One Step Behind

"Do you have any suggestions where we could go?"

"I never go out," Nyberg said dismissively. "At least not in Ystad."

"There's a new restaurant and bar by the main square," Wallander said. "By the antiques shop. I'll see you there."

"Do I have to wear a suit and tie?"

"I can't imagine you would," Wallander answered.

Nyberg promised to be there in half an hour. Wallander changed his shirt, then left the flat on foot. There weren't many people in the restaurant. When he asked, they told him it closed at 11 p.m. He realised he was quite hungry, flipped through the menu, and was shocked by the prices. Who could afford to eat out any more? But he wanted to treat Nyberg to something to eat.

Nyberg arrived in exactly half an hour. He was dressed in a suit and tie, and had even slicked his normally wayward hair down with water. The suit was a little old and looked too big. Nyberg sat down across from Wallander.

"I had no idea there was a restaurant here," he said.

"It opened fairly recently," Wallander answered. "Five or so years ago. Let me treat you to something."

"I'm not hungry," Nyberg said.

"Then have a starter," Wallander said

"I'll leave it up to you" Nyberg said and pushed his menu away.

They had a couple of beers while they waited for the food to arrive. Wallander told him about his conversation with Holgersson. He recounted it in detail, but he also added the things he had thought and not said.

"It doesn't sound like the kind of thing you should pay much attention to," Nyberg said when Wallander had finished. "But I understand why it upset you. Internal disputes are the last thing we need right now."

Wallander pretended to take Thurnberg's side for a moment. "Do you think maybe he's right? Should someone else take charge?"

"Who would that be?"

"Martinsson?"

Nyberg stared back at him in disbelief. "You're joking."

"What about Hansson?"

"Maybe in ten years. But this is the worst case we've ever had. That's not a good time to suddenly weaken the leadership of the investigation."

The food appeared on the table and Wallander kept talking about Thurnberg. But Nyberg gave only one-word answers and offered no further comments. At last Wallander realised he was going too far. Nyberg was right. There was nothing more to say. If necessary, Nyberg would back him up. A couple of years earlier Wallander had taken up the matter of his unreasonable workload with Holgersson, soon after she had replaced Björk as chief of police. Nyberg's situation improved after that. They had never talked about it, but Wallander was sure Nyberg knew the part he had played in the matter.

Nyberg was right. They shouldn't waste any more of their energy on Thurnberg, but save it for more pressing matters. They ordered more beers and were told it was the last round. Wallander asked Nyberg if he wanted coffee, but he declined.

"I have more than 20 cups a day," he said. "To keep my energy up. Actually, maybe just to keep going."

"Police work wouldn't be possible without coffee," Wallander said.

"No work would be possible without coffee."

They pondered the importance of coffee in silence. Some people at a nearby table got up and left.

"I don't think I've ever been involved in anything quite as strange as these murders," Nyberg said suddenly.

"Neither have I. It's senseless brutality. I can't imagine a motive."

"It could simply be for the love of killing," Nyberg said. "A killer with a lust for blood who carefully plans and arranges his crimes."

"You may be right," Wallander said. "But how did Svedberg get onto him so fast? That's what I can't understand."

"There's only one rational explanation, which is that Svedberg knew whoever it was. Or had a definite suspicion. Then the question of why he didn't want to tell anyone about this becomes crucial, perhaps the most important question of all."

"Could it be that it was someone we know?"

"Not necessarily. There's another possibility. Not that Svedberg knew who it was, or that he had definite suspicions, but that he feared it was someone he knew."

Wallander saw the logic of Nyberg's statement. To suspect someone and to fear something were not necessarily the same thing.

"That would explain the need for secrecy," Nyberg continued. "He's afraid the killer is someone he knows, but he's not sure. He wants to be convinced before he tells us about it, and he wants to be able to bury the whole thing in silence if his fears turn out to be mistaken."

Wallander watched Nyberg attentively. He was seeing a co

"Let's assume that Svedberg hears about the disappearance of the young people," he said. "Let's assume that he is driven by fear that is grounded in a reasonable suspicion. Let's even assume that he knows he's right and that he knows who is responsible for their disappearance. He doesn't even have to know they're dead."

"It isn't very likely that he knew," Nyberg said. "Since he would then have felt compelled to come clean. I can't imagine that Svedberg would have been able to carry a burden like that."

Wallander nodded. Nyberg was right.

"So he doesn't know they're dead," he said. "But he has strong fears and enough conviction to confront this particular person. Then what?"

"He's killed."

"The scene of the crime is hastily rearranged, so that our first thought was that there had been a burglary. And something's missing: the telescope. Which is then hidden in Sture Björklund's shed."

"The door," Nyberg said. "I'm convinced that the killer was let into Svedberg's flat. Or maybe even had his own set of keys."

"It must be someone he knows, someone who's been there before."

"Someone who knows he has a cousin. The killer tries to push the blame onto him, by planting the telescope at Björklund's place."

The waitress came over with the bill, but Wallander was reluctant to end their conversation.

"What's the common denominator? We really have only two people in the picture: Bror Sundelius and an unknown woman by the name of Louise."

Nyberg shook his head. "A woman didn't commit these murders," he said. "Although we said the same thing a couple of years ago and were proved wrong."

"It can hardly have been Bror Sundelius either," Wallander said. "His legs are bad. There's nothing wrong with his mind, but his health isn't the best."

"Then it's someone we still don't know about," Nyberg said. "Svedberg must have had other people he was close to."

"I'm going to go back a little," Wallander said. "Tomorrow I'm going to start searching Svedberg's life."

"That's probably the right way to do it," Nyberg agreed. "I'll check on the results of our forensic tests, especially the fingerprinting. Hopefully that'll tell us more."

"The weapons," Wallander said. "They're important."

"Wester in Ludvika is very pleasant," Nyberg said. "I'm getting full cooperation."

Wallander pulled the bill towards him. Nyberg wanted to split it with him.

"We could try to put it on the expense account," Wallander said.

"You'll never get this through," Nyberg said.

Wallander felt around for his wallet. It wasn't there. Suddenly he saw it in his mind's eye, lying on the kitchen table.

"I still want to treat you, but it seems I've left my wallet at home."

Nyberg took out his wallet and counted out 200 kronor. But the bill was almost twice that.

"There's a cashpoint around the corner," Wallander said.

"I don't use cards like that," Nyberg said firmly.

The waitress, who had turned the lights on and off several times, approached them. They were the only people left. Nyberg showed her his ID, which she regarded sceptically.

"We don't let guests have tabs here," she said.

"We're police officers," Wallander said angrily. "I just happen to have left my wallet at home."