'The state of this flat doesn't suggest that,' Wallander said. 'I think he lived like this. The man has a professionally soundproofed room. But you may be right. I hope you are; then perhaps we'll find something after all.'
The piece of paper lay on the table in front of them.
'Are we misinterpreting it?' Hoglund asked.
'It says what it says. Nyberg claims it was written recently. He can tell that from the consistency of the graphite, or something like that.'
'Why do you think he wrote it?'
Martinsson was the one who asked the last question, and Wallander knew it was an important one.
'You're right,' he said. 'It stands out as the only personal item we've found. What does it mean? I'm assuming that he was here when Nyberg and I were at the door. The unlocked back door seems to imply a hasty departure.'
'Then this was something he left behind inadvertently?' Martinsson asked.
'That's the most plausible explanation. Or rather the most obvious. But is it the right one?'
'What would the alternative be?'
'That he wanted us to find it.'
No one seemed to grasp what Wallander was getting at. He knew it was a flimsy theory.
'What do we know about Ake Larstam? We know he's good at getting the information he needs. He ferrets out other people's secrets. I'm not saying he has access to our investigation, but I think the information he does have is aided by a fair amount of foresight. He must have considered the possibility that we would find him. The fact that I turned up at that bar in Copenhagen, if nothing else, would have forced him to think about this. What does he do? He prepares to flee, but first he prepares a greeting for us. He knows we'll find it, since there's nothing much else here to find.'
'But that still doesn't tell us why,' Martinsson said.
'He's teasing us. That's not so unusual. Lunatics like this often enjoy taunting the police. He must have exulted over his triumph in Copenhagen. There he was, parading around as Louise just after the Danish papers had run her picture, and he still managed to get away.'
'It still strikes me as strange that we would find this piece of paper on the very day he's planning to kill again.'
'He couldn't have known when we would get here.'
But the words sounded unconvincing even to his ears. Wallander let it drop.
'We have to take his threats seriously,' he said. 'We have to assume he intends to strike again.'
'Do we have any leads whatsoever?' The question came from Thurnberg, who had appeared in the doorway.
'No,' Wallander said. 'We have nothing. We might as well be honest about that.'
No one said anything. Wallander knew he had to counteract the sense of hopelessness that was spreading through the team. It was 5.20 a.m. Wallander suggested that they report back at 8 a.m. That would give everyone an opportunity to rest for an hour or so. They would station a couple of officers outside the block of flats, and they would also start questioning the neighbours about Larstam.
Nyberg waited until everyone except Wallander had left the room.
'He keeps a clean house,' he said. 'But we have fingerprints.'
'Anything else?'
'Not really.'
'Any weapons?'
'No, I would have already told you about something like that.'
Wallander nodded. Nyberg's face was ashen with exhaustion.
'I think you were right about the killer and happy people.'
'Will we find him?'
'Sooner or later. But I dread what may happen today.'
'Couldn't we make some kind of announcement?'
'Saying what exactly? That people should avoid laughing today? He's already chosen his victim. It's probably someone who isn't giving a thought to the idea of being followed.'
'I guess we might have a better chance of locating his hideout if we keep quiet.'
'That's my thought, too. I just don't know how much time we have.'
'Shouldn't we also consider the possibility that he may not have an extra flat or summer house to run to? What then? Where would he go?'
Nyberg was right. Wallander hadn't considered this possibility. The fatigue had wrung his brain dry. 'What do you think?' he asked.
Nyberg shrugged. 'We know he has a car. Maybe he's curled up in the back seat. It's still warm enough to sleep outside. That's another possibility. Or he may have a boat. There are a number of options.'
'Too many,' Wallander said. 'We have no time to look for him.'
'I understand the hell you're in right now,' Nyberg said. 'Don't think I don't.'
It was rare for Nyberg to express anything remotely close to emotion. Wallander sensed his support, and for once felt somewhat less alone.
Once Wallander was out on the street, he was no longer sure what to do. He knew he needed to go home, shower, and sleep for at least half an hour. But anxiety drove him to keep going. A squad car took him back to the station. He felt queasy and thought about trying to eat something, but instead he drank some more coffee and took his medication. He sat down at his desk and started working through the file again. He saw himself back at Svedberg's flat, with Martinsson close behind. Ake Larstam was the one who had been there and killed Svedberg. Wallander still couldn't see their relationship clearly, but the photo Svedberg had was of Larstam dressed as a woman. Now he knew why the flat had looked the way it did. Larstam's greatest fear was leaving traces of himself. After shooting Svedberg, he had turned the flat upside down looking for that photograph. But Svedberg had had a secret of his own.
The team met promptly at 8 a.m. When Wallander saw the fatigue and anxiety on the faces around him, he worried that he had failed them. Not that he had led them down the wrong path, but that he hadn't led them down the right one. They were still fumbling around in a no-man's-land, not knowing which way to turn. He had one clear thought in his head.
'From now on we work together,' he said. 'This room will be our headquarters and our meeting place.'
The others went to their offices to get the materials they needed. Only Martinsson lingered in the doorway.
'Have you slept at all?' he asked.
Wallander shook his head. 'You have to,' Martinsson said firmly. 'We can't do this if you collapse.'
'I can keep going a while longer.'
'You've already crossed the line. I slept for an hour. It helped.'
'I'll take a walk soon,' Wallander said. 'I'll go home and change my shirt.'
Martinsson looked as if he was going to add something, but Wallander held his hand up to stop him. He didn't have the energy to listen. He didn't know if he was ever going to have the energy to get up from his chair again. They all filed back into the room and closed the door. Thurnberg loosened his tie and actually looked tired. Holgersson sent a message saying that she was in her office dealing with the press.
Everyone looked at Wallander.
'We have to try to understand the way he thinks,' he said. 'And we have to figure out where can we look for answers. We're not only going to look back through our files on this investigation; some of us will have to examine this man's past. We need to know if he has any living relatives at all, if anyone remembers him from his time at Chalmers, or his old workplace. Where did he retrain to become a postal worker? Our biggest problem is time. We have to assume that the note we found was a message to us about his intentions. Somehow we have to decide what information to look for first.'
'We should find out about his parents,' Hoglund said. 'We can only hope his mother is still alive. A mother knows her children; we've learned that lesson.'
'Why don't you look into that?' Wallander said.
