One Step Behind

"You've described him as conscientious, helpful, careful and responsible. And introverted. Did he ever do anything that surprised you?"

Albinsson thought for a while. "He sang to himself."

"Sang?"

"Yes. He hummed melodies under his breath."

"What kinds of things?"

"Mainly hymns, I think. He would do it as he was sorting the post, or as he was walking out to his car. I don't know how to describe it. He sang in a very low voice, probably because he didn't want it to bother anyone."

"He sang hymns?"

"Or religious songs."

"Was he religious?"

"How would I know that?"

"Just answer the question."

"There's a thing called freedom of religion in this country. Åke Larstam could be a Buddhist for all I know."

"Buddhists don't go around shooting people," Wallander said sharply. "Did he have any other peculiar characteristics?"

"He washed his hands a lot."

"Anything else?"

"The only time I saw him in a bad mood was when people around him were laughing. But that seemed to pass quickly enough."

Wallander stared at Albinsson. "Can you elaborate on what you just said?"

"Not really. It's just what I told you."

"He didn't like people being happy?"

"I wouldn't say that, but he seemed to withdraw more when other people were laughing. I suppose you could call that being happy. It seemed to irritate him."

Wallander had a flashback to the crime scene at Nybrostrand. Nyberg had turned to him and said that the killer didn't seem to like happy people.

"Did he ever show any violent tendencies?"

"Never."

"Any other tendencies?"

"He had no tendencies. You hardly noticed him."

Wallander sensed there was something else that Albinsson was trying to get at. He waited.

"Maybe you could say that his strongest characteristic was the fact that he didn't seem to want to be noticed. He was the kind of person who never turns his back to a door."

"What do you mean by that?"

"That he always wanted to know who was coming and going."

Wallander thought he knew what Albinsson was saying. He looked at his watch. It was 3.41 a.m. He called Höglund.

"Are you still with Sundelius?"

"Yes."

"I'd like to see you out in the hall for a moment."

Wallander got up. "Can I go home now?" Albinsson asked. "I know my wife must be worried."

"Please feel free to call her. But you can't go home just yet."

Wallander went out into the hall and closed the door. Höglund was already waiting for him.

"What did Sundelius say?"

"He claims he doesn't know who Åke Larstam is. He keeps repeating that he and Svedberg never did anything but look at stars, and that once they went to a natural healer together. He's very upset. I don't think he's comfortable talking to a female police officer."

Wallander nodded thoughtfully. "I think we can send him home for now," he said. "He probably didn't know Larstam. I think what we have is two separate nests of secrets. We have Larstam, who eavesdropped on his victims' most intimate affairs. And we have Svedberg, who kept a part of his life secret from Sundelius."

"And what would that have been?"

"Just think about it."

"You mean there's a love triangle of sorts behind all this?"

"Not behind. In the middle of."

She nodded. "I'll send him home. When are Hansson and the others supposed to be relieved?"

Wallander realised he had already made up his mind.

"They can stay. We're going in. Åke Larstam isn't coming back tonight. He's holed up somewhere – the question is where. If we're going to find the answer, our best place to start is in his flat."

Wallander returned to the conference room while Albinsson was talking on the phone to his wife. Wallander signalled for him to finish his call.

"Have you been able to think of anything else?" he asked. "Where could Åke Larstam have gone?"

"I don't know. But that makes me think of another way to describe him."

"How?"

"That he was always trying to hide."

Wallander nodded. "I'll have someone take you home now," he said. "But give me a call if you think of anything else."

They went back into Åke Larstam's flat at 4.15 a.m. Wallander gathered everyone outside the door to the soundproofed bedroom.

"We're looking for two things," he said. "The first is where he could be hiding. Does he have a secret hiding place? How do we force him to show himself? The second is whether he is pla

He took Nyberg aside when he finished. "We need fingerprints," he said. "Thurnberg is nervous. We have to have something that places Larstam at the scene of the crime. This has to take precedence over anything else."

"I'll see what I can do," Nyberg said.

"Don't see what you can do, just do it," Wallander said.

Wallander went into the soundproofed room and sat down on the bed. Hansson appeared in the doorway, but Wallander waved him away.

Why build a soundproofed room? To keep sounds out, or to keep them in? Why, in a town like Ystad? Traffic is never that bad. His thoughts wandered. The bed was uncomfortable to sit on. He got up and looked under the sheets. There was no mattress, just the hard platform of the bedframe. He's a masochist, Wallander thought. Why? He stooped to peer under the bed. There was nothing there, not even a speck of dust. Wallander tried to summon forth the spirit of the man who lived here. Åke Larstam, 44 years of age. Born in Eskilstuna, a graduate of Chalmers. An engineer turned postal worker. You suddenly go out and kill eight people. Apart from Svedberg and the photographer, your victims were all dressed up. The photographer just happened to be in the way, and you killed Svedberg because he was on to you. His worst fears were confirmed. But the others were dressed up, and they were happy. Why did you kill them? Was it in here, in your soundproofed chamber, that you pla

Wallander didn't feel any closer to the killer's thoughts. He walked out into the living room, and looked around at all the porcelain figures. Dogs, roosters, dolls in 19th-century dress, gnomes and trolls. It's like a doll's house, Wallander thought. A doll's house inhabited by a lunatic with bad taste. He wondered why Larstam kept all these kitsch souvenirs.

Höglund came in from the kitchen and interrupted his train of thought. Wallander knew immediately that she had found something.

"I think you'd better take a look at this," she said. Wallander followed her into the kitchen. One of the drawers had been pulled out and placed on the table. At the top of a pile of papers in the drawer was a piece of mathematical paper. Something was written on it in pencil. If that was Larstam's handwriting, he wrote in an unusually spiky style. Wallander put on his glasses and read what it said.

There were only ten words, forming a macabre poem of sorts. Number 9. Wednesday 21. He giveth and He taketh away. The meaning was immediately clear to Wallander, as it must have been to Höglund.

"He's already killed eight people," Wallander said. "This is about victim number nine."

"It's the 21st today," she said. "And it's Wednesday."

"We have to find him," Wallander said, "before he gets a chance to do this."

"What about the last part? What does he mean by 'He giveth and He taketh away'?"

"It means Larstam hates happy people. He wants what they have to be taken from them."

Wallander told her what Albinsson had said.

"How do you go about locating happy people?" she asked.

"You go out and look for them."

He felt the knot in his stomach return.

"One thing is strange," she said. "This number nine sounds like a single person. But if you disregard Svedberg, he's always gone for a group of some sort in the past."