One Step Behind (13 page)

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.

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.

They were early risers and left Ystad a little after 7 a.m. As usual they were planning to be gone the whole day. They put two rucksacks in the boot. These contained everything they might possibly need, even raincoats. Although it looked like it was going to be a fine day, you could never be sure. They lived a well-organised life. She was a teacher, he an engineer. They never left anything to chance.

They parked at the reserve shortly before 8 a.m., had a cup of coffee, then put on their rucksacks and started walking. At 8.15 a.m. they looked around for a nice place to have breakfast. They heard some dogs barking at a distance but had not yet seen any other people. It was warm and there was no breeze. When they found a good spot they spread out a blanket and sat down to eat. On Sundays they discussed the things they didn't have time for during the week. Today it was buying a new car. The one they had was getting old, but could they really afford a new one? After talking for a while, they decided they would wait another month or so. When they had finished eating, Rosmarie Leman stretched out on the blanket and fell asleep. Mats Leman intended to do the same, but first he had to relieve himself. He took some toilet paper with him and walked to the other side of the path and headed down the slope towards an area surrounded by thick bushes. Before squatting down, he looked around carefully but saw no one.

This is the best part of Sunday, he thought when he had finished. To lie down next to Rosmarie and doze for half an hour. As he had this thought, he noticed something in the bushes. He didn't know what it was, but there was some colour that contrasted with the green foliage. Normally he was not particularly curious, but he couldn't help walking closer and parting the branches for a better look. What he saw he would never forget as long as he lived.

Rosmarie was woken by his screams. At first she didn't know what it was, then she realised to her horror that it was her husband's voice calling for help. She had just managed to stand up when he came running towards her. She couldn't know what had happened or what he had seen, but his face was completely ashen. He made it to her side by the blanket and tried to tell her something.

Then he fainted.

The police station in Ystad took the call at 9.05 a.m. The caller was so hysterical that he was difficult to understand. Finally, however, the policeman taking the call pieced together that the caller's name was Mats Leman and he claimed to have found some dead bodies in Hagestad's nature reserve. Although his account was disjointed, the policeman on duty realised that it was serious. He took down the caller's mobile-phone number and told him to stay where he was. Then he went into Martinsson's office, since he had seen him come in just a few minutes before. The policeman stood in the doorway and told him about the call. There was one detail in particular that made Martinsson's stomach knot up.

"Did he say three?" he asked. "Three dead bodies?"

"That's what he said."

Martinsson got up. "I'll check it out right now," he said. "Have you seen Wallander?"

"No."

Martinsson remembered that Wallander was going to see someone this morning, someone named Sundberg – or was it Sundström? He called Wallander's mobile.

Wallander had walked to Vädergränd from his flat on Mariagatan, stopped in front of a beautiful house that he had admired many times, and rang the bell. Sundelius opened the door, dressed in a neatly pressed suit. They had just sat down in the living room when the phone rang. Wallander saw Sundelius's disapproving look as he pulled it out of his pocket with a quick apology.

He listened to what Martinsson had to say. He asked the same question as Martinsson.

"Did he say three? Three people?"

"It hasn't been confirmed, but that's what he thought he saw."

Wallander felt as though a weight was starting to press against his head.

"You realise what this might mean," he said.

"Yes," Martinsson answered. "We have to hope he was hallucinating."

"Did he give that impression?"

"Not according to the officer who took the call."

Wallander looked at a clock hanging on Sundelius's wall. It was 9.09 a.m.

"Come by and pick me up. I'm at number seven, Vädergränd," he said.

"Should we have full back up?"

"No, let's check it ourselves first."

Martinsson was on his way. Wallander got to his feet. "Unfortunately our conversation will have to wait," he said.

Sundelius said he understood. "I take it there's been an accident of some kind?"

"Yes," Wallander said. "A traffic accident. Unfortunately, there's no way of knowing when something like this will come up. I'll be in touch about visiting you again."

Sundelius walked him to the door. Martinsson pulled up and Wallander jumped in. He reached out and placed the flashing police light on the roof. When they arrived at the nature reserve, a woman ran out to meet them. Wallander could see a man sitting on a rock with his head in his hands. Wallander got out of the car. The woman was distraught and kept pointing and shouting something. Wallander took her by the shoulders and told her to calm down. The man remained where he was. When Wallander and Martinsson walked over to him he looked up. Wallander crouched down beside him.

"What happened?" he asked.

The man pointed into the nature reserve. "They're in there," he mumbled. "They're dead. They've been dead for a long time."

Wallander looked at Martinsson. Then he turned back to the man.

"You said that there were three of them."

"I think so."

One question remained, perhaps the worst one. "Could you tell how old they were?"

The man shook his head. "I don't know."

"I know it must have been a terrible sight," Wallander said. "But you have to lead us to the spot."

"I'm never going back there," he said. "Never."

"I know where it is."

It was the woman. She came up behind her husband and put her arm around him.

"But you never saw them yourself?"

"Our rucksacks and blanket are still up there. I know where it is."

Wallander got up. "Let's go," he said.

She led them into the reserve. The air was very still, and Wallander thought he could hear the faint sound of the sea. He wondered if the sound was simply the jumble of anxious thoughts inside his own head. They walked quickly and Wallander had trouble keeping up with the other two. Sweat ran down his chest. He needed to pee. A rabbit dashed across their path. Wallander couldn't imagine what they were about to find, but he knew that it would not be like anything he had seen before. Dead people are no more alike than the living, he thought. Nothing is ever repeated or the same, just like this anxiety. He recognised the knot in his stomach. It was still as if he were experiencing it for the first time.

The woman slowed down. They were getting closer. When they arrived at the blanket, she turned around and pointed down a slope on the other side of the path. Her hand shook. Until this moment Martinsson had been in front, but now Wallander took the lead. Rosmarie Leman waited by the rucksacks.

Wallander looked down the hillside. There was nothing but bushes below them. He started down the slope with Martinsson close behind. They arrived where the bushes started, and looked around.

"Do you think she might be wrong about the spot?" Martinsson asked. His voice was low, as though he were afraid someone would overhear them.

Wallander didn't answer. Something else had caught his attention. At first he didn't know what it was and then it struck him. A bad smell. He looked at Martinsson, who hadn't caught a whiff of it yet. Wallander started pushing his way through the bushes. He didn't see anything, just some trees up ahead. The smell disappeared, then returned more strongly.

"What's that?" Martinsson asked.

As soon as he had said it he realised what the answer was. Wallander proceeded slowly with Martinsson close behind. Then he stopped suddenly and saw Martinsson flinch. There was something behind the bushes to the left. The smell became stronger.

Martinsson and Wallander looked at each other, and each put a hand over his nose and mouth. A feeling of nausea washed over Wallander. He tried to take some deep breaths through his mouth while he kept his nose shut.

"Wait here," he told Martinsson. His voice quavered.

He forced himself forward and parted the branches. Three young people lay entwined on a blue linen cloth. They had been shot in the head. And they were in an advanced state of decomposition. Wallander shut his eyes and sat down.

After a moment he got up and returned to the place where he had left Martinsson, and pushed him along in front of him as if someone were following them. He stopped only when they were up on the path again.

"I've never seen anything so fucking horrible," Wallander stammered.

"Is it – "

"It has to be."

They stood there in silence. Wallander would later remember that a bird sang in a nearby tree. Everything was like a strange nightmare, and yet at the same time an excruciating reality. Wallander used all his inner resources to force himself to start thinking like a policeman again, to start practising his profession. He got out his phone and called the station. After about a minute he got Höglund on the line.

"It's me, Kurt."

"Shouldn't you be visiting that retired bank manager this morning?"

"We've found them. All three of them. They're dead."

He heard her catch her breath. "You mean Boge and the others?"

"Yes."

"They're dead?"

"Shot."

"Oh my God."

"Listen to me. Here's what we have to do. This is a red alert. I want everybody out here. We're at Hagestad nature reserve. I'll put Martinsson at the turn-off to guide people down here. We need Lisa immediately. And we'll need extra help to keep the area cordoned off from the public."

"Who's going to call the parents?"

Wallander felt a degree of anguish and panic he had never experienced before. Of course the parents had to be notified; they had to identify their children's bodies. But he just couldn't do it.

"They've been dead for a long time," he said. "Do you understand? They may have been dead as long as a month."

She understood.

"I'll have to talk to Lisa about it," he said. "But we can't let the parents see this."

There was nothing else to say. Wallander was left staring down at the phone after they had hung up.

"You'd better get down to the turn-off," he told Martinsson.

Martinsson inclined his head in Rosmarie Leman's direction. "What do we do with her?"

"Get the important facts. Time, address, etcetera. Then send them home. Tell them not to talk to anyone about it until they hear otherwise."

"Are we allowed to do that?"

Wallander stared at Martinsson. "Right now we're allowed to do whatever the hell we want."

Martinsson and Leman left, and Wallander was alone. The bird kept singing. A couple of metres away, hidden behind thick bushes, three young people lay dead. How alone can a person possibly feel, he wondered. He sat down on a rock by the path. The bird flew away.

We didn't get them home, he thought. They never left for Europe. They were here the whole time and they were dead. Maybe even since Midsummer. Eva Hillström was right all along. Someone else wrote those postcards. They were here the whole time, in the same spot where they celebrated their Midsummer feast.

He thought about Isa Edengren. Did she realise what had happened? Was that why she had tried to commit suicide? Did she realise the others were dead, just as she would have been if she'd been with them that night?

There were already things that didn't make sense. Why had no one discovered the bodies for a whole month? Even if the spot was out of the way, someone would have come across it, or smelled them. Wallander didn't understand it, but he also couldn't quite bear to keep thinking about it. Who could possibly have wanted to kill three young people dressed up in costume and celebrating Midsummer together? It was an act of insanity. And somewhere in the network of connections to this act there was another dead body. Svedberg. How had he been involved in all this?

Wallander felt an increasing sense of helplessness. Although he had only gazed at the scene for a few seconds, he had not been able to mistake the bullet holes in their foreheads. The murderer knew what he was aiming at. And Svedberg had been the best shot in the force.

A breeze tossed the trees from time to time. In between the small gusts, all was calm. Svedberg was the best shot. Wallander forced himself to think this through. Could Svedberg possibly have been the one? What was there that spoke against this possibility? For that matter, were there any clear alternatives to choose from?

He got up and started walking to and fro along the path. He wished he could have called Rydberg on the phone. But Rydberg was dead, as dead as these three young people. As he moved along the path he had a sudden impulse to run away from it all. He didn't think he could handle the pressure any more. Someone else would have to take over: Martinsson or Hansson. He was burnt out. And he had developed diabetes. He was on a downward spiral.

Finally he heard people approaching. There were sounds of cars in the distance and branches breaking somewhere down the path. Then they were there, gathering around him. He would have to take charge and tell them what to do. He had known many of them for as long as 15 years. Lisa Holgersson was pale. Wallander wondered what he looked like himself.

"They're down there," he said and pointed to the bushes. "They've been shot. Although they haven't been identified yet, I'm sure they're the three missing young people, the ones we assumed, or hoped, were travelling through Europe. Now we know that isn't the case."