One Step Behind

"Do we have any leads whatsoever?" The question came from Thurnberg, who had appeared in the doorway.

"No," Wallander said. "We have nothing. We might as well be honest about that."

No one said anything. Wallander knew he had to counteract the sense of hopelessness that was spreading through the team. It was 5.20 a.m. Wallander suggested that they report back at 8 a.m. That would give everyone an opportunity to rest for an hour or so. They would station a couple of officers outside the block of flats, and they would also start questioning the neighbours about Larstam.

Nyberg waited until everyone except Wallander had left the room.

"He keeps a clean house," he said. "But we have fingerprints."

"Anything else?"

"Not really."

"Any weapons?"

"No, I would have already told you about something like that."

Wallander nodded. Nyberg's face was ashen with exhaustion.

"I think you were right about the killer and happy people."

"Will we find him?"

"Sooner or later. But I dread what may happen today."

"Couldn't we make some kind of a

"Saying what exactly? That people should avoid laughing today? He's already chosen his victim. It's probably someone who isn't giving a thought to the idea of being followed."

"I guess we might have a better chance of locating his hideout if we keep quiet."

"That's my thought, too. I just don't know how much time we have."

"Shouldn't we also consider the possibility that he may not have an extra flat or summer house to run to? What then? Where would he go?"

Nyberg was right. Wallander hadn't considered this possibility. The fatigue had wrung his brain dry. "What do you think?" he asked.

Nyberg shrugged. "We know he has a car. Maybe he's curled up in the back seat. It's still warm enough to sleep outside. That's another possibility. Or he may have a boat. There are a number of options."

"Too many," Wallander said. "We have no time to look for him."

"I understand the hell you're in right now," Nyberg said. "Don't think I don't."

It was rare for Nyberg to express anything remotely close to emotion. Wallander sensed his support, and for once felt somewhat less alone.

Once Wallander was out on the street, he was no longer sure what to do. He knew he needed to go home, shower, and sleep for at least half an hour. But anxiety drove him to keep going. A squad car took him back to the station. He felt queasy and thought about trying to eat something, but instead he drank some more coffee and took his medication. He sat down at his desk and started working through the file again. He saw himself back at Svedberg's flat, with Martinsson close behind. Åke Larstam was the one who had been there and killed Svedberg. Wallander still couldn't see their relationship clearly, but the photo Svedberg had was of Larstam dressed as a woman. Now he knew why the flat had looked the way it did. Larstam's greatest fear was leaving traces of himself. After shooting Svedberg, he had turned the flat upside down looking for that photograph. But Svedberg had had a secret of his own.

The team met promptly at 8 a.m. When Wallander saw the fatigue and anxiety on the faces around him, he worried that he had failed them. Not that he had led them down the wrong path, but that he hadn't led them down the right one. They were still fumbling around in a no-man's-land, not knowing which way to turn. He had one clear thought in his head.

"From now on we work together," he said. "This room will be our headquarters and our meeting place."

The others went to their offices to get the materials they needed. Only Martinsson lingered in the doorway.

"Have you slept at all?" he asked.

Wallander shook his head. "You have to," Martinsson said firmly. "We can't do this if you collapse."

"I can keep going a while longer."

"You've already crossed the line. I slept for an hour. It helped."

"I'll take a walk soon," Wallander said. "I'll go home and change my shirt."

Martinsson looked as if he was going to add something, but Wallander held his hand up to stop him. He didn't have the energy to listen. He didn't know if he was ever going to have the energy to get up from his chair again. They all filed back into the room and closed the door. Thurnberg loosened his tie and actually looked tired. Holgersson sent a message saying that she was in her office dealing with the press.

Everyone looked at Wallander.

"We have to try to understand the way he thinks," he said. "And we have to figure out where can we look for answers. We're not only going to look back through our files on this investigation; some of us will have to examine this man's past. We need to know if he has any living relatives at all, if anyone remembers him from his time at Chalmers, or his old workplace. Where did he retrain to become a postal worker? Our biggest problem is time. We have to assume that the note we found was a message to us about his intentions. Somehow we have to decide what information to look for first."

"We should find out about his parents," Höglund said. "We can only hope his mother is still alive. A mother knows her children; we've learned that lesson."

"Why don't you look into that?" Wallander said.

"One more thing," she said. "I think there's something strange about his career switch from engineer to postal worker. That needs to be explored."

"I recently heard about a bishop who started driving a taxi," Hansson said.

"This is different," she said. "I heard about that bishop, too. He was already 55 – maybe he wanted to try something completely different before he got too old. But Åke Larstam made his switch before he turned 40."

Wallander sensed that this was important. "You mean that something happened?"

"Yes, something significant had to have happened to make him change his life so completely."

"He moved, too," Thurnberg said. "That suggests that A

"I'll look into this myself," Wallander said. "I'll call that engineering firm – what was it called?"

Martinsson flipped through his papers. "Strand Consulting. He left in 1985, which means he was then 33 years old."

"We'll start there," Wallander said. "The rest of you will keep looking through the material we already have. You're trying to find out where he might be, and who his next victim is."

"What about bringing in Kjell Albinsson again?" Thurnberg asked. "He might think of something else, particularly if he participates in our discussion."

"You're right," Wallander said. "We'll bring him back. Someone also has to run Larstam's name through the database."

"His name isn't there," Martinsson said. "I've already checked."

Wallander was surprised that he had found the time to do it, but then he realised that Martinsson must have lied when he said he had slept for an hour. He had been working as hard as Wallander, but had lied out of consideration. He didn't know if he should be touched or angry. He decided against both, and pushed on.

"Get me the number of that firm."

He dialled the number that was read out to him and reached a recording stating that the number had been changed. He dialled the new number, which was in Vaxholm, an island very close to Stockholm. This time someone answered.

"Strand Consulting," a female voice said.

"My name is Kurt Wallander. I'm a detective with the criminal division in Ystad. I need some information about a former employee at your company."

"And who might that be?"

"An engineer by the name of Åke Larstam."

"There's no one here by that name."

"I know. That's what I just said. He's a former employee. Please listen."

"There's no need to take that tone with me. How do I know you're really from the police, anyway?"

Wallander was about to pull the phone out of the wall but managed to calm himself.