One Step Behind

Edengren flinched at the sound of his son's name. It was as if he had been knocked to his knees while ru

"We're pressed for time, so let me simply express my condolences for what happened. I met Isa several times and thought she was a nice young woman."

Edengren was about to say something, but Wallander pressed on. "There's a berth at the marina here in Ystad that has been rented in Isa's name."

Edengren regarded Wallander with suspicion. "That's a lie."

"No, it's quite true."

"Isa doesn't have a boat."

"That's what I thought. Do you have a berth here?"

"No, my boats are in a marina in Östergötland."

Wallander had no reason to doubt him. "We think someone else rented the berth in your daughter's name."

"Who would that be?"

"The person we believe killed your daughter."

Edengren stared at him. "Who is that?"

"His name is Åke Larstam."

There was no reaction. Edengren didn't recognise the name.

"Have you arrested him?"

"Not yet."

"Why not? You believe he killed my daughter, don't you?"

"We haven't managed to locate him. That's why we asked you to come down. We're hoping you can make our task easier."

"Who is he?"

"For security reasons I can't give you all the information right now. Let's just say he's been working as a postman for the past couple of years."

Edengren shook his head. "Is this some kind of joke? The postman killed my daughter?"

"Unfortunately it's no joke."

Edengren was about to ask him something else, but Wallander stopped him. The moment of low energy had passed.

"Did Isa have any contact with the sailing club that you know of? Did any of her friends have boats?"

Edengren's answer came as a surprise. "Not Isa, but Jörgen did. He had a sailing boat. In the summer he kept it in Gryt. He sailed all around Bärnsö. The rest of the year it was kept down here."

"But Isa never used the boat?"

"Only with her brother. They got along well together, at least most of the time."

For the first time Wallander sensed something like sorrow in his voice. There was nothing to read on the surface, but Wallander thought there was probably a volcano of feelings locked up inside his enormous body.

"How long did Jörgen sail for?"

"He started in 1992. He had a little informal sailing club with regular meetings. They had parties and sent letters back and forth in bottles. Jörgen was often the secretary. I had to show him how to write up the minutes."

"Do you still have those records?"

"I remember putting all the minutes in a box after he died. They must still be there."

I need names, Wallander thought.

"Can you think of the names of any of his friends?"

"Some, but not all."

"But the names are probably recorded in the minutes."

"Probably."

"Then I'd like you to go and get them," Wallander said. "It could be important."

Wallander offered to send a police car to Skårby, but Edengren wanted to get them himself. He turned around in the doorway.

"I don't know how I'm going to stand it," he said. "I've lost both my children. What else is there?"

He didn't wait for an answer, and Wallander would not have been able to give him one. He got up and walked to the conference room. Ebba wasn't there, and no one had seen her. Wallander called his home number. The phone rang eight times but no one answered. Ebba must be on her way back.

Edengren returned after 40 minutes, and handed Wallander a big brown envelope.

"That's all I have. I think there are eleven sets of minutes in there. They seem not to have taken it so seriously."

Wallander leafed through the papers. They were typewritten and contained a number of mistakes. He found seven names altogether, but recognised none of them. Another dead end, he thought. I'm still looking for a pattern, but Åke Larstam doesn't follow one. He went to the conference room, showed the material to Martinsson and asked him to look over the names. Wallander was about to walk out the door when Martinsson gave a yell. Wallander turned and walked back. Martinsson pointed to the name "Stefan Berg".

"Wasn't one of the postmen called Berg?"

It had slipped Wallander's mind, but he now realised that Martinsson was right.

"I'll call him," Martinsson said.

Wallander returned to Edengren. He paused before walking into the room. Was there anything else he needed to ask? He didn't think so. He pushed open the door. Edengren was standing at the window and turned when he heard Wallander come in. To his surprise, Wallander saw that his eyes were red.

"You're free to go home now," he said. "We have no reason to keep you."

Edengren looked searchingly at him. "Will you get him? The bastard who killed Isa?"

"Yes, we'll get him."

"Why did he do it?"

"We don't know."

Edengren shook his hand and Wallander followed him out to reception. Still no sign of Ebba.

"We'll stay in Sweden until after the funeral," Edengren said. "Then I don't know. Maybe we'll leave Sweden, sell the house in Skårby and in Bärnsö too. The thought of going back there is too unbearable."

Edengren left without waiting for a response. Wallander stood for a long time after he had gone. When he returned to the conference room, Martinsson was getting off the phone.

"We were right," he said. "Stefan Berg is the postman's son. He's enrolled in a college in Kentucky right now."

"Where does that lead us?"

"Nowhere, really. Berg told me everything he could, I think. He said he often talked about himself and his family when he was at work. That means Åke Larstam would have had many opportunities to hear about Stefan and the sailing club."

Wallander sat down. "But where does it really lead us? Is there anything here that can point us in the right direction?"

"It doesn't seem like it."

Wallander suddenly erupted and swept the pile of papers in front of him onto the floor.

"We're not going to find him!" he yelled. "Where the hell is he? Who the hell is the ninth victim!"

The others in the room looked at him to see if he was done. Wallander threw his arms out in apology and left the room. He started walking up and down the hall. He checked to see if Ebba had come back, but she was still gone. She probably had trouble finding a clean shirt and went to buy me a new one, he thought.

It was 3.27 p.m., and there were only eight and a half hours left for Åke Larstam to do what he had promised to do.

Wallander went back to the conference room and waited until he caught Höglund's eye. When she came over to talk to him, he told her to get Martinsson and join him in his office.

"Let's think this through together," Wallander said when they were assembled. "We still have two questions. We need to know where he is, and who he's pla

He knew that Martinsson and Höglund must have thought of this as well, but it seemed as if the full implications were only hitting them now.

"Where is he?" Wallander repeated. "What is he thinking? We found him in Svedberg's flat, which suggests he didn't think we would look for him there. But we did. Then there's his boat. But he may already assume it's too dangerous to use it. Then what will he do?"

"If his earlier crimes are anything to judge by," Martinsson said, "he'll choose a victim and a situation that poses little threat to himself. The way in which he's toying with us is different. He knows we're after him. He knows we've seen through his disguise."

"He's asking himself how we think," Höglund said.

Wallander felt that they were all thinking along the same track now. "You're Larstam," he said. "What are you thinking?"