'How long did Jorgen sail for?'
'He started in 1992. He had a little informal sailing club with regular meetings. They had parties and sent letters back and forth in bottles. Jorgen was often the secretary. I had to show him how to write up the minutes.'
'Do you still have those records?'
'I remember putting all the minutes in a box after he died. They must still be there.'
I need names, Wallander thought.
'Can you think of the names of any of his friends?'
'Some, but not all.'
'But the names are probably recorded in the minutes.'
'Probably.'
'Then I'd like you to go and get them,' Wallander said. 'It could be important.'
Wallander offered to send a police car to Skarby, but Edengren wanted to get them himself. He turned around in the doorway.
'I don't know how I'm going to stand it,' he said. 'I've lost both my children. What else is there?'
He didn't wait for an answer, and Wallander would not have been able to give him one. He got up and walked to the conference room. Ebba wasn't there, and no one had seen her. Wallander called his home number. The phone rang eight times but no one answered. Ebba must be on her way back.
Edengren returned after 40 minutes, and handed Wallander a big brown envelope.
'That's all I have. I think there are eleven sets of minutes in there. They seem not to have taken it so seriously.'
Wallander leafed through the papers. They were typewritten and contained a number of mistakes. He found seven names altogether, but recognised none of them. Another dead end, he thought. I'm still looking for a pattern, but Ake Larstam doesn't follow one. He went to the conference room, showed the material to Martinsson and asked him to look over the names. Wallander was about to walk out the door when Martinsson gave a yell. Wallander turned and walked back. Martinsson pointed to the name 'Stefan Berg'.
'Wasn't one of the postmen called Berg?'
It had slipped Wallander's mind, but he now realised that Martinsson was right.
'I'll call him,' Martinsson said.
Wallander returned to Edengren. He paused before walking into the room. Was there anything else he needed to ask? He didn't think so. He pushed open the door. Edengren was standing at the window and turned when he heard Wallander come in. To his surprise, Wallander saw that his eyes were red.
'You're free to go home now,' he said. 'We have no reason to keep you.'
Edengren looked searchingly at him. 'Will you get him? The bastard who killed Isa?'
'Yes, we'll get him.'
'Why did he do it?'
'We don't know.'
Edengren shook his hand and Wallander followed him out to reception. Still no sign of Ebba.
'We'll stay in Sweden until after the funeral,' Edengren said. 'Then I don't know. Maybe we'll leave Sweden, sell the house in Skarby and in Barnso too. The thought of going back there is too unbearable.'
Edengren left without waiting for a response. Wallander stood for a long time after he had gone. When he returned to the conference room, Martinsson was getting off the phone.
'We were right,' he said. 'Stefan Berg is the postman's son. He's enrolled in a college in Kentucky right now.'
'Where does that lead us?'
'Nowhere, really. Berg told me everything he could, I think. He said he often talked about himself and his family when he was at work. That means Ake Larstam would have had many opportunities to hear about Stefan and the sailing club.'
Wallander sat down. 'But where does it really lead us? Is there anything here that can point us in the right direction?'
'It doesn't seem like it.'
Wallander suddenly erupted and swept the pile of papers in front of him onto the floor.
'We're not going to find him!' he yelled. 'Where the hell is he? Who the hell is the ninth victim!'
The others in the room looked at him to see if he was done. Wallander threw his arms out in apology and left the room. He started walking up and down the hall. He checked to see if Ebba had come back, but she was still gone. She probably had trouble finding a clean shirt and went to buy me a new one, he thought.
It was 3.27 p.m., and there were only eight and a half hours left for Ake Larstam to do what he had promised to do.
Wallander went back to the conference room and waited until he caught Hoglund's eye. When she came over to talk to him, he told her to get Martinsson and join him in his office.
'Let's think this through together,' Wallander said when they were assembled. 'We still have two questions. We need to know where he is, and who he's planning to kill. Even if he's planning his deed for the stroke of midnight, we have less than nine hours to go.'
He knew that Martinsson and Hoglund must have thought of this as well, but it seemed as if the full implications were only hitting them now.
'Where is he?' Wallander repeated. 'What is he thinking? We found him in Svedberg's flat, which suggests he didn't think we would look for him there. But we did. Then there's his boat. But he may already assume it's too dangerous to use it. Then what will he do?'
'If his earlier crimes are anything to judge by,' Martinsson said, 'he'll choose a victim and a situation that poses little threat to himself. The way in which he's toying with us is different. He knows we're after him. He knows we've seen through his disguise.'
'He's asking himself how we think,' Hoglund said.
Wallander felt that they were all thinking along the same track now. 'You're Larstam,' he said. 'What are you thinking?'
'He's intending to go through with number nine. He's fairly sure we don't know who that is.'
'How can he be so sure of that?'
'Because if we knew, we would have surrounded that person with police protection. He's made sure of the fact that this hasn't been done.'
'We could also come to a different conclusion,' Martinsson said. 'He could be concentrating on finding a secure hiding place. He may not be overly concerned about getting to number nine yet.'
'That may be what he wants us to think,' Hoglund said.
'So we have to think differently,' Wallander said. 'We have to take yet another step into the unknown.'
'He must have chosen the most unlikely place for us to look for him.'
'In that case he should be here, in the basement of the station,' Martinsson said.
Wallander nodded. 'Or some symbolic equivalent to the station. What could that be?'
None of them had a suggestion.
'Does he assume we know what he looks like as a man by now?'
'He can't take any chances.'
Wallander suddenly thought of something. He turned to Martinsson. 'Did you ask his sister for a photograph?'
'I did, but she said the only one she had was of Larstam as a 14-year-old, and that it wasn't a very good one.'
'No help there then.'
'Where is Ake Larstam at this exact moment?'
No one had an answer, because there was nothing to go on. Just this strenuous speculation. Wallander felt a hint of panic. Time was ticking inexorably by.
'What about the person he's after?' Wallander said. 'He's killed six young people so far, as well as an older photographer and a middle-aged policeman. I think we should discount the last two. That leaves us with six young people, killed on two separate occasions in two groups.'
