One Step Behind (15 page)

He paused so she could speak, but she remained silent, watching him.

"You were supposed to have celebrated Midsummer with your friends Martin, Lena and Astrid," he continued. "But you fell ill. You had some kind of stomach bug and stayed at home. Isn't that right?"

No reaction. Wallander was suddenly unsure of how to proceed. How could he tell her what had happened? On the other hand it would be in all the papers tomorrow. She would suffer a great shock in either case.

I wish Ann-Britt were here, he thought. She would be better at this than I am.

"Astrid's mother received some postcards," he said. "They were signed by all three, or just by Astrid, and sent from Hamburg, Paris and Vienna. Had the four of you talked about going away after Midsummer?"

She finally began to answer his questions, but her voice was so low that Wallander had trouble hearing her.

"No, we hadn't decided anything," she whispered.

Wallander felt a lump in his throat. Her voice sounded as if it might break at any moment. He thought about what she was going to hear, that a simple virus had saved her life. Wallander wanted to call the doctor he had spoken to before and ask him what he should do. How would he tell her? He put it off for now.

"Tell me about the Midsummer party," he said.

"Why should I?"

He wondered how such a fragile voice could sound so determined. But she wasn't hostile. Her answers would depend on his questions.

"Because I'd like to know. Because Astrid's mother is worried."

"It was just a party."

"But you were going to dress up like 18th-century courtiers."

She couldn't know how he knew. He was taking a risk in asking the question, but she might be impossible to talk to after she found out what had happened to her friends.

"We did that sometimes."

"Why?"

"It made things different."

"To leave your own age and enter another?"

"Yes."

"Was it always the 18th century?"

There was an undertone of disdain in her answer. "We never repeated ourselves."

"Why not?"

She didn't reply, and Wallander immediately knew he had hit an important point. He tried to approach it from another direction.

"Is it possible to know how people dressed in the 12th century?"

"Yes, but we never entered that age."

"How did you choose an era?"

She didn't answer that either, and Wallander was starting to discern a pattern in the questions she wouldn't answer.

"Tell me what happened that Midsummer's Eve."

"I was sick."

"It must have come on suddenly."

"Diarrhoea usually does."

"What happened?"

"Martin came to get me and I told him I couldn't come."

"How did he react?"

"Like he was supposed to."

"How?"

"By asking me if it was true. Like he was supposed to."

Wallander didn't understand her answer. "What do you mean?"

"You're supposed to tell the truth. If you don't, they kick you out."

Wallander thought for a moment. "You took your friendship seriously, then. No one was allowed to lie. One untruth meant expulsion?"

She looked genuinely puzzled. "What would friendship be otherwise?"

He nodded. "Of course friendship is always based on mutual trust."

"What else is there?"

"I don't know," Wallander said. "Love, perhaps."

She pulled the blanket up under her chin.

"How did you feel when you realised that they had left to travel around Europe without you?"

She looked at him for a long time before answering. "I've already answered that question."

It took Wallander a moment before he made the connection. "Are you referring to the police officer who visited you earlier this summer?"

"Who else would I be referring to?"

"Do you remember when he came to see you?"

"On 1 or 2 July."

"What else did he ask you?"

She leaned in towards Wallander so suddenly that he pulled back involuntarily.

"I know he's dead. He was called Svedberg. Have you come here to tell me about him?"

"Not exactly, but I'd like to hear more about your conversation with him."

"There's nothing more to tell."

Wallander frowned. "What do you mean? He must have asked you something else."

"He didn't. I have it on tape."

"You recorded your conversation with Svedberg?"

"In secret, yes. I do that a lot."

"And that's what you did when Svedberg came to see you?"

"Yes."

"Where is that tape now?"

"In the gazebo, where you found me. There's a blue angel on the outside of the tape."

"A blue angel?"

"I make the wrappers myself."

Wallander nodded. "Do you mind if I have someone get the tape for me?"

"Why would I mind?"

Wallander called the station and instructed the policeman on duty to send a squad car to the house to get the tape. He also told them to get the Walkman he had seen on the bedside table.

"A blue angel?" the policeman asked.

"Yes, a blue angel on the wrapper. Tell them to hurry."

It took them exactly 29 minutes. While he was waiting, Isa spent more than 15 minutes in the bathroom. When she came back Wallander realised she had washed her hair. It occurred to him that perhaps he should have worried that she was making a second attempt on her life.

An officer came into the room and gave him the tape recorder and tape. Isa nodded in recognition. She took the Walkman and fast-forwarded to the place she was looking for.

"Here," she said and handed the headphones to Wallander.

Svedberg's voice came at him full-strength. He flinched as if he had been struck. He heard Svedberg clear his throat and ask a question. Her answer disappeared in the surrounding noise. He rewound the tape and listened again. He had heard correctly.

Svedberg had asked a similar question. But Isa was wrong – it wasn't the same question. Wallander had asked, "How did you feel when you realised that they had left to travel around Europe without you?"

The way Svedberg phrased his question dramatically altered its meaning: "Do you really think they have gone on a trip to Europe?"

Wallander listened to it a third time. Isa's reply couldn't be heard. He took off the headphones.

Svedberg knew, he thought. By 1 or 2 July, Svedberg had known they weren't travelling around Europe.

They continued their conversation, although Wallander was finding it hard to concentrate. By 9 p.m. he didn't think he could hold off telling her the truth any longer. He excused himself by saying he was going to get a cup of coffee. In the hall he called Martinsson, who said that most of the officers were starting to return to Ystad. Soon only the forensic technicians and the security guards would be left. Nyberg and his team would work through the night. Wallander told him where he was and asked to speak to Höglund. She came to the phone, and he told her that he needed her help.

"Isa Edengren has to be notified of the deaths. I don't know how she's going to react."

"Well, at least she's already in the hospital. What do you think could happen to her?"

Her answer seemed unusually cold to Wallander until he realised that she was distancing herself from the situation. Nothing could be worse than the way she had spent this long August day.

"I'd still appreciate it if you could come over," he said. "That way at least I don't have to do this alone. She has just tried to commit suicide."

After they hung up, he looked for the nurse who had checked his blood-sugar levels and got the name and home number of the doctor he had spoken to. He also asked her what her impression of Isa Edengren was.

"Many people who try to commit suicide are very strong," she said. "There are always exceptions to the rule, but it's my impression that Isa Edengren is one such person."

He asked where he could get some coffee and she directed him to a vending machine in the foyer. Wallander called the doctor at home. A child's voice answered the phone, then he got a woman, and finally the doctor.

"I haven't been thinking clearly," Wallander said. "We have to tell her what happened right away, or she'll hear it herself tomorrow morning. Then we may not be able to intervene. I don't know how she's going to react."

The doctor said he would come in. Wallander set off in search of the vending machine, but when he found it he realised that he had no change in his pockets. An elderly man pushing a walking frame came by. When Wallander carefully asked him if he had any change, the old man simply shook his head.

"I'm going to die soon," he said. "In about three weeks or so. What do I need money for?"

He kept going, seemingly in high spirits. Wallander was left with a note in his outstretched hand. When he did find some change, he pushed the wrong button and ended up with cream in his coffee, which he almost never had.

When he returned to the ward, Höglund had arrived. She was pale and had dark circles under her eyes. They hadn't found any significant leads, she told him, and he could hear how tired she was.

We're all tired, he thought. Exhausted, before we've even begun to penetrate this nightmare we're in.

He told her about his conversation with Isa Edengren, and she listened with surprise when he mentioned the recording of Svedberg's voice. He told her his conclusion: that Svedberg knew, or at least strongly suspected, that the three missing people hadn't set off on a trip.

"How on earth could he have known that," she asked, "unless he was extremely close to what happened?"

"The situation seems clearer to me now," Wallander said. "He is somehow very close to the events, but he doesn't know everything. If he did he would have no reason to be asking these questions."

"That would suggest that Svedberg wasn't the one who killed them," she said. "Not that any of us really thought so."

"It passed through my mind," Wallander said. "I'll admit it. Now the picture has changed. I'm prepared to go a step further and say that Svedberg knew only a couple of days after Midsummer that something was wrong. But what was it that he feared?"

"That they were dead?"

"Not necessarily. He's in the same situation we were in before we found them. But where does his fear or suspicion come from?"

"He knows something we don't?"

"Something makes him suspicious. Perhaps it is only a vague feeling, we'll never know. But he doesn't share these suspicions. He keeps them to himself, conducts a thorough investigation during his holiday."

"So we have to ask ourselves what he knew."

"That's what we're looking for, nothing else."

"But that won't explain why he was shot."

"Nor does it explain why he didn't tell us what he was doing."

She frowned. "Why do you keep something hidden?"

"Because there's information you don't want to get out. Or you don't want to be discovered," he answered. "We may find a link."

"I've thought the same thing. There may very well be a link between Svedberg and the young people. Someone else."

"Louise?"

"Maybe."

They heard a door slam at the end of the corridor and the doctor came walking towards them. It was time. Isa Edengren was still sitting in the chair when Wallander went back in.

"There's one last thing I have to talk to you about," he said, sitting down next to her. "I'm afraid it will be difficult for you to hear. That's why I'd like your doctor to be here while I tell you. And one of my colleagues, Ann-Britt Höglund."

He saw that she was getting scared. But there was no way out now. The others joined them, and Wallander told her the facts. Her three friends had been found, but they were dead. Someone had killed them.

"We wanted to tell you now," he finished. "So you don't read about it in the papers tomorrow."

She didn't react.

"I know this is hard for you," he said. "But I have to ask you if you have any idea who might have done this."

"No."

Her voice was weak but clear.

"Did anyone else know about your plans that night?"

"No outsider is ever told."

It occurred to Wallander that she sounded like she was reciting a rule. Perhaps she was.

"No one knew except you?"

"No one."

"You weren't there since you got sick. But you knew where they were going to be?"

"In the nature reserve."

"And you knew they were going to dress up?"

"Yes."

"Why was it so secret?"

She didn't answer. I've trespassed onto secret territory again, Wallander thought. She refuses to answer when I go too far. But he knew she was right. No one had known about their plans. He had no further questions.

"We're leaving," he said. "Please be in touch if you think of anything else. The people around here know how to get hold of me. I also want you to know that I spoke to your mother."

She jerked her head back. "Why? What has she got to do with this?"

Her voice was suddenly shrill, making Wallander feel uncomfortable.

"I had to tell her," he said. "When I found you, you were unconscious. It's my duty to notify the next of kin."

She seemed about to say more, but then she stopped herself, and started to cry. The doctor indicated that it was time for Wallander and Höglund to leave. When they were out in the corridor again and the door shut behind them, Wallander noticed that he was dripping with sweat.

"Every time it gets worse," he said. "Soon I won't be able to get through this any more."

They arrived back at the station around 10.30 p.m. Wallander was surprised to see that there were no reporters outside. He'd thought the news about the murders would already have been leaked. Wallander hung up his coat and went to the canteen. Tired police officers sat silently over their cups of coffee and the remains of takeaway pizzas. It occurred to Wallander that he ought to say something to cheer them up. But how did you lighten the mood after the killing of three innocent people on a summer picnic? Somewhere in the background was also the murder of one of their own.

Wallander said nothing, but he nodded to them and tried to show that he was there for them. Hansson looked at him with weary eyes.

"When are we meeting?" he asked.

Wallander glanced at his watch. "Now. Is Martinsson here?"

"He's on his way."

"Lisa?"

"In her office. I think things were hard for her in Lund. All the parents, couple after couple, stepped up to identify their child. Although I think Eva Hillström came by herself."

Wallander went straight to Lisa Holgersson's office. The door was slightly ajar, and he could see her behind the desk. Her eyes seemed wet. He knocked and looked in. She gestured for him to come in.

"Do you regret going to Lund?"

"There's nothing to regret. But it was as terrible as you said it would be. There are no words to offer someone at a time like this. Parents are called down on a summer's day to identify their dead child. The people who had fixed up the bodies had done a great job, but they couldn't completely hide the fact that they had been dead for a long time."

"Hansson said Eva Hillström came by herself."

"She was the most restrained, perhaps because she had feared the worst all along."

"She's going to accuse us of not moving fast enough on this. Perhaps with some justification."

"Is that really your opinion?"

"No, but I don't know how much my opinion matters. If we had had more personnel, if it hadn't been in the middle of everyone's holiday time . . . things might have been different. But there are always excuses. And now a mother is forced to confront her worst fear."

"I'd like to discuss the possibility of getting some reinforcements down here as soon as possible."

Wallander was too tired to argue, but he didn't agree with her. There was always the hope that greater numbers meant greater efficiency. But in his experience this was almost never the case. It was often a small, well-run investigative team that produced the best results.

"What do you think?"

Wallander shrugged. "I think you know my opinion on this. But I'm not going to object if you want reinforcements."

"I'd like to talk to the others about it tonight."

"They're exhausted," he said. "You won't get any rational answers. Why don't you wait until tomorrow?"

It was 10.45 p.m. Wallander got up and went to the conference room. Svedberg's chair was still empty. Nyberg came in straight from the crime scene and Wallander saw him shake his head. No new finds.

Wallander started by telling them about his visit to the hospital. He had brought the tape recorder and cassette with him. There was an eerie silence in the room when he played the recording of Svedberg's voice. After Wallander told them about his conclusions, he noticed that the exhaustion of the group seemed to lift a little. Svedberg had known something. Was that why he had been killed?

They slowly went over all the facts of the case again. The meeting stretched long into the night, and the team slowly overcame their tiredness and low spirits. They took a short break just after midnight. When they returned, Martinsson sat down in Svedberg's chair by mistake. He changed his seat when he realised what he had done. Wallander got up to go to the men's room and drink some water. His mouth was dry and his head ached, but he knew he had to push on. During the break he went to his office to call the hospital. After waiting for a long time he finally talked to the nurse who had checked his blood-sugar level.

"She's sleeping," she said. "She wanted a sleeping pill. Naturally we couldn't give her one, but she fell asleep anyway."

"Has anyone called her? Her mother?"

"Only a man who said he was her neighbour."

"Lundberg?"

"Yes, that was his name."

"The full impact of what has happened will probably only hit her tomorrow," Wallander said.

"What is it that's happened?"

Wallander couldn't think of any reason not to tell her. There was a stunned silence.

"I can't believe it," she said.

"I don't know," he said honestly. "I don't understand it any better than you."

He returned to the conference room. It was time for him to summarise the events as they knew them.

"I don't know why this happened," he started. "I see no possible motive and therefore no possible suspect. But I am aware of a chain of events, as you all are. This chain is not completely without gaps, but I'll tell you what I see. Correct me if I leave anything out."

He reached for some sparkling mineral water and filled his glass. "Some time during the afternoon on 21 June, three young people drove out to Hagestad nature reserve. They probably arrived in two cars, both of which remain missing. According to Isa Edengren, who was supposed to have been with them but fell ill, they had chosen the place for their party in advance. They were going to make it a masquerade, which they had done before. We should try to understand this game as well as we can. I think there were very strong ties between these young people, something more than simple friendship.

"Their era this time was the 18th century, the age of Bellman. They wore costumes and wigs and played songs from
Fredman's Epistles.
We don't know if they were being observed at this point. The spot they had chosen was hidden from view. The killer appeared from somewhere and shot them. They were each shot in the forehead. We don't yet know what kind of weapon was used. Everything points to the killer carrying out the deed deliberately and without hesitation. We find them 51 days later. That's the most likely scenario, but until we know exactly how long they have been dead we cannot rule out that they may not have been killed at the Midsummer feast. It may have happened at a later date. We simply don't know. But we do know that the killer must have been privy to certain information. It's not really believable that this triple homicide was a chance occurrence. We can't rule out the possibility of a lunatic, since we can't rule anything out, but the signs point to a carefully planned and executed killing. The motive for this crime I cannot even begin to speculate about. Who would want to kill young people in the midst of the happiest time of their lives? I don't think I've ever been involved in a case like this before."

He looked around. He wasn't quite done with his summary of the events, but he wanted to see if there were any questions. No one spoke.

"There is more to this story," he said. "We don't know if it is a beginning, an end, or a parallel event, but Svedberg was also murdered, and we found a photograph of these young people in his flat. We know that he was investigating their disappearance and that he started to do so as soon as he heard from Eva Hillström and the other parents. There is a connection here. We don't know what it is but we have to find it. That's where we have to begin."