One Step Behind

"A number of explanations are possible," Wallander said. "I doubt that Svedberg had a passion for dressing up in women's clothing, but he may very well have been homosexual without any of us knowing about it."

"One person in our investigation seems to be growing in importance," Höglund said.

Wallander knew to whom she was referring: Bror Sundelius.

"I agree," he said. "We need to maintain that end of the investigation, not as an alternative but as part of our search for the killer. We need to know more about the people involved in charges filed against Svedberg. He may very well have been the victim of blackmail or had some other reason to keep Stridh quiet."

"If Bror Sundelius has deviant tendencies then it all starts to make sense," Martinsson said.

Wallander bristled at Martinsson's words. "In this day and age, homosexuality can hardly be regarded as 'deviant'," he said. "Maybe in the 1950s, but not now. That people might still want to conceal their sexual preferences is another matter entirely."

Martinsson registered Wallander's disapproval, but said nothing.

"The question is what co

"I wonder if Louise was in the picture at that point," Höglund said.

Wallander made a face. "We have to call him something else," he said. "Louise disappeared in the lavatory of that bar back in Copenhagen. We'll confuse ourselves if we don't use another name."

"What about Louis?" Martinsson said. "That would make it easy."

They all agreed, and Louise was renamed. Now they were looking for a man called Louis. They decided that Martinsson should spend part of his time keeping an eye on Sundelius. Wallander left the room and went back to his office. He bumped into Edmundsson on his way.

"We didn't find anything in that area of the nature reserve you wanted us to search," he said. It took Wallander a moment to remember what this had been about.

"Nothing?"

"We found a wad of chewing tobacco by a tree," Edmundsson said. "That was it."

Wallander looked closely at him. "I hope you collected that wad of chewing tobacco, or at least alerted Nyberg."

Edmundsson surprised him with his answer. "Actually, I did."

"This could be more important than you realise," he said.

He kept walking towards his office. He was right. The killer had been there that night, hiding where he had the best view of their comings and goings. He had spat out a wad of chewing tobacco, just like on the beach. And later he had turned up outside the police barricades at Nybrostrand, although this time he was disguised as a woman.

He's following us, Wallander thought. He's somewhere close by, both a step ahead and a step behind. Is he trying to find out what we know? Or is he trying to prove to himself that we can't find him?

Something occurred to him and he called Martinsson. "Is there anyone who has shown an unexpected interest in our investigation?"

"You mean like a journalist?"

"Let people know to be on the lookout for someone who takes an interest in the case, something out of the ordinary. I don't think I can give you a more precise description – just someone who seems odd."

Martinsson promised to pass it on. Wallander hung up.

It was midday and he felt nauseated with hunger. He left the station and walked to a restaurant in the middle of town. He got back at 1.30 p.m., took off his coat, and looked through the brochure that he had picked up at the post office.

The first postman was called Olov Andersson. Wallander picked up the receiver and dialled his number, wondering how long he could keep going.

He returned to Ystad shortly after 11 a.m. Since he didn't want to risk ru

He walked calmly into the women's lavatory, took off his wig and tucked it inside his shirt above his belt, removed his make-up with the cream he always carried with him, and then left, timing his departure so it coincided with a man leaving the men's room. He still had the ability to escape. It had not failed him.

When he was certain that the car park wasn't under surveillance, he got into the car and drove to Ystad. Once he was back at home he'd taken a long shower and crawled into bed in the soundproofed room. There was so much he had to think through. He didn't know how that policeman Wallander had found him. He must inadvertently have left a trace of himself behind. That upset him more than it worried him. The only thing he could think of was that Svedberg had kept a photo of him in his flat after all. A photograph of Louise. He hadn't found it during his search. Nonetheless, this thought calmed him. The policeman was expecting to talk to a woman. Nothing suggested that he had seen through the disguise, although by now he might have put two and two together.

The thought of his narrow escape excited him. It spurred him on, although he now encountered a problem. He hadn't selected any more people to kill. According to his original plans, he was going to wait for a whole year before acting again. He needed to plan his next move carefully so he could outdo himself. He would wait just long enough for people to start to forget about him, and then he would show himself again.

But his recent encounter with the policeman changed everything. Now he couldn't stand the idea of waiting a whole year before striking again. He stayed in bed all afternoon, analysing his situation methodically. There were a number of courses of action to be evaluated. A few times he almost gave up.

At last he thought he had hit upon a solution. It went against the original plan, which was its biggest flaw, but he felt he had no alternative. It was also a great temptation. The more he thought about it, the more it struck him as ingenious. He would create something completely unexpected, a riddle no one would see through.

It would have to be Wallander, the policeman, and soon. Svedberg's funeral was tomorrow. He would need that day for his preparations. He smiled at the thought that Svedberg would actually come to his aid. During the funeral, the policeman's flat would be empty. Svedberg had told him on several occasions that Wallander was divorced and lived alone. He would wait no longer than Wednesday. The idea filled him with exhilaration. He would shoot him first, and then give him a disguise. A very particular disguise.