One Step Behind

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 Ake 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 Ake Larstam to do what he had promised to do.

Wallander went back to the conference room and waited until he caught Hoglund'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 planning to kill. Even if he's planning his deed for the stroke of midnight, we have less than nine hours to go."

He knew that Martinsson and Hoglund 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," Hoglund said.

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

"He's intending to go through with number nine. He's fairly sure we don't know who that is."

"How can he be so sure of that?"

"Because if we knew, we would have surrounded that person with police protection. He's made sure of the fact that this hasn't been done."

"We could also come to a different conclusion," Martinsson said. "He could be concentrating on finding a secure hiding place. He may not be overly concerned about getting to number nine yet."

"That may be what he wants us to think," Hoglund said.

"So we have to think differently," Wallander said. "We have to take yet another step into the unknown."

"He must have chosen the most unlikely place for us to look for him."

"In that case he should be here, in the basement of the station," Martinsson said.

Wallander nodded. "Or some symbolic equivalent to the station. What could that be?"

None of them had a suggestion.

"Does he assume we know what he looks like as a man by now?"

"He can't take any chances."

Wallander suddenly thought of something. He turned to Martinsson. "Did you ask his sister for a photograph?"

"I did, but she said the only one she had was of Larstam as a 14-year-old, and that it wasn't a very good one."

"No help there then."

"Where is Ake Larstam at this exact moment?"

No one had an answer, because there was nothing to go on. Just this strenuous speculation. Wallander felt a hint of panic. Time was ticking inexorably by.

"What about the person he's after?" Wallander said. "He's killed six young people so far, as well as an older photographer and a middle-aged policeman. I think we should discount the last two. That leaves us with six young people, killed on two separate occasions in two groups."

"Three," Hoglund objected. "He killed Isa Edengren on a separate occasion, alone on an island in the middle of nowhere."

"That tells us that he finishes what he starts," Wallander said. "He follows through, whatever it takes. Is there anything unfinished in his present situation? Or is he embarking on a new project?"

Before anyone could answer this last question, there was a knock on the door. It was Ebba. She held a shirt on a hanger in her hand.

"I'm sorry it took so long," she said. "I took the opportunity to run some other errands, and then I had a lot of trouble with the lock on your front door."

Wallander frowned. There was nothing wrong with his lock as far as he knew. Ebba must have tried the wrong key. He took the shirt and thanked her for her efforts. Then he excused himself to go and change.

"Even when you're on your way to your own execution, it feels good to be wearing a clean shirt," he said when he came back. He stuffed the stained shirt in his desk drawer. "Where were we?"

"There's no unfinished business that we can think of," Martinsson said. "No one except for Isa was also due to attend the Midsummer celebration. And only two people get married at a time."

"We have to start again," Wallander said. "The worst possible case. We have nothing to go on."

The room became silent. There seemed to be nothing else to say. Of two impossible alternatives, we have to choose the one that seems less impossible, he thought.

"We're never going to figure out where he's hiding," he said finally. "Our only choice is to focus on his potential victim. This is what we have to concentrate on from now on, before he has a chance to do his deed. Are you with me?"

Wallander knew this was still an impossible task.

"Do you think it will do any good?" Hoglund asked.

"We can't give up," Wallander replied.

They started again. It was past 4 p.m. Wallander's stomach ached from hunger and anxiety. He was so tired it was starting to feel like his natural state. He sensed the same desperate fatigue in the other two.

"In broad strokes," Wallander prompted, "what do we have? Happy people. Joyful people. What else?"

"Young people," Martinsson said.

"People in costume," Hoglund added.

"I don't think he repeats himself," Wallander said. "But we can't be sure of that. The question then is where we can find out about happy, young people in costume who are gathering for some reason today, other than for a wedding or a midnight picnic in a nature reserve."

"Perhaps someone's having a masquerade?" Martinsson suggested.

"The newspaper," Wallander said suddenly. "What's going on in Ystad tonight?"

He had hardly finished the sentence before Martinsson had rushed out of the room.

"Should we return to the conference room?" Hoglund asked.

"Not just yet. We'll go back soon enough. But I'd like to have something to bring to the table, even if it's just a red herring."

Martinsson stormed back into the office with the Ystad Allehanda in his hand. They laid it on the table and leaned over it. There was a fashion show in Skurup that immediately drew Wallander's attention.

"Models are dressed up," he said. "And we can assume they're generally feeling good about themselves."

"That's not until next Wednesday," Hoglund said. "You misread it."

They kept flipping the pages, then all three of them saw it at the same time. That evening there was going to be an event at the Continental Hotel for the "Friends of Ystad" Society. Members were asked to attend in 17th-century dress. Wallander was doubtful from the start. Something told him it wasn't right, but Martinsson and Hoglund didn't share his doubts.

"This must have been planned in advance," Martinsson said. "He's had a long time to make his preparations."

"The members of this type of society are rarely very young," Wallander said.

"The ages are often quite mixed," Hoglund said. "That's my impression, anyway."

Wallander couldn't shake off his doubts, but they didn't have anything to lose. The dinner was scheduled for 7.30 p.m. They had a couple of hours to go. Just in case, they finished looking through the paper to see if there were any other events to consider, but found nothing.

"It's up to you," Martinsson said. "Do we focus on this or not?"

"It's not my decision," Wallander said. "It's ours. And I agree with you: what do we have to lose?"

They returned to the conference room. Wallander wanted both Thurnberg and Holgersson to be present, so someone was sent to get them. While they were waiting, Martinsson was trying to find out who was responsible for arranging the party that evening.

"Call the hotel," Wallander said. "They'll know who made the reservation."

Although Martinsson was standing right next to him, Wallander heard himself raise his voice. The fatigue and tension were taking their toll.

When Thurnberg and Holgersson entered the room, Wallander made a point of closing the door, underscoring the seriousness of the moment. He described the reasoning that had led them to the conclusion that Ake Larstam was planning to strike at a party at the Continental Hotel later that evening. They could be wrong in their assumptions; it might turn out to be another dead end. But it was all they had. The alternative was simply to wait. He thought Thurnberg would have strong objections and might dismiss the plan out of hand, but to his great surprise Thurnberg approved. He used the same argument they had: what else was there to do?

At these words they were under way. It was 5.15 p.m. and they had two hours to make their preparations. Wallander took Martinsson and went down to the Continental, while Hoglund remained in the conference room. They called in reinforcments for the evening and Wallander insisted everyone be equipped with the highest level of protection. Ake Larstam was a dangerous man.

"I don't think I've ever worn a bulletproof vest," Wallander said. "Except during training exercises."

"It'll help, if he's still using his gun," Martinsson said. "The only problem is that he shoots people in the head."

Martinsson was right. Wallander made a call from the car and ordered helmets to go with the vests. They parked outside the main entrance to the hotel.

"The manager of the restaurant is called Orlovsky," Martinsson said.

"I've met him before," Wallander said.

Orlovsky had been notified of their visit and was waiting for them in the lobby. He was a tall, trim man in his 50s. Wallander decided to tell him exactly what was going on. Together they walked into the room where preparations for the evening's festivities were under way.

"We need to be as efficient as possible," Wallander said. "Could someone show Martinsson around while you and I talk?"

Orlovsky beckoned to a waiter who was setting the table. "He's been here for 20 years."

The waiter's name was Emilsson. He looked surprised at the request but obediently accompanied Martinsson out of the room. Wallander told Orlovsky enough to let him know what was going on.

"Wouldn't it be best to cancel the event altogether?" Orlovsky asked when Wallander had finished.

"Perhaps. But we won't do that unless we decide that the security of the guests will be compromised, and we're not quite there yet."

Wallander wanted to know how the guests would be seated and asked to see the seating arrangement. They were expecting 34 people. Wallander paced around the room and tried to imagine Larstam's preparations. He doesn't want to be caught, Wallander thought. He'll have his avenue of escape well prepared. I doubt he's planning to kill all 34 people, but he'll need to get close to the tables.

A thought struck him. "How many waiters will be working tonight?" he asked.

"Six altogether."

"Do you know them all personally?"

"All except one who's been hired for this evening."

"What's his name?"

Orlovsky pointed to a small, pudgy man of around 65 who was setting out the glasses.

"His name is Leijde and he's often called in to help with larger dinners. Would you like to talk to him?"

Wallander shook his head. "What about the kitchen staff? The bartender? Who's working the coat check?"

"They're all permanent employees."

"Do you have any guests staying at the hotel?"

"A couple of German families."

"Will anyone else be here tonight?"

"No, the whole dining area has been reserved for the party, although we have room for more. That leaves only the receptionist."

"Is it still Hallgren?" Wallander said. "I've met him before."

Orlovsky confirmed that Hallgren still worked there. Martinsson and the waiter Emilsson returned from the kitchen. Emilsson went back to setting the table, while Martinsson sat down to sketch an approximation of the dining area, lavatories, and kitchen with Orlovsky's help. Wallander wondered briefly if the staff should be given protective gear as well, but decided against it. It would tip Larstam off. All of a sudden Wallander had the distinct impression that he was somewhere close by, that he was surveying the comings and goings at the hotel.

Time was running out. Wallander and Martinsson returned to the station, where they were told that reinforcements were on their way. Hoglund and Holgersson had moved quickly.

Martinsson's sketch was put onto a transparency. "Here's what we're going to do," Wallander said. "At some point Larstam will try to enter the hotel. Meanwhile we have to surround the entire building, although I want our men to be invisible, hard as I know that is. Otherwise we'll scare him off."

He looked around, but no one had any comments. He continued. "If he somehow manages to break through our outer ring of officers, we'll have a team placed inside the dining room. I suggest Martinsson and Hoglund dress up as members of the waiting staff."

"With a bulletproof vest and helmet?" Martinsson said.

"No. If he enters the dining room, we have to get him at once. All exits from the dining room have to be blocked. I'm going to be circulating the entire area, since I'm the only person who can actually identify him."

Wallander paused. Before the meeting broke up he had one more thing to add.

"We can't overlook the fact that he may be dressed up as a woman. Not Louise, but someone else. We can't even know he's going to turn up for sure."

"What if he doesn't?"

"Then we go home and get a good night's sleep. That's what we need most, after all."

They took up their positions at the hotel a little after 7 p.m. Martinsson and Hoglund put on waiters' uniforms, and Wallander positioned himself behind the reception desk. He was in radio contact with eight other officers outside the building, as well as one stationed in the kitchen. He had his gun in his pocket. The guests started arriving. Hoglund was right. Many of them were quite young, as young as Isa Edengren. They were dressed up and the atmosphere was joyful. Laughter filled the lobby and dining room. Ake Larstam would have hated this display of happiness.

It was now 8 p.m. Wallander checked continually with the other officers, but no one saw anything suspicious. At 8.23 p.m. there was an alarm from Supgrand, just south of the hotel. A man had stopped on the footpath and was looking up at the hotel windows. Wallander rushed to the spot but the man was gone before he arrived. One of the police officers identified him as the owner of an Ystad shoe shop. Wallander returned to the lobby, where he heard drinking songs coming from the dining room. Someone got up and made a toast.

Still nothing happened. Martinsson showed up at the entrance to the dining room. Wallander felt the constant grip of tension. It showed no sign of letting up. There were more drinking songs, more toasts. At 10.40 p.m., the party was beginning to come to a close. Larstam hadn't showed up. We were wrong, Wallander thought. He didn't show up. Or else he saw our men.

He felt a mixture of disappointment and relief. The ninth person, whoever he was, was still alive. Tomorrow they would go through the evening's guest list one by one and try to identify the intended victim. But Larstam was still on the loose somewhere.

At 11.30 p.m. the streets were deserted once more. The guests had gone home, all the officers were back at the station. Wallander made sure that the marina and the flat on Harmonigatan would be kept under surveillance all night. He returned to the station along with Martinsson and Hoglund, but none of them had the energy to discuss what had happened. They decided to meet at 8 a.m. the next morning. Thurnberg and Holgersson agreed. They would have to figure out why Larstam hadn't shown up the next day.

"We've gained some time," Thurnberg said. "If nothing else, this manoeuvre gave us that."

Wallander went back to his office and locked his gun in one of the drawers. Then he drove back to Mariagatan. It was just before midnight when he started up the stairs to his flat.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Wallander put his key in the lock and turned it. From the back of his mind came Ebba's words about the lock having been stiff. The door was hard to open if it was locked from the other side with the key still in it, which only happened if someone was already there. Linda did this. When he came home and the lock was stiff, it was a reminder that she was staying with him.

His exhaustion was slowing down his thought processes. He unlocked the door, thinking about what Ebba had said, but now the lock was working smoothly. The reason for this dawned on him as he opened the door. He sensed more than saw the figure at the end of the hall. He threw himself to one side and felt a searing pain as something tore open his right cheek. He then flung himself down the stairs, thinking each moment was about to be his last.

Larstam.

This was not the situation Hansson and the Malmo officer had encountered earlier in the day. Nor was it the situation Ebba had been in, although Larstam must have been there when she entered the flat. I am the ninth victim, Wallander thought. He reached the bottom of the stairs, ripped open the front door, and ran. When he reached the end of the street he stopped and turned. There was no one there. The street was deserted. Blood gushed from the wound on his cheek. His whole head thudded with pain. He reached for the gun in his pocket, then remembered he had locked it in his desk. The whole time, he kept his eyes on the door to his building, waiting for Larstam to come out. He took cover in the shadows of another doorway. The only thing he could do when Larstam showed up was to keep running. Now he finally knew where he was, and this time there was no back door for Larstam to use for his escape. There was only one way out, and that was through the front door.

Wallander fumbled for his mobile phone with his bloody hands. Was it in his car? But then he remembered putting the phone down on his desk at work. He let out a stream of curses under his breath. No gun and no phone. He couldn't call anyone for help. His mind worked frantically to find a solution, but nothing came to him. How long he stood there in the shadows, his coat collar pressed against his bleeding cheek, he didn't know. He kept his eyes on the door the whole time. Every once in a while he cast a glance at the dark windows of his flat. Larstam is up there, he thought. He can see me down here, but he doesn't know I'm unarmed. After a while, when no police cars show up he'll get the picture. That's when he'll make his move.

He looked up at the sky. There was nearly a full moon, although clouds obscured it. What am I doing, he thought, and what is going through Larstam's mind? He looked at his watch. It was 12.07 a.m., on Thursday, 22 August. The fact that it was past midnight wasn't likely to help him now. Larstam had trapped him. Had he guessed Wallander and his colleagues would be distracted by the masquerade party at the hotel?

Wallander tried to work out how Larstam had broken into his flat. Suddenly he saw what must have happened, and it gave him a sense of how Larstam worked. He took advantage of opportunity. The day before, during Svedberg's funeral, every police officer in town had been at the church. That would have given Larstam plenty of time to work on the lock. Once inside, he had probably found the spare keys.

Wallander's thoughts were racing, his cheek burned, and fear still throbbed in his body. The most important question was why Larstam had chosen him as his victim, but he pushed it aside for the time being.

I have to do something, he thought. Without merely attracting enough attention for someone to call the police. If they do, I won't have a chance to explain to the patrol officers the situation they're heading into. Chaos will result.

He heard footsteps. A man came around the corner and walked straight towards Wallander, who emerged from his shadowy doorway. He was youngish, probably in his 30s. His hands were pushed deep into the pockets of his suede jacket. When he saw Wallander, he pulled them out with a start and took a step back, looking frightened.

"I'm a police officer," Wallander said. "There's been an accident. I need your help."

The man looked at him, uncomprehending.

"Don't you understand what I'm saying? I'm a police officer and I need you to contact the station. Tell them Larstam is in Wallander's flat on Mariagatan. Tell them to be careful. Understood?"

The man shook his head, then said something in a foreign language. It sounded like Polish. Oh, hell, Wallander thought. That's just my luck. He tried his speech in English, but the man said only a few broken words in reply. Wallander, about to lose his patience, moved closer to the man and raised his voice, and the man fled.

Wallander was alone again. Larstam was still up there behind the dark windows, and soon, very soon, he would guess why no one was showing up. Then Wallander's only option would be to run. He tried to gather his thoughts. There had to be something he could do. He lifted his hand as if signalling to someone across the street. He pointed up to his flat and yelled a few words. Then he walked around the corner, out of sight of the dark windows where he presumed Larstam was standing. He can't know there's no one there, Wallander thought. Maybe it'll buy me some time, although there's also a chance he'll just take off.

Then something he hadn't even been hoping for happened. A car turned onto the street. Wallander jumped out in front of it, waving his arms. The driver seemed reluctant to have anything to do with him, especially after he saw Wallander's bloody face. But Wallander thrust his hand in through the half-open window and opened the door. A man in his 50s was driving the car, a much younger woman at his side. Wallander immediately had a bad feeling about them, but pushed these thoughts aside.

"I'm a police officer," he said. "There's been an accident and I need to use your phone." He managed to get his police badge out to show them.

"I don't have a phone."

Doesn't everybody have mobile phones these days? Wallander thought desperately. "What's happened?" the man asked anxiously.

"Never mind that. I need you to drive straight down to the police station. Do you know where that is?"

"No, I'm not from around here," the man said.

"I know where it is," the woman said.

"Just go there and tell them that Larstam is in Wallander's flat. Can you repeat that for me?"

The man nodded. "Larstam is in Wallgren's flat."

"It's Wallander, damn it."

"Larstam is in Wallander's flat."

"Tell them Wallander needs assistance, but that they must approach carefully."

The man repeated his words, then they drove off. Wallander hurried back to the corner of Mariagatan and surveyed the scene. He couldn't have been gone more than a minute, hardly enough time for Larstam to get away. Wallander looked down at his watch. It would take ten minutes at most for the first police car to arrive. How long was Larstam planning to wait?

A quarter of an hour went by with no sign of the police. Wallander finally realised the couple had lied. They had no intention of delivering his message. That put him back where he had started. He was trying to think of another solution when he heard a noise.

It was the sound of a car engine and it came from the back of the building. Without being able to explain why, he immediately knew it was Larstam. How had he escaped without being seen? He must have gone over the roof. There was a window leading to the roof in the stairwell just above his flat. Larstam must have seen it and climbed down to street level from the back of the house.

Wallander made it to the end of the street in time to see a red car flash by. He didn't catch a glimpse of the driver but he knew it was Larstam. Without a second thought, he jumped into his own car and took up the chase. He soon had Larstam's rear lights in view. He knows I'm after him, Wallander thought. But he doesn't know I'm unarmed.

They turned onto Highway 19 in the direction of Kristianstad. Larstam drove very fast. Wallander looked down at his fuel indicator and saw it was approaching the red strip just before "empty". He tried to think where Larstam could be headed. He was probably simply driving aimlessly. They drove through Stora Herrestad. There was almost no traffic. Wallander had passed only two cars going in the opposite direction.

What do I do if Larstam suddenly stops his car? he thought. What if he gets out holding his gun? He had to be ready to stop if need be. Larstam suddenly increased his speed. They were at a section of the highway where there were a number of tight bends in the road. Wallander started losing sight of Larstam's car, and tried to steel himself for the possibility that Larstam was stopped around the next bend, ready to take aim at him as he appeared. He tried to think of what he should do. He was alone. No one knew where he was; he wasn't going to be able to tell anyone to send him the help he needed.

Then he caught sight of Larstam's car again. It was making the turn into Fyledalen, and Larstam had turned off his headlights. Wallander slammed on the brakes and approached the turn-off carefully. The moon appeared through the clouds from time to time, but otherwise it was pitch black outside. Wallander parked by the side of the road and turned off his own lights. There was no sound. Larstam must have parked his car as well. Wallander headed out into the darkness, tucking his white shirt collar inside his dark blue jacket. He brushed his cheek, which started bleeding again. Wallander clambered down through a ditch and reached a meadow. His foot came down on something that made a sudden crunching noise. He swore silently and crept away from the spot. I'm not the only one listening for sounds, he thought.

He continued carefully towards some bushes, where he paused. If he was right, he was now straight across from the road leading into the nature reserve. When he shifted his foot, he came up against another object. He put down his hand and realised it was a broken-off piece of timber. He picked it up.

I'm turning into a man from the Stone Age, he thought. The Swedish Police Force has started incorporating wooden planks in their armoury. Is this the truth about the way things are going in Sweden? A return to the age-old laws of revenge and retaliation that justify the taking of blood?

Now the moon emerged from behind the clouds. Wallander crouched down, smelling the earth and clay. He saw Larstam's car. It was parked just a little way in from the main highway. There was no movement around it. Wallander scoured the area, but the clouds came back and darkness returned.

Larstam must have left the car, he thought. But what is he planning? He knows that I'm still pursuing him. He probably still thinks I'm armed, but he must also know by now that I've failed to establish contact, and that we're completely alone out here in Fyledalen. Two armed men.

Wallander tried to work out what his options were, while straining to hear any sound. Several times he felt an unpleasant puff of chilly air on the back of his neck that made him think Larstam was right next to him, the gun pointed at his head. The gun that had already been fired once at his forehead. Wallander never heard the gun go off - all he had felt was the pain and something cutting open his cheek. Larstam had used a silencer.

How was his mind working right now? He couldn't have anticipated this chase, and so he couldn't have planned his escape route. Wallander sensed that Larstam was as confused as he was. He couldn't remain in the car, he didn't know whether he was staying close to it or whether he was proceeding deeper into the nature reserve. He can hardly see in this darkness either, Wallander thought. We're in the same boat.

Wallander decided to cross the street and approach the car from the side. The moon was still completely covered, so he ran in a crouched position across the road and plunged into some bushes on the other side. Larstam's car was now only 20 metres away. He listened, but there were no sounds. He held the plank firmly in his hands. That's when he heard it. A twig snapped somewhere in front of him. Wallander pressed closer into the bushes, then heard the sound again, fainter this time. Larstam was moving away from the car in the direction of the valley. Larstam must have been biding his time, just like Wallander. But now he had started moving. If Wallander hadn't crossed the road when he did, he would never have heard the faint sounds.

I finally have the advantage, he thought. I can hear you, but you have no idea I'm close by. There was another crunching noise. Larstam must have brushed up against a tree. The sounds were getting further and further away. Wallander slid out from behind the bushes and started walking along the road. He stayed in a crouch the whole time, and kept close to the undergrowth along the side of the road. After every fifth step he stopped and listened. When he had gone about 50 metres he stopped for 5 minutes or so. An owl hooted nearby. There was no further sound of Larstam moving. Had he stopped as well, or was he somewhere up ahead, out of earshot? Wallander's fear returned. Was he walking into a trap? Had Larstam snapped those branches knowingly, to attract Wallander's attention? His heart thudded loudly in his chest. Larstam and his gun must be somewhere close by.

Wallander glanced up at the sky. A break in the clouds was approaching. Soon the moon would be out, and he couldn't stay where he was when that happened. If Larstam was springing a trap, he had to be somewhere just up ahead. Wallander crossed to the other side of the road and moved up a small incline. There he positioned himself behind a tree and waited.

The moon came out. Suddenly the landscape was awash in blue. Wallander stared at the road in front of him, but saw nothing. The bushes were thinning ahead, and he was approaching a rolling hillside. At the top of the hill was a single tree.

The moon was swallowed up by the clouds. Wallander thought about the tree at the crime scene in the nature reserve. He was sure Larstam had used it as his hiding place. He's like a cat, Wallander thought. He seeks out lofty and secluded places in order to maintain his sense of control.

He was convinced that Larstam was hidden behind that tree on the hill. There was no reason for him not to keep going until he killed Wallander, both to secure his escape and because he had singled him out as an intended victim. This was Wallander's only opportunity. Larstam's attention would be on the road. That's where he thought Wallander would be coming from.

Wallander knew what he had to do. He had to make a long detour down along the road, across to the left side of the hill and then up to some point right behind the tree from the back. What he would do then he didn't know, nor did he care to think about it just now.

He proceeded in three phases. First he walked back down along the road. Then he crept up the hillside, very slowly so he wouldn't attract any attention. Then he walked up, parallel to the road. He stopped. The clouds blocking the moon became thicker, and he had trouble seeing where he was. It was 2.06 a.m.

The moon didn't shine again until 2.27 a.m. It was enough to show Wallander that he was positioned some distance below the tree. He couldn't tell if there was a person behind it or not. He was too far away, and there was thick brush in the way. But he tried to memorise the terrain between him and the tree.

The moon disappeared. The owl hooted more distantly. Wallander tried to reason with himself. Larstam doesn't think I'll be creeping up on him from behind, he thought. But I can't underestimate him, either. Larstam will be ready for me wherever I come from.

Wallander started making his approach. He went very slowly, like a blind person fumbling in the darkness. Sweat poured from his body and his heart was beating so hard he thought it was loud enough for Larstam to hear. At last he reached an area of thick brush that he knew was 20 or 30 metres away from the tree.

It took almost 20 minutes for the moon to come out again, but when it did he finally saw him. Larstam. He was leaning up against the tree trunk, and seemed completely absorbed in watching the road. Wallander could see both his hands. The gun must be tucked in his pocket. It would take him a few seconds to get it out and turn around. That's all the time Wallander had. He tried to estimate the exact distance to the tree, searching out every possible obstacle in his path. He couldn't see one. He looked up at the sky and saw that the moon was about to go behind a cloud again. If he was to have any hope of reaching Larstam he would have to make his approach at the very moment the moon disappeared. He clenched the plank in his hands.

This is insanity, he thought. I'm doing something I know I shouldn't do. But I have to do it.

The moonlight was fading now. He slowly rose to his feet. Larstam hadn't moved. At the moment the light disappeared, he sprang up. Somewhere deep inside he felt the desire to utter a war cry. It would maybe give him a couple of extra seconds, if it scared Larstam. But no one knew how that man was likely to react. No one.

Wallander leaped forward and dashed at the tree. He was nearly there and Larstam hadn't turned around. There was almost no light. Then his foot hit a rock or root. He lost his balance and pitched forward at Larstam's feet just as he turned around. Wallander grabbed his leg, but Larstam grunted and pulled away. As he tried to get his gun out, Wallander rushed him again. With the first swing of his plank, he hit only the tree behind Larstam. There was a splintering sound. He aimed what remained of the plank at Larstam's chest, then threw a punch. He didn't even know where the sudden surge of strength came from, but with sheer luck he hit Larstam right on the jaw. It gave way with a wet, unpleasant sound and Larstam slumped down. Wallander threw himself on top of him and hit him again and again, before he realised that the man under him was unconscious. Then he reached for Larstam's gun, the one that had killed so many people. For a split second he wanted to place it against Larstam's forehead and pull the trigger. But he restrained himself.

He dragged Larstam down along the road. He was still unconscious, and it was only once they had reached Wallander's car that he started making low moans. Wallander got a length of rope out of the back of the car and tied his arms together behind his back, then tied him securely to the front seat. Wallander got in behind the wheel and looked over at Larstam.

Suddenly it seemed to him that the person in the other seat was Louise.

Wallander arrived at the station at 3.45 a.m. When he got out of the car, it was starting to rain. He let the drops run down his face before he went in to speak to the officer on duty. To his surprise he saw that it was Edmundsson. He was drinking a cup of coffee and eating a sandwich. Edmundsson flinched at the sight of Wallander's face. His clothes were muddy and covered with twigs and leaves.

"What's wrong?"

"No questions," Wallander said firmly. "There's a man tied to the front seat of my car. Get someone to go with you and bring him in. Make sure he's handcuffed."

"Who is it?"

"Ake Larstam."

Edmundsson stood up, his sandwich still in his hand. It looked like ham and cheese. Without thinking twice, Wallander took it out of his hand and started eating it. It made his cheek hurt, but his hunger won out.

"You mean to say the killer is tied up in your car?"

"You heard what I said. Put some handcuffs on him, take him to a room, and lock the door. What's Thurnberg's number?"

Edmundsson quickly brought it up on his computer and then left. Wallander finished the sandwich, chewing slowly. There was no reason to hurry any more. He dialled Thurnberg's number. After a long time a woman answered. Wallander told her who he was, and Thurnberg came on the line.

"It's Wallander. I think you should come down here."

"What for? What time is it?"

"I don't care what time it is, you have to come down here and make the formal arrest of Ake Larstam."

Wallander heard Thurnberg catch his breath. "Can you repeat that?"

"I have Larstam."

"How in God's name did you do that?"

It was the first time Wallander had heard Thurnberg caught completely off guard.

"I found him out in the woods."

Thurnberg seemed finally to have understood that he was in earnest. "I'll be right there."

Edmundsson and another officer walked by with Larstam between them. Wallander met his gaze. Neither of them spoke. Wallander walked to the conference room and laid Larstam's gun on the table.

Thurnberg arrived quickly. He too flinched at the sight of Wallander, who still hadn't been to the men's room to check his appearance, although he had managed to find some painkillers in a desk drawer. He also found his mobile phone, which he threw into the rubbish in a sudden rage.

Wallander told Thurnberg what had happened as succinctly as possible. He pointed to Larstam's gun. As if to mark the solemnity of the moment, Thurnberg fished a tie out of his pocket and put it on.

"So you got him. Not bad."

"Oh, it was bad all right," Wallander said. "But we can go into that another time."

"Maybe we should call the others and let them know," Thurnberg said.

"What for? Why not let them sleep for once?"

Thurnberg dropped the suggestion. He left to go and see Larstam. Wallander got heavily to his feet and walked to the men's room. The cut in his cheek was deep and probably needed stitches, but the thought of dragging himself to the hospital made him weak. It would have to wait. It was now 5.30 a.m. He went to his office and closed the door behind him.

Martinsson was the first to arrive the next morning. He had slept badly and anxiety had forced him to come into the station. Thurnberg was still there and told him the news. Martinsson then called Hoglund, Nyberg and Hansson in quick succession. Shortly afterwards Holgersson arrived. It was only when they had all gathered at the station that someone asked where Wallander was. Thurnberg told them he had disappeared. They assumed he had gone to the hospital to have his cheek looked at.

At 8.30 a.m. Martinsson called Wallander at home but there was no answer. That was when Hoglund wondered whether he was in his office. They went there together. The door was closed. Martinsson knocked gently. When there was no answer, they pushed open the door. Wallander was stretched out on the floor, the phone book and his jacket tucked under his head for a pillow. He was snoring.

Hoglund and Martinsson looked at each other. Then they pulled the door shut and let him rest.

EPILOGUE

On Friday, 25 October, rain fell steadily over Ystad. When Wallander stepped out onto the footpath on Mariagatan shortly after 8 a.m., it was 7degC. Although he was trying to walk to work as often as possible, this time he took the car. He had been on sick leave for two weeks, and Dr Goransson had just ordered him to remain off duty for one more. His blood-sugar levels were much lower, but his blood pressure remained high.

He wasn't driving to the station this morning in order to work. He had an important meeting to attend, one that he had agreed to during those chaotic August days when they were still searching blindly for the man who had carried out the most appalling series of murders they had ever investigated.

Wallander could still recall the particular moment quite clearly. Martinsson had come to his office, and at the end of their conversation he had told him that his 11-year-old son was thinking of becoming a police officer. Martinsson had complained that he didn't know what to say to his son, and Wallander promised to speak to him once the investigation was over. Now the time had finally come. He had even promised to let the boy, David, try on his his policeman's cap, and had spent the entire evening looking for it.

Wallander parked the car and hurried into the building, hunching his shoulders against the rain and wind. Ebba had a cold. She warned him to keep his distance and blew her nose. Wallander thought about the fact that she wouldn't be working there in a little less than a year.

David was due at 8.45 a.m. While he was waiting, Wallander cleaned up his desk. In a few hours he was leaving Ystad. He still wasn't sure if this was the right decision or not, but he looked forward to the prospect of driving his car through the autumn landscape, listening to opera.

David was punctual. Ebba showed him to Wallander's office.

"You have a visitor," she said smiling.

"A VIP by the looks of it," Wallander said.

He looked like his father. There was something introverted about him, something that Wallander noticed in Martinsson as well. Wallander put his policeman's cap on the table.

"What should we start with?" he asked. "Your questions or the cap?"

"The questions."

David took a piece of paper out of his pocket. He was well prepared. "Why did you become a policeman?"

The simple question threw Wallander. He was forced to think for a minute, since he had already decided to take the meeting seriously. He wanted to make his answers honest and thoughtful.

"I think I believed I would make a good policeman."

"Aren't all policemen good?"

This was not a question written on the sheet.

"Most of them, but not all. In the way that not all teachers are good."

"What did your parents say about you becoming a policeman?"

"My mother didn't say anything. She died before I had made up my mind."

"What about your dad?"

"He was against it. He was so much against it, in fact, that we almost stopped talking to each other."

"Why?"

"I don't even really know. That may sound strange, but it's the way it was."

"You must have asked him why."

"I never got a good answer."

"Is he dead?"

"He died not so long ago. So now I can't ask him any more, even if I wanted to."

Wallander's answer seemed to worry David. He hesitated over his next question.

"Have you ever regretted becoming a policeman?"

"Many times. I think everyone does."

"Why?"

"Because you have to see so much suffering. You feel helpless, and you wonder how you're going to hold out until your retirement."

"Don't you ever feel that you're helping people?"

"Sometimes, but not always."

"Do you think I should become a policeman?"

"I think you should take your time to make a decision. I think you have to be 17 or 18 years old before you really know what you want to do."

"I'm going to be either a policeman or a road construction worker."

"Road construction?"

"Helping people get around is also good."

Wallander nodded. This was a thoughtful child.

"I only have one question left," David said. "Are you ever scared?"

"Yes."

"What do you do then?"

"I don't know. I end up sleeping badly. I try to think of other things, if I can."

The boy put the piece of paper back in his pocket and looked at the cap. Wallander pushed it towards him and he tried it on. Wallander gave him a mirror. The cap was so large it fell down over his ears.

Wallander accompanied him out to the reception area. "Feel free to come back and see me again if you have more questions."

He watched the boy walk out into the blustery cold. Then he returned to his office in order to finish cleaning it out, although his desire to leave the station was growing. Hoglund appeared in the doorway.

"I thought you were on sick leave."

"I am."

"How was your meeting? Martinsson told me about it."

"David is a smart boy. I tried to answer his questions as honestly as possible, but I think his dad could have done as well."

"Do you have time to talk?"

"A little. I'm about to leave town for a couple of days."

She closed the door and sat down in the chair across from his desk.

"I don't know why I'm telling you this," she said. "I want you to keep it to yourself for the time being."

She's quitting, Wallander thought. She can't take it any more.

"Promise?"

"I promise."

"Sometimes it's such a relief just to tell one other person."

"I'm the same."

"I'm getting a divorce," she said. "We've finally agreed on it, if you can call it that when there are two young children involved."

Wallander wasn't surprised. She had indicated that they were having serious problems early in the summer.

"I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. I just wanted you to know."

"I've gone through a divorce myself," he said. "Or was divorced. I know what hell it can be."

"But you've done so well."

"Have I? I would tend to say the opposite."

"In that case you hide it well."

The rain outside was falling harder.

"There was one other thing I wanted to tell you," she said. "Larstam is writing a book."

"A book?"

"About the murders. About what it felt like to do it."

"How do you know that?"

"I saw it in the papers."

Wallander was upset. "Who's paying him?"

"Some publishers. They're keeping the advance a secret, but I think we can safely assume it's quite large. I'm sure a mass murderer's memoirs will be a bestseller."

Wallander shook his head angrily. "It makes me sick."

She got to her feet. "I just wanted you to know."

She turned when she reached the doorway. "Have a nice trip," she said. "Wherever you're going."

She disappeared. Wallander thought about what she had told him, about her divorce and the book. They had caught Larstam before he had managed to kill his ninth victim. Afterwards everyone who came into contact with him was struck by his gentle and reserved manner. They were expecting a monster, but this wasn't someone Sture Bjorklund would have been able to copy for a horror film. Wallander sometimes thought Larstam seemed like the most normal person he had ever met.

He had spent many days interrogating him. It struck him repeatedly that Ake Larstam wasn't just an enigma to the world around him but also to himself. He seemed to answer Wallander's questions honestly, but his answers shed no light.

"Why did you kill the young people celebrating Midsummer in the nature reserve?" Wallander had asked him. "You opened their letters, you followed their preparations for the party, and you shot them. Why?"

"Is there a better way for life to end?"

"Was that why you killed them? Because you thought you were doing them a favour?"

"I think so."

"Think? You must know why you did it."

"It's possible to plan things and still not be sure why you do them."

"You travelled all around Europe and sent postcards in their names. You hid their cars and buried their bodies. Why?"

"I didn't want them to be found."

"But you buried them in a way that gave you the option of disinterring them again."

"I wanted to have that option, yes."

"Why?"

"I don't know, to make my presence known perhaps. I don't know."

"You took the trouble of following Isa Edengren to Barnso and killing her there. Why not let her live?"

"You should finish what you start."

Sometimes Wallander had to leave the room, knowing he was in fact talking to a monster and not a human being, despite the smiling and gentle exterior. But he always returned, determined to cover all the aspects of the case, from the newly-weds whose joy Larstam had been unable to tolerate, to Svedberg.

Svedberg. They discussed their long and complicated love affair. Bror Sundelius hadn't known that Svedberg was betraying him with another man. Nils Stridh found out and threatened to talk. They talked about Svedberg's growing fears that the man he had loved in secret for ten years was somehow connected with the disappearance of the young people.

Wallander never felt satisfied with the answers he received. There was something absentminded about Larstam's way of speaking. He was always polite, always apologetic when he couldn't recall an event to his satisfaction. But there was a space within him that he never managed to penetrate. Wallander never fully understood the relationship between Larstam and Svedberg.

"What happened that morning?" he asked.

"Which morning?"

"When you shot Svedberg."

"I had to kill him."

"Why?"

"He accused me of being involved with the disappearance of those young people."

"They didn't just disappear, they were killed. How did Svedberg start to suspect your involvement in this?"

"I talked to him about it."

"You told him what you had done?"

"No, but I told him about my dreams."

"Which dreams?"

"That I got people to stop laughing."

"Why didn't you want people to laugh?"

"Happiness always turns into its opposite sooner or later. I wanted to spare him this fate. So I told him about my dreams."

"Your dreams of killing people who were happy?"

"Yes."

"So he started to suspect you?"

"I didn't realise it until a few days before."

"Before what?"

"Before I shot him."

"What happened?"

"He was starting to ask questions. It was almost like he was interrogating me. It made me nervous. I didn't like feeling nervous."

"So then you just went over to his place and shot him?"

"At first I was planning to ask him to stop making me so nervous, but he kept asking his questions. That's when I realised I had to do it. I went out into the hall and got my shotgun. I had brought it with me just in case. I got it out and I shot him."

Wallander didn't say anything for a long time. He tried to imagine what Svedberg's last moments had been like. Did he have time to see what was coming? Or did it all happen too fast?

"That must have been very hard for you," he said finally. "To be forced to kill the person you loved."

Larstam stared back at him without answering, devoid of any expression. Even when Wallander asked the question a second time, there was no answer. He finally brought up the evening when Larstam ambushed him in his flat on Mariagatan.

"Why did you choose me to be your ninth victim?"

"I didn't have anyone else."

"What do you mean?"

"I was going to wait, maybe a year, maybe longer. But then I felt the need to keep going since things had turned out so well."

"But I'm not a happy person. I don't laugh a lot."

"You had a job and a reason to get up every morning. I had seen pictures of you in the papers where you were smiling."

"But I wasn't dressed up. I wasn't even wearing my uniform that day."

Larstam's answer came as a surprise. "I was planning to give you one."

"Give me what?"

"A costume, a disguise. I was planning to put my wig on you and try to make your face look like Louise. I didn't need her any more. She could die. I had decided to make myself into another woman."

Larstam looked him right in the eye and Wallander returned his gaze. He was never sure afterwards what it was he had seen there. But he knew he would never forget it.

There came a time when he had no more questions. Wallander arrived at an understanding of a man who was crazy, who never fitted in anywhere, and who finally exploded in uncontrollable violence. The psychological examination corroborated this picture. Larstam had been constantly threatened and intimidated as a child and had concentrated on mastering the ability to hide and get away. He had lacked the resources to deal with his termination from the engineering firm and had come to believe that all smiling people were evil.

It occurred to Wallander that there was a frightening social dimension to all of this. More and more people were being judged useless and were being flung to the margins of society, where they were destined to look back enviously at the few who still had reasons to be happy. He was reminded of a conversation he and Hoglund had once begun but never had the chance to finish. They were debating whether or not the decline of Swedish society was more advanced than people generally admitted. Irrational violence was almost an accepted part of daily life these days. It gave him the feeling that they were already one step behind, and for the very first time in his life Wallander wondered if a complete collapse of the Swedish state was a real possibility. Bosnia had always seemed so far away, he thought. But maybe it was closer than they realised. Thoughts like these kept returning to him during the long sessions with Larstam, who maybe wasn't as much of a riddle as he should have been. Maybe Larstam's breakdown could be tied to the breakdown of society itself. There was nothing more to say. Wallander declared himself finished; Larstam was taken away and that was that.

A few days later, Eva Hillstrom committed suicide. Hoglund was the one who told Wallander. He listened to the news in silence, left the station, bought a bottle of whisky, and drank himself into a stupor. He never spoke about it afterwards, but he always thought of her as Larstam's ninth victim.

He turned into the roadside restaurant outside Vastervik around 2 p.m. He knew it was closed in the winter, but he still hoped she would be there. That autumn there had been many times when he wanted to call her, but he never had. He didn't know what he wanted to say to her. He got out of the car. The blustery weather seemed to have followed him from Skane. Autumn leaves clung damply to the ground. The building looked deserted. He walked around the back to the room where he had slept on his return from Barnso. It had been only a few months ago but it already felt unreal.

The sight of the deserted building made him feel uneasy. He returned to his car and continued his journey. In Valdemarsvik he stopped and bought a bottle of whisky, then had a cup of coffee and some sandwiches in a cafe. He told them not to butter the bread.

It was 5 p.m. and already dark when he started down the winding road along the Valdemarsvik bay towards Gryt and Fyrudden. Lennart Westin had called him out of the blue one afternoon at the beginning of September, after the Larstam case had ended. Wallander had been interviewing a young man who had assaulted his father. It was slow going and Wallander wasn't getting anywhere with him. Finally he gave up and handed the matter over to Hansson.

When he got back to his office, the phone rang. It was Westin. He asked him when Wallander was planning to come to see him. Wallander had forgotten all about the standing invitation and an earlier phone call when he had actually agreed to visit, thinking nothing would ever come of it. They decided on a date in October, Westin had called him a few weeks later to confirm it, and now here he was on his way.

They agreed to meet in Fyrudden at 6 p.m. Westin would pick him up in his boat. Wallander was going to stay until Sunday. Wallander was grateful for the invitation, of course, but it also made him nervous. He almost never socialised with people he didn't know. The autumn had been marred by health concerns. He constantly worried about having a stroke, although Dr Goransson tried to reassure him. His blood-sugar levels had stabilised and he was losing weight and had adopted a healthy diet. But Wallander felt it was already too late. Although he hadn't even turned 50 yet, he felt like he was living on borrowed time.

When he swung down towards Fyrudden harbour it was raining harder than before. He parked the car in the same spot he had used that summer, turned off the engine and heard the waves smack against the pier. Shortly before 6 p.m. he saw the lights from an approaching boat. It was Westin.

Wallander got out of his car, grabbed his bag, and headed over. Westin popped his head out of the wheelhouse. He smiled.

"Welcome!" Westin yelled, trying to make himself heard above the wind. "I'm taking you back right away. Dinner's ready."

He took Wallander's bag while Wallander climbed aboard unsteadily. He was freezing. It was rapidly getting much colder.

"So you finally made it up here," Westin said when Wallander entered the wheelhouse.

At that moment Wallander no longer felt hesitant. He was glad to be there. Westin swung the boat around and Wallander grabbed at the side to keep his balance. When they made their way out of the harbour, he felt the hold of the waves on the boat getting stronger.

"Do you get seasick or nervous in this kind of weather?" Westin asked.

He asked the question in a light-hearted manner but there was real concern in his voice.

"Probably," Wallander said.

Westin increased his speed and they sped out onto open water. Wallander suddenly realised he was enjoying himself. No one knew where he was, no one could reach him. For the first time in a long while, he could relax.