“I’m going to show her the town,” said Linda.
“Where are you from?” he asked Kajsa.
“Sandviken, up north,” she said. “I’ve never been to Skane before.”
“Then we’re even,” said Wallander. “I’ve never been to Sandviken.”
He watched them disappear around the corner. The fine weather was holding. It would be even warmer today. He felt cheerful because of his daughter’s unexpected visit, even though he couldn’t adjust to the drastic way she had been experimenting with her looks the past few years. But when she’d stood in the doorway, he’d seen for the first time what many people had told him before. Linda looked like him. He had discovered his own face in hers.
He arrived at the station, feeling renewed vigour after Linda’s unexpected visit. He strode down the hall, thinking that he clumped along like an overweight elephant, and threw off his jacket when he entered his room. He grabbed the telephone before he even sat down and asked the receptionist to get hold of Nyberg. Just as he’d fallen asleep the night before, an idea had come to him that he wanted to explore. It took five minutes before the girl at the front desk managed to locate Nyberg.
“It’s Wallander,” he said. “Do you remember telling me about a can of some sort of spray that you found outside the cordon on the beach?”
“Of course I remember,” snapped Nyberg.
Wallander ignored the fact that Nyberg was obviously in a bad mood.
“I thought we ought to check it for fingerprints,” he said. “And compare them to whatever you can find on that piece of paper I found near Carlman’s house.”
“Will do,” said Nyberg. “But we would have done it anyway, even if you hadn’t asked us to.”
“I know,” said Wallander. “But you know how it is.”
“No, I don’t,” said Nyberg. “You’ll have the results as soon as I’ve got something.”
Wallander slammed down the receiver, full of energy. He stood by the window and looked out at the old water tower while he went through what he wanted to get done that day. He knew from experience that something almost always came along to spoil the plan. If he managed to get half the things done he’d be pleased.
At 9 a.m. he left his office, got some coffee, and went into one of the small meeting rooms, where Hansson was waiting with the psychologist from Stockholm. The man introduced himself as Mats Ekholm. He was around 60, with a firm handshake. Wallander had an immediately favourable impression of him. Like many police officers, Wallander had always felt sceptical about what psychologists could contribute in a criminal investigation. But from conversations with Ann-Britt Hoglund he had begun to realise that this was wrong. He decided to give Ekholm a chance to show them what he could do.
The investigation files were set out on the table.
“I’ve read through them as best I could,” said Ekholm. “I suggest that we start by talking about what isn’t in the files.”
“It’s all there,” said Hansson, surprised. “If there’s one thing the police are forced to learn, it’s how to write reports.”
“I suppose you want to know what we think,” interrupted Wallander. “Isn’t that right?”
Ekholm nodded.
“There’s a fundamental rule that says that the police are always searching for something specific,” he answered. “If they don’t know what an offender looks like they include an approximation. Quite often the phantom image turns out to have similarities with the offender who is finally apprehended.”
Wallander recognised his own reactions in Ekholm’s description. He always created an image of a criminal that he carried with him during an investigation.
“Two murders have been committed,” Ekholm continued. “The modus operandi is the same, even though there are some interesting differences. Wetterstedt was killed from behind. The murderer struck him in the back, not in the head. He chose the more difficult alternative. Or could it be that he wanted to avoid smashing Wetterstedt’s head? We don’t know. After the blow he cut off his scalp and took the time to hide the body. If we look at Carlman’s death, we can easily identify the similarities and differences. Carlman was also struck down with an axe. He too had a piece of his scalp torn off. But he was killed from directly in front. He must have seen his attacker. The offender chose a time when there were many people nearby, so the risk of discovery was high. He made no attempt to hide the body, realising that it would be virtually impossible. The first question we have to ask is: which are more important? The similarities or the differences?”
“He’s a murderer,” said Wallander. “He selected two people. He made plans. He must have visited the beach outside Wetterstedt’s house several times. He even took the time to unscrew a bulb to obscure the area between the garden gate and the sea.”
“Do we know whether Wetterstedt was in the habit of taking an evening walk on the beach?” Ekholm interjected.
“No,” said Wallander. “But of course we ought to find out.”
“Keep going,” said Ekholm.
“On the surface the pattern looks completely different when it comes to Carlman,” said Wallander. “Surrounded by people at a Midsummer party. But maybe the killer didn’t see it that way. Maybe he thought he could make use of the fact that no-one sees anything at all at a party. Nothing is as difficult as obtaining a detailed impression of events from a large group of people.”
“To answer that question we have to examine what alternatives he may have had,” said Ekholm. “Carlman was a businessman who moved around a lot. Always surrounded by people. Maybe the party was the right choice after all.”
“The similarity or the difference,” said Wallander. “Which one is crucial?”
Ekholm threw out his hands.
“It’s too early to say, of course. What we can be sure of is that he plans his crimes carefully and that he’s extremely cold-blooded.”
“He takes scalps,” said Wallander. “He collects trophies. What does that mean?”
“He’s exercising power,” said Ekholm. “The trophies are the proof of his actions. For him it’s no more peculiar than a hunter putting up a pair of horns on his wall.”
“But the decision to scalp,” Wallander went on. “Where does that come from?”
“It’s not that strange,” said Ekholm. “I don’t want to seem cynical. But what part of a human being is more suitable to be taken as a trophy? A human body rots. A piece of skin with hair on it is easy to preserve.”
“I guess I still can’t stop thinking of American Indians,” said Wallander.
“Naturally it can’t be excluded that your killer has a fixation on an American Indian warrior,” said Ekholm. “People who find themselves in a psychic borderland often choose to hide behind another person’s identity. Or transform themselves into a mythological figure.”
“Borderland?” said Wallander. “What does that involve?”
“Your killer has already committed two murders. We can’t rule out that he intends to commit more, since we don’t know his motive. This indicates he has probably passed a psychological boundary, that he has freed himself from our normal inhibitions. A person can commit murder or manslaughter without premeditation. A killer who repeats his actions is following completely different psychological laws. He finds himself in a twilight zone where all the boundaries that exist for him are of his own making. On the surface he can live a completely normal life. He can go to a job every morning. He can have a family and devote his evenings to playing golf or tending his garden. He can sit on his sofa with his children around him and watch the news reports on the murders he himself has committed. He can deplore the crimes, and wonder why such people are on the loose. He has two different identities that he controls utterly. He pulls his own strings. He is both marionette and puppet master.”
Wallander thought about what Ekholm had said.
“Who is he?” he finally asked. “What does he look like? How old is he? I can’t hunt someone who looks entirely normal on the surface. I must search for a specific person.”