One Step Behind

"I thought this was important."

"It is, but we can't do everything at once. We have to concentrate on Nybrostrand right now. That's where we got the closest to this madman."

"So, you've changed your mind?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, now you're talking about a 'madman'."

"A murderer is always crazy. But he can also be cu

Martinsson nodded tiredly and didn't manage to stifle his yawn.

"I'm going home," he said. "Remind me why I ever became a policeman."

Wallander didn't answer. He went into his office to get his coat and remained standing in the middle of the room. What should he do now? He was too tired to think, but he was also too tired to sleep. He sat down in his chair and looked at the picture of Louise that was lying on his desk. He was struck again by the feeling that there was something strange about her face, but he still couldn't put his finger on it. In an absentminded way he picked up the photo and slipped it into his coat pocket. He closed his eyes to let them rest from the light, and fell asleep almost immediately.

He woke with a start without knowing where he was. It was just before 4 a.m. He had slept for almost an hour. His body ached, and he sat for a long time without a single thought in his head. Then he went to the men's room and splashed cold water on his face. Although he was still plagued by indecision, he knew he needed to sleep, if only for a few hours. He needed to bathe and change his clothes. Without having made a firm decision, he left the station and headed home.

But once he was in his car, he turned in the direction of Nybrostrand. There would be nobody there at 4 a.m., only the officers assigned to guard the area. Being alone at the crime scene could make it easier to see new details. It didn't take him long to get there. As he expected, there were no longer any onlookers crowded around the police barricades. One squad car, with someone sleeping behind the wheel, was parked down on the beach. Another officer was outside it, smoking a cigarette. Wallander walked over and said hello. He saw that it was the same man who had been assigned to the nature reserve that night.

"Everything looks pretty quiet," he said.

"Actually the last of the gawkers didn't leave until just a little while ago. I always wonder what they expect to see."

"They probably get a thrill from being in the presence of the unthinkable," Wallander said. "Knowing that they themselves are safe."

He crossed the police line to the crime scene. A lone spotlight was illuminating the well-trodden grass. Wallander walked over to where the photographer had stood, then slowly turned around and walked down the dune to where the hole was.

The guy with the striped towel knew everything, Wallander thought. He wasn't just well informed, he knew everything down to the last detail. It was as if he had been there when they made their plans.

Was that a possibility? If the killer was Rolf Haag's assistant, that would explain his knowledge of this photo session. But how would such an assistant know about the party in the nature reserve? And Bärnsö Island? And what about Svedberg?

Wallander dropped the thought for now, although he meant to take it up again. He walked back up the side of the dune, thinking about the motive for killing young people dressed up in costume. Svedberg was the exception, but this was easy enough to interpret. Svedberg had never been a target; he had simply come too close to the truth.

It occurred to him that Rolf Haag could be dismissed: he had simply been in the way. That left six victims. Six young people in different kinds of costume, six very happy people. He thought about Nyberg's words: seems like this madman hates happy people. So far it made some sort of sense, but it wasn't enough.

He walked up to the road where the getaway car must had been parked. Again, the killer had pla

"I'm still thinking about the gawkers," he said, throwing the butt on the ground and grinding it into the sand, where many others were already strewn about. "I guess we would be there too if we hadn't joined the force."

"Probably," Wallander said.

"You see so many strange people. Some of them pretend not to be interested, but they hang around for hours. One of the last people to leave this evening was a woman. She was already here when I arrived."

Wallander was only half-listening, but decided he may as well stay and chat while he was waiting for dawn.

"At first I thought it was someone I knew," the policeman said. "But it wasn't. I just thought I had seen her somewhere before."

It took a while for his words to sink in. Finally Wallander looked over at the policeman.

"What was that last thing you said?"

"I thought the woman hanging around here was someone I had seen before. But it wasn't."

"You thought you had seen her somewhere before?"

"I thought maybe she was someone I was related to."

"Well, which was it? Someone you thought you knew, or someone you thought you had seen before?"

"I don't know. There was something familiar about her, that's all."

It was a long shot, perhaps just grasping at straws, but Wallander hauled out the photograph of Louise that he had tucked into his coat pocket. It was still dark, but the policeman took out his torch.

"Yeah, that's her. How did you know?"

Wallander held his breath. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. I knew I had seen her somewhere before."

Wallander swore under his breath. A more attentive officer might have identified her on the spot and alerted the others. But he knew that was unfair. There were so many people coming and going. At least this policeman had noticed her.

"Show me where she was standing."

The policeman shone a torch over to a spot close to the beach.

"How long was she here?"

"Several hours."

"Was she alone?"

The policeman thought for a moment. "Yes." His tone was definite.

"And she was one of the last to leave?"

"Yes."

"Which direction did she go?"

"Towards the camping ground."

"Do you think she was staying there?"

"I didn't see exactly where she was headed, but she didn't look like a camper."

"Well, what do campers look like, in your opinion? And how was she dressed?"

"She was dressed in a blue suit of some kind, and in my experience campers tend to wear casual clothing."

"If she turns up again, let me know immediately," Wallander said. "Tell the others. Do you have this picture in the car?"

"I'll wake up my partner. He'll know."

"Don't bother."

Wallander gave him the photograph he had been holding. Then he left. It was almost 5 a.m., and he was already feeling less tired. His sense of excitement was mounting. The woman called Louise was not their lone swimmer. But she might just know who he was.