“But all adults who read The Phantom aren’t murderers,” said Wallander.
“Just as there have been examples of serial killers who were experts on Dostoevsky,” replied Ekholm. “You have to take a piece of the puzzle and see whether it fits anywhere.”
Wallander was starting to get impatient. He didn’t have time to get into a theoretical discussion with Ekholm.
“Now that you’ve read through our material,” he said, “what sort of conclusions have you made?”
“Just one, actually,” said Ekholm. “That he will strike again.”
Wallander waited for something more, an explanation, but it didn’t come.
“Why?”
“Something about the total picture tells me so. And I can’t say why except that it’s based on experience. From other cases with trophy hunters.”
“What kind of image do you see?” asked Wallander. “Tell me what you’re thinking right now. Anything at all. And I promise I won’t hold you to it later.”
“An adult,” replied Ekholm. “Considering the age of the victims and his possible connection to them, I’d say he’s at least 30, but maybe older. The possible identification with a myth, perhaps of an American Indian, makes me think that he’s in very good physical condition. He’s both cautious and cunning. Which means that he’s the calculating type. I think he lives a regular, orderly life. He hides his inner life beneath a surface of normality.”
“And he’s going to strike again?”
Ekholm threw out his hands.
“Let’s hope I’m wrong. But you asked me to tell you what I think.”
“Wetterstedt and Carlman died three days apart,” said Wallander. “If he keeps to that pattern, he’ll kill someone today.”
“That’s not inevitable,” said Ekholm. “Since he’s cunning, the time factor won’t be crucial. He strikes when he’s sure of success. Something might happen today. But it could also take several weeks. Or years.”
Wallander had no more questions. He asked Ekholm to attend the team meeting an hour later. He went back to his room feeling increasingly anxious. The man they were looking for, of whom they knew nothing, would strike again.
He took out the notebook in which he had written Nyberg’s words, and tried to recapture the fleeting image that had passed through his mind. He was sure that this was important, and that it had something to do with the road workers’ hut. But he couldn’t pin it down. He got up and went to the conference room. He missed Rydberg more than ever now.
Wallander sat in his usual seat at one end of the table. He looked around. Everyone was there. He sensed that the group hoped they were going to make a breakthrough. Wallander knew they’d be disappointed. But none of them would show it. The detectives gathered in this room were professionals.
“Let’s start with a review of what’s happened in the scalping case in the past 24 hours,” he began.
He hadn’t planned to say the scalping case. But from that moment on the investigation wasn’t called anything else.
Wallander usually waited until last to give his report, since he was expected to sum up and provide further directions. It was natural for Hoglund to speak first. She passed around the fax that had come from Skoglund’s Hardware. What Anita Carlman had confirmed had also been checked in the national prison register. Hoglund had just begun the most difficult task — to find evidence or even copies of the letters that Carlman was said to have written to Wetterstedt.
“It all happened so long ago,” she concluded. “Although archives are generally well organised in this country, it takes a long time to find documents from more than 25 years ago. We’re dealing with a time before computers were in use.”
“We must keep looking, though,” said Wallander. “The connection between Wetterstedt and Carlman is crucial.”
“The man who rang,” said Svedberg, rubbing his burnt nose. “Why wouldn’t he say who he was? Who would break into a shop just to send a fax?”
“I’ve thought about that,” said Hoglund. “There could be a lot of reasons why he wants to protect his identity, perhaps because he’s scared. And he obviously wanted to point us in a particular direction.”
The room fell silent. Wallander could see that Hoglund was on the right track. He nodded to her to continue.
“Naturally we’re guessing. But if he feels threatened by the man who killed Wetterstedt and Carlman, he would be extremely eager for us to capture him. Without revealing his own identity.”
“In that case he should have told us more,” said Martinsson.
“Maybe he couldn’t,” Hoglund objected. “If I’m right, that he contacted us because he’s frightened, then he probably told us everything he knows.”
Wallander lifted his hand.
“Let’s take this even further,” he said. “The man gave us information relating to Carlman. Not Wetterstedt. That’s crucial. He claims that Carlman wrote to Wetterstedt and that they met after Carlman was released from prison. Who would know this?”
“Another inmate,” said Hoglund.
“That was exactly my thought,” said Wallander. “But your theory is that he’s contacting us out of fear. Would that fit if he was only Carlman’s fellow prisoner?”
“There’s more to it,” said Hoglund. “He knows that Carlman and Wetterstedt met after Carlman got out. So contact continued outside of prison.”
“He could have witnessed something,” said Hansson, who had been silent until now. “For some reason this has led to two murders 25 years later.”
Wallander turned to Ekholm, who was sitting by himself at the end of the table.
“25 years is a long time,” he said.
“The desire for revenge can go on indefinitely,” said Ekholm. “There are no prescribed time limits. It’s one of the oldest truths in criminology that an avenger can wait forever. If these are revenge killings, that is.”
“What else could they be?” asked Wallander. “We can rule out crimes against property, probably with Wetterstedt, and with complete certainty in Carlman’s case.”
“A motive can have many components,” said Ekholm. “A serial killer may choose his victims for reasons that seem inexplicable. Take the scalps, for instance: we might ask whether he’s after a special kind of hair. Wetterstedt and Carlman had the same full head of grey hair. We can’t exclude anything. But as a layman, I agree that right now the point of contact ought to be the most important thing to focus on.”
“Is it possible that we’re thinking along the wrong lines altogether?” asked Martinsson suddenly. “Maybe for the killer there’s a symbolic link between Wetterstedt and Carlman. While we search for facts, maybe he sees a connection that’s invisible to us. Something that’s completely inconceivable to our rational minds.”
Wallander knew that Martinsson had the ability to turn an investigation around on its axis and get it back on the right track.
“You’re thinking of something,” he said. “Keep going.”
Martinsson shrugged his shoulders and seemed about to change his mind.
“Wetterstedt and Carlman were wealthy men,” he said. “They both belonged to a certain social class. They were representatives of political and economic power.”
“Are you suggesting a political motive?” Wallander asked, surprised.
“I’m not suggesting anything,” said Martinsson. “I’m listening to you and trying to see the case clearly myself. I’m as afraid as everyone else in this room that he’s going to strike again.”
Wallander looked around the table. Pale, serious faces. Except for Svedberg with his sunburn. Only now did he see that they were all as frightened as he was. He wasn’t the only one who dreaded the next ring of the telephone.
The meeting broke up before 10 a.m., but Wallander asked Martinsson to stay behind.
“What is happening with the girl?” he asked. “Dolores Maria Santana?”
“I’m still waiting to hear from Interpol.”
“Give them a nudge,” said Wallander.