One Step Behind

"Of course you have no way of knowing who I am," he said. "But all the same, I need information on Åke Larstam. He left the firm in 1985."

"That was before my time. You'd better speak with Persson."

"Why don't I give you my number? That way he can double-check that I'm calling from the Ystad police station."

She wrote down the number.

"This is an urgent matter. Is Persson available?"

"He's meeting with a client right now, but I'll have him call you when he's done."

"That's not soon enough," Wallander said. "He'll have to interrupt his meeting and call me back immediately."

"I'll tell him it's important, but that's all I can do."

"Then tell him this: if he doesn't return my call in three minutes, a police helicopter will be dispatched from Stockholm to bring him in for questioning."

Wallander hung up, aware that everyone was staring at him. He looked over at Thurnberg, who burst out laughing.

"I'm sorry about that," Wallander said. "I had to say something."

Thurnberg nodded. "I didn't hear you say anything."

The phone rang in less than two minutes. The man on the other end said he was Hans Persson. Wallander told him what he needed to know, without saying that Åke Larstam was wanted for murder.

"According to our information, he stopped working for you in 1985," Wallander said.

"That's right. It was in November, if I recall."

"You remember?"

"Vividly."

Wallander pushed the receiver closer to his ear.

"Why was it so memorable? What happened?"

"He was fired. He's the only engineer I've ever let go. I should explain at this point that I founded this company. There's never been a 'Strand' here, I just thought Strand sounded better than Persson."

"So you fired Åke Larstam. Why?"

"It's hard to explain, but he just didn't fit in here."

"Why not?"

"It will sound strange when I explain it."

"I'm a policeman, I'm used to strange things."

"He wasn't independent enough. He always agreed with everything, even when we knew he had a different opinion. It isn't possible to have constructive discussions with people who are only out to please others. You can't get anywhere with them."

"That's how he was?"

"Yes. It just wasn't working out. He never came up with any ideas of his own."

"How were his technical abilities?"

"Excellent. That was never the issue."

"How did he react to his termination?"

"He didn't show any emotion at all, as far as I could tell. I was expecting to keep him on for another half a year at least, but he left immediately. He walked out of my office, got his coat, and just left. He didn't even pick up the severance pay due to him. It was as if he vanished into thin air."

"Did you have any contact with him after that?"

"I tried to, but I never managed to speak with him in person."

"Did you know he went to work for the post office?"

"I heard about it. There was some paperwork that came through from the employment office."

"Did he have any close friends that you were aware of?"

"I knew nothing about his personal life. He wasn't particularly close to anyone at this office. Sometimes he looked after other people's flats when they were gone, but otherwise I think he simply kept to himself."

"Do you know if his parents were still alive, or if he had any siblings?"

"I have no idea. His life outside this office was a complete blank. That's a real problem at a small firm."

"I understand. Thanks for your help."

"You'll understand if my curiosity has been piqued," Persson said. "Can you tell me what this is about?"

"You'll hear about it soon enough," Wallander said. "I can't tell you more than that right now."

Wallander hung up abruptly. He was struck by something Persson had said, something about how Larstam looked after other people's flats when they were away on holiday. He hesitated, but decided it should be looked into.

"Has anything been done with Svedberg's flat?" he asked.

"Ylva Brink said at the funeral that she was going to empty it soon, but she hasn't started yet."

Wallander thought about the keys that were still in his desk drawer.

"Hansson," he said. "You and someone else should go down to his flat and look around. See if you can tell if anyone's been there recently. The keys are in my top drawer."

Hansson left with one of the officers from Malmö. It was just before 9 a.m. Höglund was trying to find Larstam's parents. Martinsson went back to double-check the database. Wallander went to the men's room, refusing to look at himself in the mirror. When he returned to the conference room, someone was passing around a plate of sandwiches, but he shook his head. Höglund appeared in the doorway.

"Both of his parents are dead," she said.

"Any siblings?"

"Two older sisters."

"Find them."

She left, and Wallander thought about his own sister, Kristina. How would she describe him if the police came around asking questions?

He heard someone shouting in the corridor. Wallander got up quickly as a policeman appeared in the door.

"Gunfire," he shouted. "Down at the main square."

Wallander knew what it meant. "It must be Svedberg's flat," he shouted back. "Anyone injured?"

"I don't know. But the gunfire has been confirmed."

Four cars with blaring sirens were on their way in less than a minute. Wallander sat in the back seat with his gun held tightly in his hand. Larstam was there, he thought. What had happened to Hansson and the colleague from Malmö? He feared the worst, but pushed the thought away. It was too unbearable.

Wallander was out of the car before it came to a halt. A crowd had gathered at the door to the block of flats on Lilla Norregatan. Wallander dived through the crowd at full speed, bellowing, he was later told, like a charging bull. Then he saw both Hansson and the officer from Malmö. They were unhurt.

"What happened?" Wallander yelled.

Hansson was pale and shaking. The Malmö officer was sitting on the kerb.

"He was there," Hansson said. "I had just unlocked the door and stepped inside. He appeared out of nowhere and fired his gun. Then he was gone. It was pure luck we weren't hit. We turned and ran. It was sheer luck."

Wallander didn't say anything, but he knew luck had nothing to do with it. Larstam was an excellent marksman. He could have taken out both of them if he had wanted to. But he hadn't. Someone else was marked as his victim.

The flat was now empty. The back door was ajar. A greeting, Wallander thought when he saw it. A second door left open. He's showing us how good he is at getting away.

Martinsson emerged from Svedberg's bedroom.

"He's been sleeping in there," he said. "Now at least we know how he thinks. He takes shelter in empty nests."

"We know how he thought," Wallander corrected. "He won't do the same thing twice."

"Are you sure?" Martinsson said. "He's probably trying to figure out how we think. Maybe it makes sense to leave some men here. We don't expect him to return here, so that may be exactly what he does."

"He can't read our thoughts."

"It seems to me," Martinsson said, "that he gets pretty damn close to that. He always manages to stay one step ahead of us and one step behind at the same time."

Wallander didn't reply. He was thinking the same thing.

It was 10.30 a.m. There was only one thing Wallander was sure of and that was that Larstam had not yet killed victim number nine. If he had, Hansson would have been number ten, and their colleague from Malmö number eleven.

Why is he waiting, Wallander thought. Because he has to? Is his victim out of reach, or is there another explanation? Wallander left Svedberg's flat with nothing but more questions. I might as well face it, he thought. I'm back to square one.