"He's intending to go through with number nine. He's fairly sure we don't know who that is."

"How can he be so sure of that?"

"Because if we knew, we would have surrounded that person with police protection. He's made sure of the fact that this hasn't been done."

"We could also come to a different conclusion," Martinsson said. "He could be concentrating on finding a secure hiding place. He may not be overly concerned about getting to number nine yet."

"That may be what he wants us to think," Höglund said.

"So we have to think differently," Wallander said. "We have to take yet another step into the unknown."

"He must have chosen the most unlikely place for us to look for him."

"In that case he should be here, in the basement of the station," Martinsson said.

Wallander nodded. "Or some symbolic equivalent to the station. What could that be?"

None of them had a suggestion.

"Does he assume we know what he looks like as a man by now?"

"He can't take any chances."

Wallander suddenly thought of something. He turned to Martinsson. "Did you ask his sister for a photograph?"

"I did, but she said the only one she had was of Larstam as a 14-year-old, and that it wasn't a very good one."

"No help there then."

"Where is Åke Larstam at this exact moment?"

No one had an answer, because there was nothing to go on. Just this strenuous speculation. Wallander felt a hint of panic. Time was ticking inexorably by.

"What about the person he's after?" Wallander said. "He's killed six young people so far, as well as an older photographer and a middle-aged policeman. I think we should discount the last two. That leaves us with six young people, killed on two separate occasions in two groups."

"Three," Höglund objected. "He killed Isa Edengren on a separate occasion, alone on an island in the middle of nowhere."

"That tells us that he finishes what he starts," Wallander said. "He follows through, whatever it takes. Is there anything unfinished in his present situation? Or is he embarking on a new project?"

Before anyone could answer this last question, there was a knock on the door. It was Ebba. She held a shirt on a hanger in her hand.

"I'm sorry it took so long," she said. "I took the opportunity to run some other errands, and then I had a lot of trouble with the lock on your front door."

Wallander frowned. There was nothing wrong with his lock as far as he knew. Ebba must have tried the wrong key. He took the shirt and thanked her for her efforts. Then he excused himself to go and change.

"Even when you're on your way to your own execution, it feels good to be wearing a clean shirt," he said when he came back. He stuffed the stained shirt in his desk drawer. "Where were we?"

"There's no unfinished business that we can think of," Martinsson said. "No one except for Isa was also due to attend the Midsummer celebration. And only two people get married at a time."

"We have to start again," Wallander said. "The worst possible case. We have nothing to go on."

The room became silent. There seemed to be nothing else to say. Of two impossible alternatives, we have to choose the one that seems less impossible, he thought.

"We're never going to figure out where he's hiding," he said finally. "Our only choice is to focus on his potential victim. This is what we have to concentrate on from now on, before he has a chance to do his deed. Are you with me?"

Wallander knew this was still an impossible task.

"Do you think it will do any good?" Höglund asked.

"We can't give up," Wallander replied.

They started again. It was past 4 p.m. Wallander's stomach ached from hunger and anxiety. He was so tired it was starting to feel like his natural state. He sensed the same desperate fatigue in the other two.

"In broad strokes," Wallander prompted, "what do we have? Happy people. Joyful people. What else?"

"Young people," Martinsson said.

"People in costume," Höglund added.

"I don't think he repeats himself," Wallander said. "But we can't be sure of that. The question then is where we can find out about happy, young people in costume who are gathering for some reason today, other than for a wedding or a midnight picnic in a nature reserve."

"Perhaps someone's having a masquerade?" Martinsson suggested.

"The newspaper," Wallander said suddenly. "What's going on in Ystad tonight?"

He had hardly finished the sentence before Martinsson had rushed out of the room.

"Should we return to the conference room?" Höglund asked.

"Not just yet. We'll go back soon enough. But I'd like to have something to bring to the table, even if it's just a red herring."

Martinsson stormed back into the office with the Ystad Allehanda in his hand. They laid it on the table and leaned over it. There was a fashion show in Skurup that immediately drew Wallander's attention.

"Models are dressed up," he said. "And we can assume they're generally feeling good about themselves."

"That's not until next Wednesday," Höglund said. "You misread it."

They kept flipping the pages, then all three of them saw it at the same time. That evening there was going to be an event at the Continental Hotel for the "Friends of Ystad" Society. Members were asked to attend in 17th-century dress. Wallander was doubtful from the start. Something told him it wasn't right, but Martinsson and Höglund didn't share his doubts.

"This must have been planned in advance," Martinsson said. "He's had a long time to make his preparations."

"The members of this type of society are rarely very young," Wallander said.

"The ages are often quite mixed," Höglund said. "That's my impression, anyway."

Wallander couldn't shake off his doubts, but they didn't have anything to lose. The dinner was scheduled for 7.30 p.m. They had a couple of hours to go. Just in case, they finished looking through the paper to see if there were any other events to consider, but found nothing.

"It's up to you," Martinsson said. "Do we focus on this or not?"

"It's not my decision," Wallander said. "It's ours. And I agree with you: what do we have to lose?"

They returned to the conference room. Wallander wanted both Thurnberg and Holgersson to be present, so someone was sent to get them. While they were waiting, Martinsson was trying to find out who was responsible for arranging the party that evening.

"Call the hotel," Wallander said. "They'll know who made the reservation."

Although Martinsson was standing right next to him, Wallander heard himself raise his voice. The fatigue and tension were taking their toll.

When Thurnberg and Holgersson entered the room, Wallander made a point of closing the door, underscoring the seriousness of the moment. He described the reasoning that had led them to the conclusion that Åke Larstam was planning to strike at a party at the Continental Hotel later that evening. They could be wrong in their assumptions; it might turn out to be another dead end. But it was all they had. The alternative was simply to wait. He thought Thurnberg would have strong objections and might dismiss the plan out of hand, but to his great surprise Thurnberg approved. He used the same argument they had: what else was there to do?

At these words they were under way. It was 5.15 p.m. and they had two hours to make their preparations. Wallander took Martinsson and went down to the Continental, while Höglund remained in the conference room. They called in reinforcments for the evening and Wallander insisted everyone be equipped with the highest level of protection. Åke Larstam was a dangerous man.

"I don't think I've ever worn a bulletproof vest," Wallander said. "Except during training exercises."

"It'll help, if he's still using his gun," Martinsson said. "The only problem is that he shoots people in the head."