One Step Behind

"Why did the killer wait so long to kill Isa Edengren?" Martinsson asked. "He took more than a month to do it."

"We don't know why," Wallander agreed. "She wasn't particularly hard to find."

"And one more thing," Martinsson added. "Why did he dig up the bodies? Did he want them to be discovered?"

"There's no other explanation," Wallander said. "But it raises another set of questions about what motivates this killer. And in what way he and Svedberg had anything to do with each other."

Wallander sat back and looked at everyone gathered around the table.

Svedberg knew what had happened to the young people when they didn't return after Midsummer, he thought. Svedberg knew who the killer was, or at least had a very strong suspicion. That's why he was killed. There just isn't any other explanation. Which brings us to the most important question of all. Why didn't he want to tell us who the killer was?

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Shortly after 2 p.m., Wallander asked Martinsson a question regarding a call that had come in from a man who had a news-stand in Sölvesborg. This man had stopped at Hagestad's nature reserve on the afternoon of Midsummer's Eve on his way to a party in Falsterbo. He had realised he was going to be too early, and had stopped to take a break. He thought he remembered two cars parked at the entrance. But Wallander never heard what additional details the man remembered. When he finished asking Martinsson his question, he fainted.

One moment he was waving his pencil in Martinsson's direction. The next he fell back in his chair, his chin to his chest. For a split second no one knew what had happened. Then Holgersson and Höglund reacted almost simultaneously, before the others. Hansson later confessed that he had thought Wallander had had a stroke and died. What the rest of them thought, or feared, he never heard. They dragged him out of the chair and laid him out on the floor, loosened his collar, and took his pulse. Someone grabbed a phone and called an ambulance. But Wallander came to before it arrived. As they helped him to his feet, he was already thinking that his blood-sugar level must have dropped. He drank some water and took some lumps of sugar from a tray on the table. He was starting to feel his normal self again.

Everyone around him looked worried. They thought he should go down to the hospital for an examination or at the very least go home and rest. But Wallander didn't want to do either. He excused the episode as due to lack of sleep and then returned to the matter at hand with such determined energy the others had to back down.

The only one who didn't show signs of either worry or fear was Thurnberg. He hardly had any reaction at all. He stood up when Wallander was laid on the ground, but he didn't leave his place. No one really noticed a significant shift in expression either.

When they took a break Wallander went to his office and called Dr Göransson, and told him about the fainting episode. Dr Göransson did not seem surprised.

"Your blood-sugar level will continue to fluctuate," he said. "It'll take us a while to get it stabilised. We may have to reduce your medication if it keeps happening, but until then keep an apple handy in case you get dizzy."

After that day Wallander walked around with lumps of sugar in his pocket, as if he were expecting to see a horse. He didn't tell anyone about his diabetes. It was still his secret.

The meeting dragged on until 5 p.m., but by then they had managed to go through every aspect of the investigation thoroughly. There was a new infusion of energy in the room. They decided to call for reinforcements from Malmö, although Wallander knew that it was the people gathered around the table who would remain the core members of the investigative team.

Thurnberg remained behind after everyone had filed out of the room, and Wallander realised he must want to have a word with him. As he made his way to the other side of the table, he thought regretfully of Per Åkeson, who was somewhere under an African sun.

"I've been expecting a debriefing for quite a while," Thurnberg said. His voice was high-pitched and always sounded on the verge of cracking.

"We should have done this earlier, of course," Wallander said in a friendly tone. "But the direction of the investigation has shifted dramatically over the last couple of days."

Thurnberg ignored Wallander's last comment. "In the future I expect to be continuously apprised of the situation without having to ask. The justice department is naturally very interested when a police officer is killed."

Wallander felt no need to answer. He waited for him to continue.

"The investigation up to this point can hardly be called successful or even as thorough as one would hope," Thurnberg said, gesturing to a long list of points he had written on a pad of paper in front of him. Wallander felt as if he was back at school being told he had failed a test.

"If the criticisms are warranted we'll take the steps necessary to remedy the situation," he said.

He tried hard to sound calm and friendly, but he knew he would be unable to conceal his anger much longer. Who did this visiting prosecutor from Örebro think he was? How old was he? He couldn't be more than 33.

"I'll see to it that you have my list of complaints about the handling of the case on your desk tomorrow morning," Thurnberg said. "I'll be expecting a written response from you."

Wallander stared back at him quizzically. "Do you really mean you want us to waste time writing letters to each other while a killer who's committed five brutal murders is still ru

"What I mean is that the investigation so far has not been satisfactory."

Wallander hit the table with his fist and got up so violently that the chair fell to the ground. "There are no perfect investigations!" he roared. "But no one is going to accuse me or my colleagues of not having done everything that we can."

Thurnberg's expression finally changed. His face drained of all colour.

"Go ahead and send me your little note," Wallander said. "If you are right, we'll do as you say. But don't expect me to write you any letters in reply."

Wallander left the room and slammed the door shut behind him.

Höglund was on her way into her office and turned around when she heard the noise.

"What was that all about?" she asked.

"It's Thurnberg," Wallander said. "The bastard's whining about the investigation."

"Why?"

"He doesn't think we're thorough enough. How could we possibly have done more?"

"He probably just wants to show you who's boss."

"In that case he's picked the wrong man."

Wallander went into her office and sat down heavily in her visitor's chair.

"What happened in there?" she asked. "When you fainted."

"I haven't been sleeping well," he said, dodging her question. "But I feel fine now."

He got the same feeling he had when he was in Gotland with Linda. She didn't believe him either. Martinsson poked his head round the door.

"Am I interrupting anything?"

"No, it's good that you're here," Wallander said. "We should talk. Where's Hansson?"

"He's working on the cars."

"He should be here too," Wallander said. "But you'll have to fill him in later."

He gestured to Martinsson to close the door, then told them about his conversation with Sundelius, and his feeling that Svedberg might have been gay after all.

"Not that it matters one way or the other," he added. "Police officers are allowed to have whatever sexual orientation they like. The reason I'm not going public with this is that I don't want to start u