One Step Behind

by Henning Mankell

  Wallander knew it would be a long night. As soon as everyone had returned from their assignments, they would hunker down in the conference room. He went into his office, hung up his coat, and called the hospital. After being transferred a couple of times he finally reached a doctor who told him that Isa Edengren was in a stable condition and was expected to make a full recovery. He knew this doctor, having met him at least a couple of times before.

  "Tell me something I know you aren't allowed to say," Wallander said. "Was it a cry for help or was she really trying to end it all?"

  "I'm told you were the one who found her, is that right?" the doctor said.

  "That's right."

  "Then let me put it this way," he said. "It was lucky you found her when you did."

  Wallander understood. He was about to hang up when another question came to him.

  "Has anyone been to see her?"

  "She's not allowed visitors yet."

  "I understand. But has anyone asked to see her?"

  "I'll find out for you."

  While Wallander waited, he hunted out the piece of paper with Isa's parents' telephone numbers that Lundberg had given him. The doctor returned.

  "No one has been here and no one has called," he said. "Who is going to get in touch with her parents?"

  "We'll take care of that."

  Wallander hung up and tried dialling the first number without knowing whether he was calling France or Spain. He counted 15 rings, then hung up and tried the other number. This time a woman answered almost immediately. Wallander introduced himself and she said she was Berit Edengren. Wallander told her what had happened. She listened without interrupting. Wallander thought about her son Jörgen, Isa's brother. He tried to keep his details to a minimum, but it was a suicide attempt and he couldn't cover that up.

  She sounded calm when she replied. "I'll tell my husband," she said. "We'll have to talk about whether we should return home immediately."

  She loves her daughter, Wallander reminded himself, but he couldn't help feeling angry at her response. "I hope you understand that it could have ended badly."

  "Thankfully it didn't."

  Wallander gave her the number of the hospital and the name of the doctor. He decided against asking any questions about Svedberg yet. What he did ask was for information about the Midsummer's Eve celebration that Isa was to have attended.

  "Isa doesn't tell us very much," she answered. "I didn't know anything about a Midsummer's Eve party."

  "Would she have told her father?"

  "I doubt it."

  "Martin Boge, Lena Norman, and Astrid Hillström," Wallander recited. "Do you recognise these names?"

  "They're friends of Isa's," she said.

  "But Isa hadn't told you about any special plans for Midsummer?"

  "No."

  "This is a very important question and I need you to think carefully. Could she have mentioned a place where they were to meet?"

  "There's nothing wrong with my memory. I know she didn't say anything to us."

  "Do you know if she had any fancy dress costumes at home?"

  "Is this really important?"

  "Yes. Please answer the question."

  "I don't go through her cupboards."

  "Is there a spare key to the house?"

  "We keep a spare hidden key in a drainpipe on the right wing. Isa doesn't know about it."

  "And she won't find out about it in the next couple of days."

  Wallander had only one more question for her. "Did Isa say anything about going on a trip after Midsummer?"

  "No."

  "Would she have told you if she was thinking about it?"

  "Only if she had needed the money, which she always did."

  Wallander had trouble controlling his temper.

  "You'll hear from us again," he said.

  He slammed down the phone, realising as he did so that he still didn't know whether they were in France or Spain.

  He went out to the canteen and got a cup of coffee. On his way back to his office he remembered that he had one more call to make. He found the phone number and dialled it. This time someone answered.

  "Bror Sundelius?"

  "Speaking."

  Wallander introduced himself and was about to explain why he was calling when Sundelius interrupted him.

  "I've been waiting for the police to give me a call. It seems to me you've taken a long time."

  He was an elderly man with a direct way of speaking.

  "I've already called a couple of times and got no answer. Why did you think we would be in touch?"

  Sundelius answered without hesitation. "Karl Evert did not have many close friends. I was one of the few. That's why I assumed that you would contact me."

  "What do you think we wanted to talk to you about?"

  "You should know that better than I do."

  True, Wallander thought. At least he isn't going senile.

  "I'd like to meet with you," Wallander said. "Here or at your place, preferably tomorrow morning."

  "I used to go to work every day. Now I climb the walls," Sundelius said. "I have an endless amount of time that simply goes to waste. You can come tomorrow any time after 4.30 a.m. I live on Vädergränd. My legs aren't so good. How old are you, Inspector?"

  "I'll be 50 soon."

  "Then your legs are better than mine. At your age it's important to keep moving. Otherwise you'll develop heart problems or diabetes."

  Wallander listened to him with surprise.

  "Are you still there, Inspector?"

  "Yes," said Wallander. "I'm here. How about 9 a.m.?"

  They crowded into the conference room at 7.30 p.m. Lisa Holgersson had arrived early with the chief prosecutor filling in for Per Åkeson, who was in Uganda. Åkeson had taken a leave of absence and was working for the International Refugee Commission. He had been gone almost eight months and sent Wallander letters every now and then, describing his daily life, and the dramatic ways in which the new environment and work were changing him. Wallander missed him, even though they had never been close. He also sometimes felt a stab of envy when he thought about the decision Åkeson had made. Would he ever be anything other than a policeman? He would soon turn 50. The chances of starting something new were shrinking rapidly.

  The acting chief prosecutor, Thurnberg, had come down from Örebro. Wallander had not had a lot to do with him up until now, as Thurnberg had only started in Ystad in the middle of May. He was a couple of years younger than Wallander, fit and quick-witted. Wallander had not yet decided what he thought about him. On a previous encounter, he had appeared rather arrogant.

  Wallander knocked on the table with his pencil and looked around the room. Svedberg's chair was still empty. He wondered when someone was going to start using it. Wallander began by telling them about his find at Björklund's house, since he was expecting him to be back from Copenhagen later that evening.

  "Before this meeting we were talking about something else that strikes us as odd," Martinsson said. "There are no diaries. I've asked the others, but none of the three seem to have kept a diary or a pocket calendar."

  "There are no letters either," Hansson said.

  "These people seem to have erased all traces of themselves," Höglund said.

  "Is that the case with the others, too? The ones who were in Svedberg's photograph?"

  "Yes," Martinsson said. "But we should probably probe further."

  Martinsson flipped through his notes and was about to add something when there was a knock on the door. An officer came in and nodded in Wallander's direction.

  "Björklund has just got home."

  Wallander got up. "I'll go out there alone. It won't be an arrest, after all. We'll continue when I get back."

  Nyberg got up as well. "I should probably have a look at the telescope right away," he said.

  They drove out to Hedeskoga in Nyberg's car. The unmarked police car was still parked at the intersection. Wallander got out and spoke
to the officer behind the wheel.

  "He arrived about 20 minutes ago in a Mazda."

  "Then you can go back," Wallander said.

  "You don't want us to stay?"

  "It won't be necessary."

  Wallander got back in the car and they pulled up outside the house.

  "He's home," he said to Nyberg. "No doubt about that."

  Music was coming from an open window. It had a Latin beat. Wallander rang the bell and the music was turned down. Björklund opened the door wearing only a pair of shorts.

  "I have a couple of questions that couldn't wait," Wallander said.

  Björklund seemed to think for a moment, then smiled. "Now I understand," he said.

  "What do you understand?"

  "Why that car was parked up by the turn-off."

  Wallander nodded. "I was looking for you earlier today. My questions can't wait."

  Björklund let them in and Wallander introduced Nyberg.

  "Once upon a time I also thought about becoming a forensic technician," Björklund said. "The idea of dedicating my life to interpreting evidence was appealing to me."

  "It's not as exciting as you'd think," Nyberg replied.

  Björklund looked mildly astonished.

  "I wasn't talking about adventure," he said. "I was talking about being a person who follows traces."

  They stopped in the entrance to the big room. Wallander noted Nyberg's amazement at Björklund's menage.

  "I'm going to get right to the point," he said. "You have a small shed to the east of the house. There's an instrument in there hidden under a piece of tarpaulin. I think it's a telescope, and I want to determine whether or not it came from Svedberg's flat."

  Björklund balked. "A telescope? In my shed?"

  "Yes."

  Björklund instinctively took a step back. "Who's been snooping around out here?"

  "I told you that I came looking for you earlier today. The door to your shed was open and I went in. I found the telescope."

  "Is that legal? Are the police allowed to enter other people's homes at will?"

  "If you have an opinion to the contrary, feel free to make a report to the ombudsman."

  Björklund looked at him with animosity. "I think I will," he said.

  "For God's sake," Nyberg interrupted angrily. "Let's just get this cleared up."

  "So you claim to have no knowledge of a telescope on your property."

  "That's right."

  "Do you realise that doesn't sound very believable?"

  "I don't care what it sounds like. As far as I'm concerned, there's no telescope anywhere on my property."

  "We'll soon determine whether that's the case," Wallander said. "If you refuse to cooperate I'll leave Nyberg here and get a search warrant from the chief prosecutor. You should have no doubts about that."

  Björklund was still hostile. "Am I accused of a crime?"

  "For now I simply want an answer to my question."

  "I've already given you one."

  "So you deny knowledge of the telescope? Could Svedberg have put it there without your knowledge?"

  "Why would he have done that?"

  "I'm simply asking if it's possible, that's all."

  "Of course he could have done it while I was away over the summer. I never check what's in the shed."

  Wallander sensed that Björklund was telling the truth, and experienced this as a relief.

  "Shall we go and look?"

  Björklund nodded and slipped on some clogs. His upper body was still bare.

  When they had arrived at the shed and turned on the light, Wallander pulled the others back and turned to Björklund.

  "Does anything in here look different?"

  "Like what?"

  "It's your shed. You should know."

  Björklund looked around and shrugged. "It looks like it normally does."

  Wallander directed them into the corner and lifted the tarpaulin. Björklund's surprise seemed genuine.

  "I have no idea how that got there," he said.

  Nyberg crouched down to have a better look, directing a strong torch beam at it.

  "I don't think we need to speculate further about who it belongs to," he said, pointing to something.

  Wallander looked more closely and saw a small metal plate with Svedberg's name on it. Björklund no longer seemed angry.

  "I don't understand," he said. "Why would Karl Evert hide his telescope here?"

  "Let's go back inside and leave Nyberg to his work," Wallander said.

  As they walked back to the house, Björklund asked if he wanted some coffee. Wallander said no. He seated himself for a second time on the uncomfortable pew.

  "Do you have any idea how long it could have been there?"

  Björklund now seemed to be trying to give thorough answers.

  "I don't have a good memory for rooms," he said. "My memory for objects is even worse. I don't think I could come up with any kind of a time frame for you."

  Something seemed to occur to him. Wallander waited.

  "Is it possible that someone else put it there?" Björklund asked.

  "If so, it would probably have been someone who knew you two were related."

  Wallander saw that something was troubling Björklund.

  "What are you thinking about?"

  "I don't know if this means anything," he said doubtfully. "But I had the feeling once that someone had been here."

  "How did you get this feeling?"

  "I don't know. It was just a feeling."

  "Something must have set it off."

  "That's what I'm trying to remember."

  Wallander kept waiting. Björklund seemed lost in thought.

  "It was a couple of weeks ago," he said. "I had been in Copenhagen and returned in the afternoon. It had been raining. As I walked across the yard something made me stop. At first I didn't know what it was, but then I saw that someone had moved one of the sculptures."

  "One of the monsters?"

  "They're copies of the medieval gargoyles from the cathedral in Rouen."

  "I thought you had a poor memory for objects."

  "That doesn't apply to my sculptures. Not when someone has changed their position. I was certain that someone had been in the yard while I was gone."

  "And it wasn't Svedberg."

  "No. He never came out here unless we had arranged it."

  "You can't be sure of that, though."

  "No, but I feel sure. I knew him, and he knew me."

  Wallander nodded, encouraging him to continue.

  "A stranger had been here."

  "You didn't have anyone looking after the place when you were gone on short trips?"

  "No one comes here except the postman."

  Björklund sounded convinced and Wallander had no reason to doubt him.

  "A stranger, then," he repeated. "And you think this person is the one who might have put the telescope in your shed?"

  "I know it sounds unreasonable."

  "Can you tell me the exact date when this happened?"

  Björklund went and got a little pocket calendar and leafed through to a particular day.

  "I was away on 14 and 15 July."

  Wallander made a note of it. Nyberg came in, his mobile phone in hand.

  "I've called for some equipment," he said. "I'd like to finish working on the telescope tonight. Why don't you take my car back and I'll have a squad car pick me up when I'm finished?"

  Nyberg disappeared again. Wallander got up, and Björklund followed him to the door.

  "You must have had time to think about what's happened," Wallander said to him.

  "I don't understand why anyone would want to kill my cousin. I can't imagine a more meaningless act."

  "No," Wallander agreed. "But these are the questions we have to answer: who would have wanted to kill him, and why?"

  They parted in the yard. The gargoyles looked somewhat plaintive in the weak light from the house. Wallander returned to Ystad
in Nyberg's car. Nothing had been resolved.

  The meeting back at the station lasted almost until midnight. Everyone was tired, but Wallander didn't want to let them go.

  "There's really just one thing we can do," he said. "We have to declare Boge, Norman and Hillström officially missing. We need to get them back home as soon as possible."

  Everyone in the room agreed with him. Holgersson and Martinsson would see that it was done the next morning.

  "It seems that all of these young people have been up to something," he said. "But we haven't been able to get them to tell us what it is. You've all said that you feel there's something they're not saying, that they have a secret. Is that right?"

  "Yes," said Höglund, "There's something they're not letting us in on."

  "But they don't seem particularly concerned, either," Martinsson said. "They're convinced that Boge, Norman and Hillström are travelling."

  "I hope they're right," Hansson said. "I'm starting to feel worried."

  "So am I," Wallander said. He threw his pen down. "What the hell was Svedberg up to? That's what we have to figure out. And who in God's name is Louise?"

  "We've checked all of our photographic records," Martinsson said.

  "That's not enough," Wallander said. "We'll have to publish the picture in the papers. We have a murder to solve. Not that she's a suspect. At least not yet."

  "Women don't tend to shoot their victims in the face with a shotgun," Höglund said.

  No one had anything further to say. They agreed to continue the following day. Wallander would start by visiting Sundelius. He walked out of the station with Martinsson.

  "We have to get them home," he said again. "We'll talk to Isa Edengren, and we'll bring in the ones that you've already visited once. We'll get them to tell us what they know."

  They walked to their cars. Wallander was extremely tired. The last thing he thought about before falling asleep was that Nyberg was still out in Björklund's shed.

  A steady rain fell over Ystad at dawn. Then the clouds blew away. Sunday was going to be a warm and sunny day.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Rosmarie Leman and her husband Mats often drove out to parks and nature reserves to take their Sunday walk, depending on the weather and season. This morning, Sunday, 11 August, they had talked about driving up to Fyledalen but settled on the Hagestad nature reserve instead. The deciding factor was that they hadn't been there for a long time, not since the middle of June.