a litre of water in the canteen.

Everyone set to work on their assigned tasks. Wallander's job was to talk to Eva Hillström and Sture Björklund again. He sat down in his office and reached for the phone. He was going to start with Hillström, but he decided against phoning her first. Höglund knocked on his door and handed him some photocopies of the pictures. The picture of the young people had been enlarged so that their faces appeared as clearly as possible.

It was around midday when Wallander left the station. He heard someone say that it was about 23°C. He took off his jacket before getting into the car.

Eva Hillström lived on Körlingsväg, which was just outside Ystad's eastern border. He parked the car outside the gate and looked at the house. It was a large, turn-of-the-century villa, with a beautifully maintained garden. He walked up to the front door and rang the bell. Eva Hillström opened the door and jumped when she saw who it was.

"Nothing's happened," Wallander said quickly, anxious to stop her from imagining the worst. "I just have some more questions."

She let him into a big hall that smelled strongly of disinfectant. She was barefoot and wearing a tracksuit. Her eyes darted anxiously around the room.

"I hope I'm not intruding," Wallander said.

She mumbled something unintelligible and he followed her into a spacious living room. The art and furniture gave the impression of being valuable. There was certainly nothing wrong with the Hillströms' finances. He sat down obediently on the sofa that she indicated to him.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked.

Wallander shook his head. He was thirsty but didn't want to ask for a glass of water. She was sitting on the very edge of her seat, and Wallander had the strange impression that she was a ru

"Who is this?"

"You don't recognise her?"

"Does she have anything to do with Astrid?"

Her attitude was hostile and Wallander forced himself to sound very firm.

"It is sometimes necessary for us to ask routine questions," he said. "I just showed you a picture, and my question is, do you know who it is?"

"Who is she?"

"Just answer the question."

"I've never seen her before."

"Then we don't have to say anything more about it."

She was about to ask him something else when Wallander gave her the other picture. She looked at it quickly, then got up out of her chair and left the room, as if the starting gun had just gone off. She came back after about a minute and handed Wallander a photograph.

"Photocopies are never as good as the original," she said in response to his puzzled face.

Wallander looked down at the photo. It was the same as the photocopy, the same picture he had found in Svedberg's flat. He felt a step closer to something important.

"Tell me about this photograph," he said. "When was it taken? Who are the other people in it?"

"I don't know exactly where it is," she said. "Somewhere around Österlen, I think. Maybe at Brösarp's hill. Astrid gave it to me."

"When was it taken?"

"Last summer, in July. It was Magnus's birthday."

"Magnus?"

She pointed to the boy who was shouting at the unknown photographer. Wallander pulled out the notebook he had for once remembered to bring.

"What's his full name?"

"Magnus Holmgren. He lives in Trelleborg."

"Who are the rest?"

Wallander took down their names and where they lived. Suddenly he remembered something else.

"Who took the picture?" he asked.

"Astrid's camera had a self-timing mechanism."

"So she took it?"

"I just told you the camera had a self-timer!"

Wallander moved on.

"This is a birthday party for Magnus, but why are they dressed up?"

"That was something they did. I can't see anything strange about it."

"I don't either, I just have to ask these questions."

She lit a cigarette. Wallander felt she was on the verge of breaking down again.

"So Astrid has a lot of friends," he said.

"Not that many," Eva Hillström said. "But good ones."

She took up the photo again and pointed to the other girl.

"Isa wasn't with them this year at Midsummer," she said. "Unfortunately she fell ill."

It took a moment for her words to sink in. Then Wallander understood.

"You mean that this other girl was supposed to have been with them?"

"She fell ill."

"And so it was just the three of them? And they went ahead with the party and then took off together for a trip to Europe?"

"Yes."

Wallander looked down at his notes.

"What's her full name?"

"Isa Edengren. Her father is a businessman. They live in Skårby."

"What has she said about the trip?"

"That nothing had been decided in advance. But she's sure they've gone. They always took their passports with them on these occasions."

"Have they sent her any postcards?"

"No."

"Doesn't she think that's strange?"

"Yes."

Eva Hillström put out her cigarette.

"Something's happened," she said. "I don't know what it is, but Isa's wrong. They haven't left. They're still here."

Wallander saw that there were tears in her eyes.

"Why won't anyone listen to me?" she asked. "Only one person listened, but now he's gone too."

Wallander held his breath.

"Only one person has listened to you," he said. "Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Do you mean the police officer who visited you at the end of June?"

She looked at him with surprise. "He came many times," she said. "Not just then. During July he came every week, and a couple of times this week as well."

"Do you mean Officer Svedberg?"

"Why did he have to die?" she said. "He was the only one who listened, the only one who was as worried as I was."

Wallander was silent. Suddenly he had nothing to say.