One Step Behind

by Henning Mankell

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

  Martinsson emerged from Svedberg's bedroom.

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

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

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

  "He can't read our thoughts."

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

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

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

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

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  He felt a sense of regret when it was over. Should he have aimed at their heads after all? He knew that it had to be the police. Who else would have reason to visit Karl Evert's flat, now that he was dead and buried? He also knew that they were trying to track him down. There was no other reasonable explanation.

  Once again he had managed to escape, something that was both reassuring and satisfying. Although he hadn't expected them to come looking for him there, he had taken the necessary precautions by unlocking the back door and propping a chair against the front door. It would fall to the ground if someone tried to enter. The gun lay loaded on the bedside table. He slept with his shoes on.

  The noise from the street disturbed him. It wasn't like sleeping in his soundproofed room. How many times had he tried to convince Karl Evert to renovate his bedroom? But nothing had come of it, and now it was too late.

  The images had been blurry and indistinct, but he'd known he was dreaming of his own childhood. He was standing behind the sofa. He was very young. Two people were fighting, probably his parents. There was the harsh, domineering voice of a man. It swooped over his head like a bird of prey. Then there was a woman's voice, weak and afraid. When he heard it, he thought he was hearing his own voice, though he was still safely hidden behind the sofa.

  That was when he was woken by the sounds from the hall. They entered his dreams by force. By the time the chair fell over, he was on his feet, the gun cocked in his hand. It would have meant changing his plans, but he should have shot them. He had left the building, his gun tucked into his coat pocket. The car was parked down at the railway station. He'd heard sirens in the distance. He'd driven out past Sandskogen, towards Österlen. He stopped in Kåseberga and took a walk down to the harbour. He thought about what he should do next. He needed more sleep, but it was getting late and he had no idea when Wallander would return home. He had to be there when he did. He had already decided that it should happen today, and he couldn't risk changing his plans.

  When he arrived at the far end of the pier, he made up his mind. He drove back to Ystad and parked at the back of the block of flats on Mariagatan. No one saw him slip in through the front door of the building. He rang the doorbell and listened carefully. No one was home. He unlocked the door, walked in, and sat down on the sofa in the living room. He put his gun down on the coffee table. It was a few minutes after 11 a.m.

  Hansson and the Malmö officer were still so shaken that they had to be sent home. This meant that the team shrank by two people, and Wallander detected a new level of tension among members of the group when they gathered after the chaotic events at Lilla Norregatan.

  Holgersson took him aside to ask if it was time to send for more reinforcements. Wallander wavered, exhausted and starting to doubt his judgment, but then answered with an emphatic no. They didn't need reinforcements, they just needed to focus.

  "Do you really think we can find him?" she asked. "Or are you just hoping there will be another breakthrough?"

  "I don't know," he admitted.

  They sat back down at the conference table. Martinsson had still not been able to find anything on Larstam in the police registers, so he turned the matter over to a subordinate who would search the files in the basement. Höglund hadn't yet managed to find anything on the two sisters. Now that Hansson was out of the game, Wallander asked her to hold off on that. He needed to have her close by; the sisters would have to wait. They had to concentrate on finding Larstam before he turned to victim number nine.

  "We have to ask ourselves what we know," Wallander said, for the umpteenth time.

  "He's still in town," Martinsson said. "That must mean he's preparing to strike somewhere close by."

  "He's not unaffected by us," Thurnberg said, who rarely commented on the action. "He knows we're on his heels."

  "It's also possible he likes it this way," Wallander said.

  Kjell Albinsson, who was sitting silently in a corner of the room, now indicated that he wanted to speak. Wallander nodded to him and he got up and approached the table.

  "I don't know if this is anything," he said. "But I just remembered that last summer someone at work claimed to have seen Larstam down at the marina. That might mean he owns a boat."

  Wallander hit the table with the flat of his hand. "How seriously can we take this?"

  "It was one of the other postmen who saw him. He was sure it was him."

  "Did he ever actually see Larstam climb onto one of the boats?"

  "No, but he said he was carrying a container of petrol."

  "Then it can't be a sailing boat," said one of the Malmö officers. But this comment met with a storm of protests.

  "Sailing boats often have engines as well," Martinsson said. "We can't rule anything out, even a little sea plane."

  Martinsson's last suggestion met with even more protests. Wallander silenced them.

  "A boat is a good hiding place," he said. "The question is how much stock we put in this."

  He turned to Albinsson again. "Are you sure you're right?"

  "Yes."

  Wallander looked over at Thurnberg, who nodded.

  "Get some plainclothes officers to look around the marina," Wallander said. "Make the whole thing as discreet as possible. If there's even a hint of a suspicion that Larstam is there, they should turn back. We'll have to decide how to proceed at that point."

  "There are probably a lot of people down there," Höglund said, "with this weather we've been having."

  Martinsson and one of the Malmö officers headed down to the marina. Wallander asked Albinsson to sit at the table.

  "If you have any more of these boat stories up your sleeve, I'd love to hear them."

  "I've been trying to think of everything I can, but it's just making me realise how little I knew about him," Albinsson said.

  Wallander checked his watch. It was 11.30 a.m. We're not going to get him in time, he thought. At any moment the phone will ring with the news of another murder.

  Höglund started talking about Larstam's motive.

  "It must be some kind of revenge," Wallander said.

  "For what?" she asked. "Because he was fired from his job? What would the newly-weds have to do with that?"

  Wallander got up to get some coffee and Höglund came along.

  "You're right. There's another motive here," Wallander said, as they were nursing their mugs of coffee in the canteen. "There may be an element of revenge at the bottom of it, but Larstam kills people who are happy. Nyberg was struck by this thought in Nybrostrand. Albinsson confirmed it. Åke Larstam doesn't like it when people laugh."

 
; "Then he's more disturbed than we realised. You don't kill people just because they're happy. What kind of world is this?"

  "Good question," Wallander said. "We ask ourselves what kind of world we live in, but it's too painful to face the truth. Maybe our worst fears have already been realised – maybe the justice system has collapsed. More and more people are feeling overlooked and superfluous, and that feeds the escalation of senseless violence we're seeing. Violence has become part of our daily reality. We complain about the way things are, but sometimes I think things are even worse than we're admitting."

  Wallander was about to continue with this line of thought when he was told that Martinsson was on the phone. He spilled coffee on his shirt as he ran back to the conference room.

  "We haven't found anything," Martinsson said. "There isn't a boat registered under Larstam's name."

  Wallander thought for a moment. "He may have registered his boat under someone else's name," he said.

  "These marinas are so small that people generally know each other," Martinsson said. "I doubt he would have felt safe using an assumed name."

  But Wallander wasn't prepared to let go of the idea just yet. "Did you check under Svedberg's name?"

  "I did, actually. But there wasn't anything."

  "I want you to check the register one more time. Try anyone's name who's been associated with this investigation, either centrally or otherwise."

  "You're thinking of names like Hillström and Skander?"

  "Exactly."

  "I see what you're saying, but do you really think it's a reasonable assumption?"

  "Nothing is reasonable. Just do it. Call me if you find anything."

  Wallander hung up, and looked down at the large coffee stain on his shirt. He was fairly sure he had at least one clean shirt in his cupboard, and it would take him only 20 minutes to go home and change. But he decided to wait until he heard from Martinsson again.

  Thurnberg came over. "I'd like to send Albinsson home," he said. "I don't think he has anything to add at this point."

  Wallander got up, walked over to Albinsson, and shook his hand. "You've been a great help to us."

  "I still don't understand any of this."

  "None of us do."

  "Nothing should go further than this room," Thurnberg said.

  Albinsson promised to keep quiet.

  "Does anyone know where Nyberg is?" Wallander asked.

  "He's using the phone in Hansson's office."

  "That's where I'll be if Martinsson calls."

  Wallander went to Hansson's office, where Nyberg sat with the telephone receiver pressed to his ear. He was writing something on a pad. He looked up when Wallander came in.

  "We'll know whether or not it's Larstam's thumb before the end of the day," Nyberg said when he'd hung up.

  "It is his thumb," Wallander said. "We just need confirmation."

  "What will you do if it isn't his thumb?"

  "Resign from this investigation."

  Nyberg pondered these words. Wallander sat down in Hansson's chair.

  "Do you remember the telescope?" Wallander asked. "Why was it over at Björklund's house? Who put it there?"

  "You don't think it was someone other than Larstam, do you?"

  "Why did he put it there?"

  "Maybe to cause confusion. Perhaps a half-hearted attempt to pin the blame on Svedberg's cousin."

  "He must have thought of everything."

  "If he hasn't, we'll get him."

  "His prints should be on the telescope."

  "If he didn't think to wipe it off first."

  The phone rang and Wallander grabbed it. It was Martinsson.

  "You're right," he said.

  Wallander jumped to his feet so fast the chair was knocked over.

  "What do you have?"

  "A berth registered in Isa Edengren's name. I even saw the contract and it looks like he imitated her signature. I recall what her handwriting looked like. Someone in the office remembers the person who signed it. He says it was a dark-haired woman."

  "Louise."

  "Exactly. She even told them her brother would often be using the boat."

  "He's good," Wallander said.

  "It's a small wooden boat," Martinsson said. "Big enough for a couple of sleeping berths below deck. There's another boat on one side but nothing on the other."

  "I'm coming down," Wallander said. "Keep your distance, and above all stay vigilant. We have to assume he's being very careful now and he won't approach the marina unless he's sure the coast is clear."

  "I guess we haven't kept as low a profile as we should have."

  Wallander hung up and told Nyberg what had happened. He returned to the conference room and placed Höglund and Thurnberg in charge of coordinating assistance in the event that he needed it.

  "What will you do if you find him?" she asked.

  Wallander shook his head. "I'll think about that when I get there."

  It was almost 1 p.m. when Wallander arrived at the docks. It was warm, and there was an occasional breeze from the southwest. He took out the binoculars he had remembered to bring and took his first look at the boat.

  "It looks empty," Martinsson said.

  "Is there anyone on the boat to the left?" Wallander asked.

  "No."

  Wallander let the binoculars glide over the rest of the boats. There were people on many of them.

  "We can't risk any shots being fired," Martinsson said. "But I also don't see how we can evacuate the entire marina."

  "We can't wait," Wallander said. "We have to know if he's there or not, and if he is, we have to bring him in."

  "Should we start cordoning off the area around the boat?"

  "No," Wallander said. "I'm climbing aboard."

  Martinsson jumped. "Are you insane?"

  "It would take us at least an hour to secure the area. We don't have the luxury of time in this case. I'm going in, and you'll have to back me up from the pier. I'll be as quick as I can. I doubt he's keeping a lookout. If he's there, he's probably sleeping."

  "I can't let you do this," Martinsson said. "It's suicide."

  "Keep in mind that Larstam didn't kill Hansson or the Malmö officer, and not because he missed. Neither was his ninth victim. This man is very particular about who he kills, and when."

  "So he won't shoot you?"

  "I think I have a good chance, that's all."

  But Martinsson wasn't about to give in. "He has no escape route this time. What's he going to do? Jump into the water?"

  "We have to take that chance," Wallander said. "I know that his not having an escape route could change everything."

  "It's irresponsible."

  Wallander's mind was made up. "All right then, we'll proceed with the necessary caution. Return to the station and see to it that we get the proper reinforcements. I'll stay here and keep an eye on the boat."

  Martinsson left. Wallander instructed the Malmö officer to guard the car park. He walked out onto the pier, thinking that he was about to violate the most fundamental rule of police work. He was about to confront a ruthless killer, alone, without a single person to back him up, in an area that wasn't properly secured. Some children were playing on the pier. Wallander made himself sound as stern as possible and ordered them to move their games. His hand squeezed the gun in his pocket. He had already disengaged the safety catch. He studied the boat carefully and realised there was no way to approach it from the pier. If Larstam was on board he would see him. The only chance he had was to approach the boat from behind, but for that he needed a dinghy. He looked around. There was a party going on in the boat next to him, and a little red dinghy lay tied to its side. Wallander didn't hesitate. He climbed aboard and showed the surprised revellers his police identification.

  "I need to borrow your dinghy," he said.

  A bald man with a glass of wine in his hand stood up.

  "Has there been an accident?"

  "No," Wallander said. "But I hav
e no time to explain it to you. Everyone stays put, no one climbs out onto the dock. Understood?"

  No one argued with him. Wallander stepped clumsily into the dinghy and fumbled with the oars, dropping one. As he reached for it, the gun almost slid out of his pocket. He swore and broke out into a sweat. Eventually he got the oars under control and made his way into the harbour. He wondered if the dinghy was going to sink under his weight, but managed to approach the back of Larstam's boat without a mishap. He grabbed it with one hand and felt his heart pounding. He secured his dinghy, careful to avoid setting the other boat in motion. Then he stopped and listened. The only sound he heard was his own heart. Gun in hand, he slowly undid the fastenings of the covering on the back of the boat. Still no sound. Once he had undone a big enough portion of the covering he faced the hardest part. Now he had to flip the covering off and then throw himself to one side to avoid the person who might be waiting inside with a gun aimed at his head. His mind was blank, and the hand holding his gun was trembling and sweaty.

  All at once he performed the manoeuvre. The dinghy rolled so hard he thought he was going to end up in the water. But he grasped a railing on the side of the boat and kept his balance. Nothing happened. He peeked inside and saw that the boat was empty. The small doors to the lower cabin were open, and he could see all the way in. No one was there. He climbed aboard, still holding his gun in front of him. It was two steps down to the bunk area. He saw that the bunks were not made up. The mattresses were covered with plastic.

  The man with the bald head grabbed the mooring line when Wallander returned the dinghy. "Now maybe you'll tell us what that was all about," he said.

  "No," Wallander replied.

  He was in a hurry now. The others might already be on their way and he had to stop them. Larstam wasn't in the boat. That could mean they were one step ahead of him for the first time. Wallander paused on the pier and called Martinsson.

  "We're on our way," Martinsson said.

  "Abort!" yelled Wallander. "I don't want to see a single car! Come down here alone."

  "Has anything happened?"

  "He's not here."