One Step Behind

  It was broad daylight and someone was knocking on the window. He saw Höglund's face and hauled himself out of the car. His whole body ached.

  "What time is it?"

  "It's 7 a.m."

  "Damn it, I've slept in. They have to start looking for a place to dig."

  "They've already started," she said. "That's why I came to find you. Hansson's on his way."

  They hurried up along the path. "I hate this," Wallander grumbled. "Sleeping in the back of a car, getting up unwashed and looking like hell. I'm too old for this. How am I supposed to think without even having a cup of coffee?"

  "I think we can fix that," she said. "If the station hasn't supplied us with anything, you can have some of mine. I'll even give you a sandwich."

  Wallander picked up his pace, but she still seemed to walk more quickly than he did. It annoyed him. They passed the place where he had felt as if someone was hiding in the bushes. He stopped and looked around, realising that it was the perfect lookout. Höglund looked at him expectantly, but Wallander didn't feel like explaining.

  "Do me a favour," he said. "Get Edmundsson and his dog to search this place. Have them go 20 metres into the woods on either side."

  "Why?"

  "Because I want them to. That's all the explanation I can give right now."

  "What do you want the dog to look for?"

  "I don't know. Something that shouldn't be there."

  She asked no further questions, and he already regretted not telling her more. It was too late now. They kept walking and she handed him a copy of the newspaper. It had a picture of "Louise" printed on the front page. He read the headline without stopping.

  "Who's in charge of this?" he asked.

  "Martinsson is organising and checking the leads as they come in."

  "It's important that it's done right."

  "Martinsson is very careful."

  "Not always."

  He heard how irritated and disapproving he sounded and knew there was no reason to take his tiredness out on her. But there was no one else around.

  When all this is over I'll have to speak to her, he thought helplessly.

  At that moment a jogger came towards them. Wallander reacted without a second thought by placing himself in the man's way.

  "Haven't they sealed off the area? No one should be here except the police!"

  The jogger was in his 30s and was wearing headphones. As he tried to run past, Wallander reached out to stop him. The jogger, thinking he was being attacked, hit back. He caught Wallander on the side of his jaw. Wallander was taken by surprise and collapsed. When he got his bearings, Höglund had the man pinned to the ground with his arm twisted behind his back. The headphones had fallen onto the path, and Wallander heard to his surprise that the jogger had been listening to opera. Some officers came running down to help them and handcuffed the jogger. Wallander got up gingerly and felt his jaw. It hurt, and he had bitten the inside of his mouth, but his teeth were unharmed. He looked over at the jogger.

  "The reserve has been sealed off," he said. "Did that fact escape you?"

  "Sealed off?"

  The man's surprise seemed genuine.

  "Get his name," Wallander ordered. "Make sure the barriers are up. Then take him out and let him go."

  "I'm going to report this," the jogger said angrily.

  Wallander turned away and felt the inside of his mouth with a finger. Then he slowly turned back around to face him.

  "What's your name?"

  "Hagroth."

  "What else?"

  "Nils."

  "And what is it you're going to report?"

  "Excessive force. Here I am jogging peacefully and then I'm attacked without warning."

  "You're wrong," Wallander said. "The person who was assaulted was me, not you. I'm a police officer and I was trying to stop you because you were inside a restricted area."

  The jogger began to protest but Wallander lifted his hand. "You can get a year's jail time for assault of a police officer. It's a very serious offence. You're obliged to follow police orders and you were trespassing in a restricted area. You could get three years. Don't think you'll get away with a fine and a slap on the wrist. Do you have a previous criminal record?"

  "Of course not."

  "Then we'll say three years. But if you forget about this and stay away from here I'll think about letting it drop."

  The jogger tried to protest again but once more Wallander's hand went up.

  "You have ten seconds to make up your mind."

  The jogger nodded.

  "Take off the handcuffs," Wallander ordered. "See that you get him out of here and get his address."

  Wallander continued walking up the path. His jaw hurt, but he was no longer tired.

  "He wouldn't get three years," Höglund said.

  "He doesn't know that," Wallander said. "And I don't think he's likely to go to any length to find out if it's true."

  "I thought this was exactly the kind of thing the head of the national police wants us to avoid," she said. "Shaking the people's trust in the police."

  "It'll be shaken more if we don't find whoever killed Boge, Norman and Hillström. Plus one of our colleagues."

  When they finally arrived at the crime scene, Wallander poured coffee into a Styrofoam cup and went looking for Nyberg, who was supervising preparations for the dig. Nyberg's hair was standing on end, his eyes were bloodshot, and he was in a foul mood.

  "I don't know why I'm the one who's suddenly in charge of this," he said. "Where the hell is everybody? Why is your face all bloody?"

  Wallander felt his cheek with one hand. The corner of his mouth was bleeding.

  "I got into a fight with a jogger," he said. "Hansson's on his way."

  "A fight with a jogger?"

  "It's a long story."

  Wallander filled Höglund in on their conversation about where the bodies might be buried, and put her in charge of the search. He made some rapid calculations. With Höglund and Hansson at the crime scene, there was no reason for him to stay. If Martinsson was taking care of things back at the station, that meant Wallander could turn his attention to other tasks.

  He dialled Martinsson's number. "I'm coming in," he told him. "Having Hansson and Ann-Britt here is enough."

  "Any results?"

  "It's too early for that. Have we heard anything from Lund?"

  "I can try to call now."

  "Good. Tell them it's urgent. What we really need is to establish a time of death. It would also be good to know who was killed first, if possible."

  "Why is that important?"

  "I don't know if it's important. But it's possible the killer was actually only after one of the three."

  Martinsson promised to call Lund straight away.

  Wallander put his phone back in his pocket. "I'm going back to Ystad," he told the others. "Let me know if you find anything."

  He started walking back to the car and bumped into Edmundsson and his dog along the way. Höglund must already have made the call. Edmundsson had been equally swift.

  "Did you fly him in?" Wallander asked, pointing at the dog.

  "A colleague drove him in. What was it you wanted us to do?"

  Wallander showed him the place and explained what he wanted. "If you find anything, you should let Nyberg know. When you're done, join the search up at the crime scene. They're looking for a place to start digging right now."

  Edmundsson went pale. "Are there more bodies?" he asked.

  His words jolted Wallander. He hadn't even considered this possibility, but he realised it was improbable.

  "No," he said, "we don't expect to find more bodies, just a spot where they might have been buried for a while."

  "Why would they have been buried?"

  Wallander didn't answer. Edmundsson is right, he thought. Why would the killer hide the bodies? We've raised the question and tried to answer it, but it may turn out to be more important than we thought. He got into his car.
His jaw still ached. He was about to start the engine when his phone rang. It was Martinsson.

  He's got information from Lund, Wallander thought and felt a rising excitement.

  "What did they say?"

  "Who?"

  "You haven't talked to Lund?"

  "No, I haven't had time. I've just had a call."

  Wallander could tell that Martinsson was worried, which was uncharacteristic.

  Don't let it be someone else, he thought. Not more dead bodies. Not now.

  "The hospital called," Martinsson said. "Isa Edengren has disappeared."

  It was 8.03 a.m. on Monday, 12 August.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Wallander drove straight to the hospital, much too fast. Martinsson was waiting for him when he arrived. He left the car in a no-parking zone.

  "What happened?"

  Martinsson was carrying a notebook. "No one really knows," he said. "She must have left around dawn, but no one saw her leave."

  "Did she call anyone? Did anyone come and pick her up?"

  "It's hard to get a straight answer. There are so many patients in her ward, and almost no staff on night duty. But she must have left before 6 a.m. Someone came in at 4 a.m. and saw her sleeping."

  "Which of course she wasn't," Wallander said. "She was waiting for the right moment to take off."

  "Why?"

  "I don't know."

  "Do you think she'll try to kill herself again?"

  "Possibly. But let's think this through. We tell her what happened to her friends and the next day she makes her escape. What does that mean?"

  "That she's scared."

  "Exactly. But what is she scared of?"

  There was only one place Wallander could think of to start looking for her, and that was the house outside Skårby. He wanted Martinsson with him, if only so he wouldn't have to be alone. When they arrived in Skårby, they stopped first at Lundberg's house. The man was out in the yard inspecting his tractor. He looked surprised when two cars pulled into his driveway. Wallander introduced Martinsson.

  "You called the hospital last night and were told that Isa was OK, all things considered. Sometime early this morning, between 4 a.m. and 6 a.m., she disappeared. Escaped. What time do you get up?"

  "Early. My wife and I are up by 4.30 a.m."

  "And Isa hasn't turned up?"

  "No."

  "Did you hear any cars go by early this morning?"

  The answer was very firm. "Åke Nilsson, who lives up the road, went by at about 5 a.m. He works at the slaughterhouse three days a week. But apart from him there was no one."

  Lundberg's wife appeared at the door. She had heard the last part of the conversation.

  "Isa hasn't been here," she said. "And there haven't been any cars, either."

  "Is there anywhere else she might have gone?" Martinsson asked.

  "Not that we know of."

  "If she contacts you, you'll have to let us know," Wallander said. "It's very important for us to find out where she is. Is that clear?"

  "She never calls," the woman said.

  Wallander was already on his way back to his car. They drove to the Edengrens' house. He put his hand into the drainpipe and pulled out the spare keys. Then he showed Martinsson the gazebo in the back of the house. Everything seemed as it had when he was last there. They returned to the main house and unlocked the door. The house looked even bigger from the inside. No expense had been spared on the interior decorating but the impression was chilly, like a museum. There were few traces of the inhabitants. They walked through the rooms on the first floor, then went upstairs to the bedrooms. A large model aeroplane was suspended from the ceiling of one of the bedrooms. There was a computer on a desk, and someone had thrown a sweater over it. It was probably Jörgen's room, the brother who had committed suicide. Wallander went into the bathroom and saw a plug by the mirror. Reluctantly he pointed it out to Martinsson. It was probably here that Isa's brother had died.

  "I bet that doesn't happen every day," Martinsson said. "Who kills himself with a toaster?"

  Wallander was already on his way out of the bathroom. Next door was another bedroom. When he entered he knew it was Isa's.

  "We have to search this room," he said.

  "What are we looking for?"

  "I don't know. But Isa was supposed to have been out there with them in the nature reserve. She tried to commit suicide, and now she's run away. We both think she's scared."

  Wallander sat down at her desk while Martinsson started going through the dresser and the large cupboard that took up a whole side of the room. The drawers in the desk were unlocked, which surprised him. But after going through them he realised there was no need for privacy. The drawers were almost completely empty. He frowned. Had someone emptied them? He picked up a green writing pad. Underneath it was a poorly executed watercolour. "I.E. '95" was written in the corner. The watercolour depicted a coastal landscape of sea and cliffs. He put the pad back.

  In a bookshelf next to the bed were several rows of books. He recognised some that Linda had read. He felt along the back of the shelves and found two that had fallen behind the others or were concealed. Both of them were in English. One had the title Journey to the Unknown by someone called Timothy Neil. The other was called How to Cast Yourself in the Play of Life by Rebecka Stanford. The book covers looked similar, with geometric signs, numbers, and letters that seemed to be suspended in a universe of some kind. Wallander took the books with him back to the desk. They were well-thumbed. He put on his glasses and read the blurb on the back cover of the first book. Timothy Neil discussed the importance of following the spiritual map as revealed by people's dreams. Wallander made a face and put the book down. Rebecka Stanford in turn discussed what she referred to as "chronological dissolution". Something caught his attention. There seemed to be a discussion of how groups of people could control time and move back and forth through the ages. She seemed to be arguing that this technique was useful for "self-actualisation in a time of increased meaninglessness and confusion".

  "Have you ever heard of an author by the name of Rebecka Stanford?" Wallander asked Martinsson, who was standing on a chair looking through the contents of the highest shelf in the cupboard. He got down and came over to look at the book, then shook his head.

  "It must be a young person's book. You'd better ask Linda," he said.

  Wallander nodded. Martinsson was right; he should ask Linda, who read a lot. During their holiday on Gotland he had been surprised by all the books she had brought with her. He hadn't recognised the name of even a single author.

  Martinsson returned to the cupboard, and Wallander turned to the shelf beside the bed. There were some photo albums there, which he brought back to the desk. Inside were pictures of Isa and her brother. The colours had started to fade. In one, the two of them were standing on either side of a snowman. They both held themselves stiffly, looking unhappy. After this photograph were several pages of Isa by herself. School photographs, images of Isa and her friends in Copenhagen. Then some more of her with Jörgen. Here he was older, perhaps 15, and sombre. Whether his attitude was affected or genuine, Wallander couldn't tell. The approaching suicide could be read in the pictures, Wallander thought, but did he know it himself? Isa was smiling in these pictures, while Jörgen looked miserable. Next were shots of a coastal landscape. Wallander was reminded of the watercolour painting. On one of the pictures he read "Bärnsö, 1989." Wallander kept leafing through the pages. There were no photographs of the parents, just Jörgen and Isa, her friends, and landscape shots of the same coastline and small islands.

  "Where is Bärnsö?" Wallander asked.

  "Isn't it one of the islands that gets mentioned in the marine weather report?"

  Wallander wasn't sure. He looked for a long time at a picture of Isa standing on a rock just below the waves. It almost looked like she was walking on water. Who had taken it? Martinsson suddenly whistled with surprise.

  "You'd better take a look a
t this," he said.

  Wallander got up quickly. Martinsson held a wig in his hand that looked like the ones Boge, Norman and Hillström had been wearing. There was a slip of paper attached to a strand of hair. Wallander carefully removed it. Holmsted's Costume Rental, he read. Copenhagen. There was an address and phone number. He turned the slip over and saw that the wig had been rented on 19 June, to be returned on the 28th.

  "Should we give them a call right now?" Martinsson asked.

  "Or visit them in person," Wallander said, thinking. "No, let's start by calling."

  "You'd better do it," Martinsson said. "Danes never understand my Swedish."

  "You're the one who doesn't understand them," Wallander said gently. "Since you never listen properly."

  "I'll find out where Bärnsö is. Why did you want to know that?"

  "I'm trying to figure that out myself," Wallander answered and dialled the number. A woman answered. He introduced himself and explained what he wanted to know.

  "The wig was rented by Isa Edengren, from Skårby, Sweden," he said.

  "I'll check. Just a moment," she said.

  Wallander waited. He could hear Martinsson asking someone for the number of the coast guard. The woman came back to the phone.

  "There's no record of any rentals to Isa Edengren," she said. "Not on that day nor the days before."

  "I'll give you another name to try," Wallander said.

  "I'm the only person working here right now and I have some customers. Can it wait?"

  "No. If you can't help me, I'll have to contact the Danish police."

  She made no further protests and he gave her the other names – Martin Boge, Lena Norman and Astrid Hillström. Then he waited again. Martinsson sounded irritated. He didn't seem to be getting anywhere. The woman returned.

  "Yes, that's right," she said. "Lena Norman came in and rented four wigs and some costumes on 19 June. It was all due back on 28 June but she hasn't shown up. We were just about to send off a reminder."

  "Do you remember serving her? Was she alone?"

  "My colleague was here that day. His name is Mr Sørensen."

  "Can I talk to him?"

  "He's on holiday until the end of August."

  "Where is he?"