Henning Mankell - One step behind

"Who is it?"

"Ake Larstam."

Edmundsson stood up, his sandwich still in his hand. It looked like ham and cheese. Without thinking twice, Wallander took it out of his hand and started eating it. It made his cheek hurt, but his hunger won out.

"You mean to say the killer is tied up in your car?"

"You heard what I said. Put some handcuffs on him, take him to a room, and lock the door. What's Thurnberg's number?"

Edmundsson quickly brought it up on his computer and then left. Wallander finished the sandwich, chewing slowly. There was no reason to hurry any more. He dialled Thurnberg's number. After a long time a woman answered. Wallander told her who he was, and Thurnberg came on the line.

"It's Wallander. I think you should come down here."

"What for? What time is it?"

"I don't care what time it is, you have to come down here and make the formal arrest of Ake Larstam."

Wallander heard Thurnberg catch his breath. "Can you repeat that?"

"I have Larstam."

"How in God's name did you do that?"

It was the first time Wallander had heard Thurnberg caught completely off guard.

"I found him out in the woods."

Thurnberg seemed finally to have understood that he was in earnest. "I'll be right there."

Edmundsson and another officer walked by with Larstam between them. Wallander met his gaze. Neither of them spoke. Wallander walked to the conference room and laid Larstam's gun on the table.

Thurnberg arrived quickly. He too flinched at the sight of Wallander, who still hadn't been to the men's room to check his appearance, although he had managed to find some painkillers in a desk drawer. He also found his mobile phone, which he threw into the rubbish in a sudden rage.

Wallander told Thurnberg what had happened as succinctly as possible. He pointed to Larstam's gun. As if to mark the solemnity of the moment, Thurnberg fished a tie out of his pocket and put it on.

"So you got him. Not bad."

"Oh, it was bad all right," Wallander said. "But we can go into that another time."

"Maybe we should call the others and let them know," Thurnberg said.

"What for? Why not let them sleep for once?"

Thurnberg dropped the suggestion. He left to go and see Larstam. Wallander got heavily to his feet and walked to the men's room. The cut in his cheek was deep and probably needed stitches, but the thought of dragging himself to the hospital made him weak. It would have to wait. It was now 5.30 a.m. He went to his office and closed the door behind him.

Martinsson was the first to arrive the next morning. He had slept badly and anxiety had forced him to come into the station. Thurnberg was still there and told him the news. Martinsson then called Hoglund, Nyberg and Hansson in quick succession. Shortly afterwards Holgersson arrived. It was only when they had all gathered at the station that someone asked where Wallander was. Thurnberg told them he had disappeared. They assumed he had gone to the hospital to have his cheek looked at.

At 8.30 a.m. Martinsson called Wallander at home but there was no answer. That was when Hoglund wondered whether he was in his office. They went there together. The door was closed. Martinsson knocked gently. When there was no answer, they pushed open the door. Wallander was stretched out on the floor, the phone book and his jacket tucked under his head for a pillow. He was snoring.

Hoglund and Martinsson looked at each other. Then they pulled the door shut and let him rest.

On Friday, 25 October, rain fell steadily over Ystad. When Wallander stepped out onto the footpath on Mariagatan shortly after 8 a.m., it was 7°C. Although he was trying to walk to work as often as possible, this time he took the car. He had been on sick leave for two weeks, and Dr Goransson had just ordered him to remain off duty for one more. His blood-sugar levels were much lower, but his blood pressure remained high.

He wasn't driving to the station this morning in order to work. He had an important meeting to attend, one that he had agreed to during those chaotic August days when they were still searching blindly for the man who had carried out the most appalling series of murders they had ever investigated.

Wallander could still recall the particular moment quite clearly. Martinsson had come to his office, and at the end of their conversation he had told him that his 11-year-old son was thinking of becoming a police officer. Martinsson had complained that he didn't know what to say to his son, and Wallander promised to speak to him once the investigation was over. Now the time had finally come. He had even promised to let the boy, David, try on his his policeman's cap, and had spent the entire evening looking for it.

Wallander parked the car and hurried into the building, hunching his shoulders against the rain and wind. Ebba had a cold. She warned him to keep his distance and blew her nose. Wallander thought about the fact that she wouldn't be working there in a little less than a year.

David was due at 8.45 a.m. While he was waiting, Wallander cleaned up his desk. In a few hours he was leaving Ystad. He still wasn't sure if this was the right decision or not, but he looked forward to the prospect of driving his car through the autumn landscape, listening to opera.

David was punctual. Ebba showed him to Wallander's office.

"You have a visitor," she said smiling.

"A VIP by the looks of it," Wallander said.

He looked like his father. There was something introverted about him, something that Wallander noticed in Martinsson as well. Wallander put his policeman's cap on the table.

"What should we start with?" he asked. "Your questions or the cap?"

"The questions."

David took a piece of paper out of his pocket. He was well prepared. "Why did you become a policeman?"

The simple question threw Wallander. He was forced to think for a minute, since he had already decided to take the meeting seriously. He wanted to make his answers honest and thoughtful.

"I think I believed I would make a good policeman."

"Aren't all policemen good?"

This was not a question written on the sheet.

"Most of them, but not all. In the way that not all teachers are good."

"What did your parents say about you becoming a policeman?"

"My mother didn't say anything. She died before I had made up my mind."

"What about your dad?"

"He was against it. He was so much against it, in fact, that we almost stopped talking to each other."

"Why?"

"I don't even really know. That may sound strange, but it's the way it was."

"You must have asked him why."

"I never got a good answer."

"Is he dead?"

"He died not so long ago. So now I can't ask him any more, even if I wanted to."

Wallander's answer seemed to worry David. He hesitated over his next question.

"Have you ever regretted becoming a policeman?"

"Many times. I think everyone does."

"Why?"

"Because you have to see so much suffering. You feel helpless, and you wonder how you're going to hold out until your retirement."

"Don't you ever feel that you're helping people?"

"Sometimes, but not always."

"Do you think I should become a policeman?"

"I think you should take your time to make a decision. I think you have to be 17 or 18 years old before you really know what you want to do."

"I'm going to be either a policeman or a road construction worker."

"Road construction?"

"Helping people get around is also good."

Wallander nodded. This was a thoughtful child.

"I only have one question left," David said. "Are you ever scared?"

"Yes."

"What do you do then?"

"I don't know. I end up sleeping badly. I try to think of other things, if I can."