Before the Frost

“Give me a scenario,” Wallander said. “What happened here? We know a repulsive murder took place — but why? Who did it? Why did Medberg come here? Did she plan to meet someone? Was she even killed here? Where is the rest of the body? Tell me.”

The rain continued to fall. Nyberg sneezed. One of the spotlights went out. Nyberg kicked the light over, then helped set it up again.

“A picture of what happened,” Wallander said.

“I’ve seen a lot of things that qualify as repulsive,” Martinsson said. “But nothing like this. Whoever did this was truly fucked up. Where’s the rest of the body? Who used this hut? We don’t know yet.”

“Nyberg found a Bible,” Wallander said. “We’ll run prints on everything, of course, but it turns out someone’s written new text between the lines in the book. What does that tell us? We have to see if the Tademans ever visited this place. We may have to go door-to-door for answers. We’ll maintain an investigation with a broad front, working around the clock.”

No one spoke.

“We have to get this psycho,” Wallander said. “The sooner the better. I don’t know what this is all about, but I’m scared.”

Linda stepped into the light. It was like stepping onto the stage without having learned your lines.

“I’m scared too.”

Wet, tired faces turned to her. Only her father looked tense. He’s going to explode, she thought. But she had to do this.

“I’m scared too,” she repeated. And then she told them about Anna. She made a point of not looking at her father as she spoke. She tried to remember all the details — omitting the parts about her intuitive fears — and present all the facts.

“We’ll look into it,” her father said when she had finished. His voice was ice-cold.

Linda instantly regretted what she had done. I didn’t want to, she thought. I did it for Anna’s sake, not to get back at you.

“I know,” she said. “I’m going home now. There’s no reason for me to be here.”

“You found the Vespa, didn’t you?” Martinsson asked. “Isn’t that right?”

Wallander nodded and turned to Nyberg.

“Can you spare someone who can escort Linda to her car?”

“I’ll do it,” Nyberg said. “I have to use the bathroom up there anyway. Can’t do my business in the forest — the dogs’ noses are far too sensitive.”

Linda clambered up out of the ravine, only now realizing how tired and hungry she was. Nyberg’s strong flashlight lit up the path for her. They ran into a canine unit on the way, the dog’s tail drooping behind him. Other lights glimmered among the trees. Night orienteering, Linda thought. Police officers hunting for clues in the dark. Nyberg muttered something unintelligible when they reached the parking lot, and then he was gone. Linda got into Anna’s car, someone lifted the yellow tape to let her past, and she was out on the main road. There were onlookers all along the road to the highway, people in parked cars waiting for something to happen, to see something. She felt as if her invisible uniform was back on. Go home! she thought. There’s a brutal murder to be solved and you’re getting in the way of our work. But then she shook the thoughts away. She wasn’t a policewoman, not quite yet.