Sidetracked - By Henning Mankell & Steven T. Murray Page 0,57

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.”

“I can’t answer that yet,” said Ekholm. “I need time to get into the material before I can create a profile of the killer.”

“I hope you’re not considering today a day of rest,” said Wallander wearily. “We’ll need that profile as soon as possible.”

“I’ll try to get something together by tomorrow,” said Ekholm. “But you and your colleagues have to realise that the difficulties and the margins of error are daunting.”

“I realise that,” said Wallander. “We still need all the help you can give us.”

When the meeting was over Wallander drove down to the harbour and walked out onto the pier, where he had sat a few days earlier trying to write his speech for Björk. He sat and watched a fishing boat on its way out to sea. He unbuttoned his shirt and closed his eyes, facing the sun. Somewhere close by he heard children laughing. He tried to empty his mind and enjoy the heat. But after a few minutes he stood up and left.

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.

Ekholm’s words might have been his own. He would not relax until they had caught Wetterstedt and Carlman’s killer. Wallander knew his strength was his determination. And sometimes he had moments of insight. But his weakness was also clear. He couldn’t keep his job from becoming a personal matter. Your killer, Ekholm had said. There was no better description of his weakness. The man who killed Wetterstedt and Carlman was actually his own responsibility. Whether he liked it or not.

He went back to his car, deciding to follow the plan he had made that morning. He drove out to Wetterstedt’s villa. The cordons on the beach were gone. Lindgren and an older man, who he assumed was Lindgren’s father, were busy sanding the boat. He didn’t feel like saying hello.

He still had Wetterstedt’s keys, and he unlocked the front door. The silence was deafening. He sat down in one of the leather chairs in the living-room. He could just hear sounds from the beach. He looked around the room. What did it tell him? Had the killer ever been inside the house? He was having a hard time gathering his thoughts. He got up and went over to the big window facing the garden, the beach and the sea. Wetterstedt had stood here many times. He could see that the parquet floor was worn at this spot. He looked out of the window. Someone had shut off the water to the fountain in the garden. He let his gaze wander as he went over the thoughts he’d had earlier.

On the hill outside Carlman’s house my killer stood and observed the party. He may have been there many times. From there he could see without being seen. Where is the hill from which you would have the same view of Wetterstedt? From what point could you see him without being seen?

He walked around the house, stopping at each window. From the kitchen he looked for a long time at a pair of trees growing just out-side Wetterstedt’s property. But they were young birches that wouldn’t have held a person’s weight.

Not until he came to the study and looked out of the window did he realise that he had found the answer. From the projecting garage roof it was possible to see straight into the room. He left the house and went around the garage. A younger, fit man could jump up, grab hold of the eaves and pull himself up. Wallander went and got a ladder he had seen on the other side of the house. He leaned it against the garage roof and climbed up. The roof was the old-fashioned