One Step Behind (1997) kw-7

by Henning Mankell

  When they took a break Wallander went to his office and called Dr Goransson, and told him about the fainting episode. Dr Goransson did not seem surprised.

  "Your blood-sugar level will continue to fluctuate," he said. "It'll take us a while to get it stabilised. We may have to reduce your medication if it keeps happening, but until then keep an apple handy in case you get dizzy."

  After that day Wallander walked around with lumps of sugar in his pocket, as if he were expecting to see a horse. He didn't tell anyone about his diabetes. It was still his secret.

  The meeting dragged on until 5 p.m., but by then they had managed to go through every aspect of the investigation thoroughly. There was a new infusion of energy in the room. They decided to call for reinforcements from Malmo, although Wallander knew that it was the people gathered around the table who would remain the core members of the investigative team.

  Thurnberg remained behind after everyone had filed out of the room, and Wallander realised he must want to have a word with him. As he made his way to the other side of the table, he thought regretfully of Per Akeson, who was somewhere under an African sun.

  "I've been expecting a debriefing for quite a while," Thurnberg said. His voice was high-pitched and always sounded on the verge of cracking.

  "We should have done this earlier, of course," Wallander said in a friendly tone. "But the direction of the investigation has shifted dramatically over the last couple of days."

  Thurnberg ignored Wallander's last comment. "In the future I expect to be continuously apprised of the situation without having to ask. The justice department is naturally very interested when a police officer is killed."

  Wallander felt no need to answer. He waited for him to continue.

  "The investigation up to this point can hardly be called successful or even as thorough as one would hope," Thurnberg said, gesturing to a long list of points he had written on a pad of paper in front of him. Wallander felt as if he was back at school being told he had failed a test.

  "If the criticisms are warranted we'll take the steps necessary to remedy the situation," he said.

  He tried hard to sound calm and friendly, but he knew he would be unable to conceal his anger much longer. Who did this visiting prosecutor from Orebro think he was? How old was he? He couldn't be more than 33.

  "I'll see to it that you have my list of complaints about the handling of the case on your desk tomorrow morning," Thurnberg said. "I'll be expecting a written response from you."

  Wallander stared back at him quizzically. "Do you really mean you want us to waste time writing letters to each other while a killer who's committed five brutal murders is still running around out there?"

  "What I mean is that the investigation so far has not been satisfactory."

  Wallander hit the table with his fist and got up so violently that the chair fell to the ground. "There are no perfect investigations!" he roared. "But no one is going to accuse me or my colleagues of not having done everything that we can."

  Thurnberg's expression finally changed. His face drained of all colour.

  "Go ahead and send me your little note," Wallander said. "If you are right, we'll do as you say. But don't expect me to write you any letters in reply."

  Wallander left the room and slammed the door shut behind him.

  Hoglund was on her way into her office and turned around when she heard the noise.

  "What was that all about?" she asked.

  "It's Thurnberg," Wallander said. "The bastard's whining about the investigation."

  "Why?"

  "He doesn't think we're thorough enough. How could we possibly have done more?"

  "He probably just wants to show you who's boss."

  "In that case he's picked the wrong man."

  Wallander went into her office and sat down heavily in her visitor's chair.

  "What happened in there?" she asked. "When you fainted."

  "I haven't been sleeping well," he said, dodging her question. "But I feel fine now."

  He got the same feeling he had when he was in Gotland with Linda. She didn't believe him either. Martinsson poked his head round the door.

  "Am I interrupting anything?"

  "No, it's good that you're here," Wallander said. "We should talk. Where's Hansson?"

  "He's working on the cars."

  "He should be here too," Wallander said. "But you'll have to fill him in later."

  He gestured to Martinsson to close the door, then told them about his conversation with Sundelius, and his feeling that Svedberg might have been gay after all.

  "Not that it matters one way or the other," he added. "Police officers are allowed to have whatever sexual orientation they like. The reason I'm not going public with this is that I don't want to start unnecessary rumours. Since Svedberg didn't talk about his sexuality while he was alive, I don't see the need for public speculation now that he's dead."

  "It complicates this matter with Louise," Martinsson said.

  "He may have been a man of many interests. But what is it that Sundelius knows? I had a strong feeling that he wasn't telling me everything. That means we have to dig deeper into both their lives. Are there other secrets? We have to do the same thing with these young people. Somewhere there's a point of intersection. A person who is a shadow to us right now, but who is there just the same."

  "I have a vague recollection that someone lodged a complaint against Svedberg with the justice department's ombudsman a number of years ago," Martinsson said. "I forget what it was about."

  "We should look into it, like everything else," Wallander said. "I thought we could divide these things up. I'll take Svedberg and Sundelius. I also have to talk to Bjorklund again, since he's the only one who knows anything about Louise."

  "It's incomprehensible that no one's seen her," said Hoglund.

  "It's not just incomprehensible," Wallander said. "It's an impossibility. We just have to find out why."

  "Haven't we gone a little easy on Bjorklund?" Martinsson asked. "After all, we found Svedberg's telescope at his house."

  "He's innocent until proven guilty," Wallander said. "It's a hackneyed phrase, but there's some truth to it."

  He got up. "Remember to tell Hansson about this," he said and left the room.

  It was 5.30 p.m. and he hadn't eaten anything all day except the dry old biscuits in the canteen. The thought of going home and cooking a meal was too overwhelming. Instead he went down to the Chinese restaurant on the main square. He drank a beer while he was waiting. Then another. When the food came he ate too fast, as usual. He was about to order dessert when he stopped himself, and headed home. It was another warm evening and he opened the door to the balcony. He tried to call Linda three times, then gave up. Her phone was constantly busy. He was too tired to think. The TV was on, with the sound down. He lay down on the sofa and stared up at the ceiling. Shortly before 9 p.m. the phone rang. It was Lisa Holgersson.

  "I think we have a problem," she said. "Thurnberg spoke to me after your argument."

  Wallander grimaced, sensing what she was about to say. "Thurnberg was probably upset because I shouted at him. I made a lot of noise, thumped my fist on the table, that sort of thing."

  "It's worse than that," she said. "He says you're not fit to be in charge of the investigation."

  That came as a surprise. Wallander hadn't thought Thurnberg would go so far. He should have felt angry, but instead he was frightened. It was one thing to question your own abilities, but had it never occurred to him that someone else might do so.

  "What were his reasons?"

  "Mostly things to do with the running of the investigation. He's particularly concerned about the fact that he's been kept so poorly informed."

  Wallander protested. What more could they have done?

  "I'm just telling you what he said. He also thinks it was a serious lapse of judgment not to contact the police in Norrkoping before you went up to Ostergotland. He questions the validity of the trip i
tself, in fact."

  "But what about the fact that I found Isa?"

  "He thinks the police in Norrkoping could have done that, while you were down here leading the team, and he seems to imply that she might have lived if this had been the case."

  "That's absurd," Wallander said flatly. "I hope that's what you told him."

  "There's one last thing," she said. "Your health."

  "I'm not sick."

  "Look, you fainted right in front of everyone. In the middle of a meeting."

  "That could happen to anyone who is overworked."

  "I'm telling you what he said."

  "But what did you say to him?"

  "That I would speak to you. And consider it."

  Suddenly Wallander felt unsure of her opinion. Could he still assume she was on his side? His suspicion flared up in an instant, and it was strong.

  "So now you've talked to me," he said. "What do you think?"

  "What do you think?"

  "That Thurnberg is an annoying little man who doesn't like me or any of the others. Which is mutual, by the way. I think he looks on his time here simply as a springboard to greater things."

  "That's hardly an objective statement."

  "But true. I believe I did the right thing in going up to Barnso Island. The investigation here continued just the same. There was no reason to notify the police in Norrkoping because no crime had been committed, nor was there any reason to assume one would occur. On the contrary, there was every reason in the world to keep things quiet. Isa Edengren could easily have become even more frightened."

  "Thurnberg understands all that," she said. "And I agree with you that he can seem very arrogant. What seems to worry him most is your health."

  "I don't think he's worried about anyone but himself. The day I'm no longer up to leading the investigation I promise you'll be the first to know."

  "I suppose Thurnberg will have to accept that as his answer for now. But it might be best if you kept him better informed from now on."

  "It's going to be hard for me to trust him in the future," Wallander said. "I can stand a lot of things, but I hate it when people go behind my back."

  "He hasn't gone behind your back. Telling me about his concerns was the right thing to do."

  "No one can force me to like him."

  "That's not what this is about. But I think he's going to react to any signs of weakness from now on."

  "What the hell do you mean by that?"

  The sudden flare of anger came from nowhere, and Wallander didn't manage to control it.

  "You don't have to get upset. I'm just telling you what's happened."

  "We have five murders to solve," Wallander said. "And a killer who's cold-blooded and well-organised. There are no apparent motives and we don't know if he's going to strike again. One of the victims was a close colleague. You have to assume people are going to get a little upset. This investigation isn't exactly a tea party."

  She laughed. "I haven't heard that expression used before in this context."

  "Just so you understand where I'm coming from," Wallander said. "That's all."

  "I wanted to let you know about this as soon as possible."

  "I know, I'm grateful that you did."

  When the conversation was over, Wallander went back to the sofa. His suspicions still hadn't left him, and he was already plotting how he would get even with Thurnberg. Perhaps it was out of self-defence, perhaps self-pity. The thought of being relieved of his responsibilities frightened him. Being in charge of an investigation like this meant being under an almost unbearable strain, but the thought of humiliation was worse.

  Wallander felt a great desire to talk to someone, anyone who could give him the kind of moral support he needed. It was 9.15 p.m. Who could he call? Martinsson or Hoglund? Most of all he wanted to talk to Rydberg, but he lay in his grave and couldn't speak. He thought of Nyberg. They never really talked about private matters, but Wallander knew Nyberg would understand. His irascible and outspoken nature was an advantage in this situation. Above all, Wallander knew Nyberg respected his abilities. He doubted that Nyberg would be able to stand working under anyone else.

  Wallander dialled Nyberg's home number. As usual he answered the phone in an irritable voice. Wallander often said to Martinsson that he'd never heard Nyberg sound friendly on the phone.

  "We need to talk," Wallander said.

  "What's happened?"

  "Nothing to do with the case. But I need to see you."

  "Can't it wait?"

  "No."

  "I can be at the station in 15 minutes."

  "Let's meet somewhere else. I thought we could go out and have a beer."

  "We're going to a bar? What's this all about?"

  "Do you have any suggestions where we could go?"

  "I never go out," Nyberg said dismissively. "At least not in Ystad."

  "There's a new restaurant and bar by the main square," Wallander said. "By the antiques shop. I'll see you there."

  "Do I have to wear a suit and tie?"

  "I can't imagine you would," Wallander answered.

  Nyberg promised to be there in half an hour. Wallander changed his shirt, then left the flat on foot. There weren't many people in the restaurant. When he asked, they told him it closed at 11 p.m. He realised he was quite hungry, flipped through the menu, and was shocked by the prices. Who could afford to eat out any more? But he wanted to treat Nyberg to something to eat.

  Nyberg arrived in exactly half an hour. He was dressed in a suit and tie, and had even slicked his normally wayward hair down with water. The suit was a little old and looked too big. Nyberg sat down across from Wallander.

  "I had no idea there was a restaurant here," he said.

  "It opened fairly recently," Wallander answered. "Five or so years ago. Let me treat you to something."

  "I'm not hungry," Nyberg said.

  "Then have a starter," Wallander said

  "I'll leave it up to you" Nyberg said and pushed his menu away.

  They had a couple of beers while they waited for the food to arrive. Wallander told him about his conversation with Holgersson. He recounted it in detail, but he also added the things he had thought and not said.

  "It doesn't sound like the kind of thing you should pay much attention to," Nyberg said when Wallander had finished. "But I understand why it upset you. Internal disputes are the last thing we need right now."

  Wallander pretended to take Thurnberg's side for a moment. "Do you think maybe he's right? Should someone else take charge?"

  "Who would that be?"

  "Martinsson?"

  Nyberg stared back at him in disbelief. "You're joking."

  "What about Hansson?"

  "Maybe in ten years. But this is the worst case we've ever had. That's not a good time to suddenly weaken the leadership of the investigation."

  The food appeared on the table and Wallander kept talking about Thurnberg. But Nyberg gave only one-word answers and offered no further comments. At last Wallander realised he was going too far. Nyberg was right. There was nothing more to say. If necessary, Nyberg would back him up. A couple of years earlier Wallander had taken up the matter of his unreasonable workload with Holgersson, soon after she had replaced Bjork as chief of police. Nyberg's situation improved after that. They had never talked about it, but Wallander was sure Nyberg knew the part he had played in the matter.

  Nyberg was right. They shouldn't waste any more of their energy on Thurnberg, but save it for more pressing matters. They ordered more beers and were told it was the last round. Wallander asked Nyberg if he wanted coffee, but he declined.

  "I have more than 20 cups a day," he said. "To keep my energy up. Actually, maybe just to keep going."

  "Police work wouldn't be possible without coffee," Wallander said.

  "No work would be possible without coffee."

  They pondered the importance of coffee in silence. Some people at a nearby table got up and left.

&nbs
p; "I don't think I've ever been involved in anything quite as strange as these murders," Nyberg said suddenly.

  "Neither have I. It's senseless brutality. I can't imagine a motive."

  "It could simply be for the love of killing," Nyberg said. "A killer with a lust for blood who carefully plans and arranges his crimes."

  "You may be right," Wallander said. "But how did Svedberg get onto him so fast? That's what I can't understand."

  "There's only one rational explanation, which is that Svedberg knew whoever it was. Or had a definite suspicion. Then the question of why he didn't want to tell anyone about this becomes crucial, perhaps the most important question of all."

  "Could it be that it was someone we know?"

  "Not necessarily. There's another possibility. Not that Svedberg knew who it was, or that he had definite suspicions, but that he feared it was someone he knew."

  Wallander saw the logic of Nyberg's statement. To suspect someone and to fear something were not necessarily the same thing.

  "That would explain the need for secrecy," Nyberg continued. "He's afraid the killer is someone he knows, but he's not sure. He wants to be convinced before he tells us about it, and he wants to be able to bury the whole thing in silence if his fears turn out to be mistaken."

  Wallander watched Nyberg attentively. He was seeing a connection that had not been apparent to him earlier.

  "Let's assume that Svedberg hears about the disappearance of the young people," he said. "Let's assume that he is driven by fear that is grounded in a reasonable suspicion. Let's even assume that he knows he's right and that he knows who is responsible for their disappearance. He doesn't even have to know they're dead."

  "It isn't very likely that he knew," Nyberg said. "Since he would then have felt compelled to come clean. I can't imagine that Svedberg would have been able to carry a burden like that."

  Wallander nodded. Nyberg was right.

  "So he doesn't know they're dead," he said. "But he has strong fears and enough conviction to confront this particular person. Then what?"

  "He's killed."

  "The scene of the crime is hastily rearranged, so that our first thought was that there had been a burglary. And something's missing: the telescope. Which is then hidden in Sture Bjorklund's shed."