who had screamed. His heart was pounding. It was quiet outside, just the whisper of the wind in the trees. He listened. Had it been a dream? He sat up and fumbled for the matches that he had placed beside the lamp on the table, lit it, and got dressed. He was putting his shoes on when he heard the sound. Something banging against the side of the house. Maybe the sound of a washing line hitting a drainpipe. But it was coming from downstairs. He got up, still with one shoe in his hand, and went over to the door. He opened it carefully and the sound came more clearly. The kitchen. The kitchen door must be open and banging in the wind. His fear came back with a vengeance. He hadn't been dreaming. The scream had been real.
Instead of putting his shoe on, he kicked off the other one, and walked downstairs with the lamp in his hand. He stopped halfway down and listened. The lamplight flickered over the walls. His hands were shaking. He realised that he had nothing to defend himself with. He tried to gather his thoughts. Nothing could happen out here. They were alone on the island. Maybe a bird had cried outside his window. And there was another possibility - that he wasn't the only one who had nightmares.
He went all the way downstairs and stopped outside her door, listened, then knocked. No answer. It's too quiet, he thought. He felt the handle. It was locked. Now he didn't hesitate. He banged the door and rattled the handle. Nothing. He went out to the kitchen. The back door was open and he closed it. He looked in the kitchen drawers and found a screwdriver, and used it to open her door. The bed was empty, the window open without being fastened. He tried to think what might have happened. He remembered seeing a big torch in the kitchen. He got it, and took a hammer as well. He opened the back door, and shone the light out into the darkness.
Once he was outside he realised that he was barefoot. A bird flew away from somewhere nearby. The sound of the wind was stronger. He called Isa's name, but there was no answer. He shone the light below her window. There were footprints on the ground, but they were so faint that he couldn't see where they led. He shone the light out into the darkness and called out again. Still no answer. His heart was pounding. He went back to the kitchen door and examined the lock. It had been forced, just as he'd thought. His fear grew stronger. He turned around and lifted his hammer, but there was no one there. He returned to the house. His phone was on the table next to his bed. He tried to imagine what had happened.
Someone breaks in through the kitchen door. Isa wakes because someone is trying to get into her room. Then she jumps out the window.
He couldn't think of any other explanation. He looked at his watch. It was 2.45 a.m. He dialled Martinsson's home number. He answered on the second ring. Wallander knew he had a phone by his bed.
'It's Kurt. I'm sorry to wake you.'
'What's wrong?' Martinsson was still half-asleep.
'Get up,' Wallander said. 'Splash some cold water on your face. I'll call back in three minutes.'
Martinsson started to protest, but Wallander hung up and looked at his watch. In exactly three minutes he called back, worrying about the battery to his phone running out.
'Listen carefully,' he said. 'I can't talk for long, my battery is going to run out. Do you have a pen and paper?'
Martinsson was wide awake now.
'I'm writing this down as we speak.'
'Something's happened out here. I don't know what. Isa Edengren screamed, and I woke up. Now she's gone. The back door to the house has been forced. There's someone else on the island besides us. Whoever it is, he's come for her. I'm afraid she's in danger.'
'What do you want me to do?'
'For now, just get the phone number of the coast guard in Fyrudden. Be prepared for my next call.'
'What are you going to do?'
'Find her.'
'If the killer's out there it'll be dangerous. You need help.'
'And where would that come from? Norkopping? How long would that take?'
'You can't search an entire island by yourself.'
'It's not that big. I'm going to hang up now, I want to conserve the battery.'
Wallander put his shoes on and slipped the phone into his pocket, tucked the hammer into his belt, and left the house. He walked down to the landing and shone the torch. No boat. The boathouse and guest house were empty. He was calling her name. He ran back up to the main house, and started down the path. The bushes and trees looked white in the strong light. There was no one in the earth cellar.
He continued, calling her constantly. When he came to the junction in the path, he hesitated. Which way should he go? He looked at the ground, but couldn't see any prints. He headed for the northern tip of the island. He was out of breath when he reached the end. The wind coming in off the open sea was icy. He let the beam from the torch play over the rocks. Two eyes gleamed in the light. It was a little animal, a mink perhaps, that scuttled away between the rocks. He walked to the very end of the rocks, shining his light in the crevices. Nothing. He turned around to start back.
Something made him stop. He listened. The waves hit the shore in a rhythmic motion, but there was another sound. At first he didn't know what it was. Then he realised that it was an engine. The sound came from the west.
The harbour, he thought, and started running. I should have taken the other path.
He stopped only when he was about to reach the shore. He stepped out and flashed his light over the water. There was nothing there, and the sound had disappeared. A boat has just left, he thought. His fear increased. What had happened to her? He walked back along the path, trying to decide how to continue his search. Did the coast guard have dogs? Even though the island was small, he wouldn't be finished until morning. He tried to think out how she would have reacted. She had fled her bedroom in panic. The person trying to break in had blocked her way up to his room. She jumped out the window and took off into the darkness. He doubted that she'd had a torch.
Wallander reached the junction again. Suddenly he knew. As they were walking around the island, she had mentioned a favourite hiding place she and Jorgen had when they were little. He thought back to where they had been standing when she had pointed to the rock face that was the highest point on the island. It had been closer to the house, and he remembered two juniper trees. He left the path. Fallen trees and thick shrubbery slowed his progress. There were large boulders strewn about, and he shone his light on them as he walked by. As he was nearing the beginning of the rock face, he caught sight of a deep crevice behind some ferns. He walked up to the rock wall, parted the ferns, and shone his torch inside.
She was there, curled up against the side of the rock, wearing only a nightgown. Her arms were wrapped around her legs and her head was leaning against one shoulder. It looked like she was sleeping, but he knew at once that she was dead. She had been shot in the head.
Wallander sank down on the ground. The blood rushed to his head. He felt like he was dying, and he didn't really mind. He had failed. He hadn't managed to keep her safe. Even the hiding place where she had played as a child hadn't protected her. He hadn't heard a shot. The gun must have had a silencer.
He got up and leaned against a tree. The phone slid out of his grasp. He leaned down, picked it up, and started staggering back towards the house as he called Martinsson.
'I'm too late,' he said.
'Too late for what?'
'She's dead. Shot, just like the others.'
Martinsson didn't seem to understand. Wallander had to repeat himself.
'My God,' Martinsson said. 'Who killed her?'
'A man in a boat,' Wallander said. 'Call the police in Norrkoping. They'll have to do this. And talk to the coast guard.'
Martinsson promised to do what he said.
'You might as well wake up the others,' he said. 'Lisa Holgersson, everyone. Once I get some help out here I'll call you again.'
The conversation was over. Wallander sat on a chair in the kitchen, with the beam resting on a tapestry with the words 'home sweet home'. After a while he forced himself to get up, go into her room, and pull the blanket from her bed. Then he went out into the dark. Once he got back to the crevice he wrapped the blanket around her.
He sat down by the ferns that covered the opening. It was 3.20 a.m.
