"Where is she?" Kurt demanded

"I beg your pardon," replied Ronald Bomstad.

Kurt pushed through the door of the Tramwire guest house, making a bee line for the parlor room. Not finding what he was searching for, he barreled down the hallway like a bull after a red cape. The detective turned wildly, looking from room to room. "I'm tired of playing these stupid games!'' he called back to the flabbergasted Mr. Bromstad. "Where is your wife!"

"Now hold on for one minute," Mr. Bromstad protested, clearly affronted by the abrupt visit. "You can't just – "

Kurt turned on him with eyes of venom. "Just what!" he barked. "Figure out the truth? Actually get some answers? Then maybe I could actually figure out who killed your daughter! Or would you like to stand in my way a little longer?"`

"Detective," the calm call echoed gently down the hall. Mrs. Bromstad stood in the foyer. Her elegant purple gown swayed slightly as she carefully made her way toward the two gentlemen. "Please have a seat," she said, gesturing toward a sofa in the living room to the left of Kurt. "I will tell you what you wish to know."

"Darling we – " Mr. Bromstad began but his wife was quick to halt his words with a placating hand.

"It's alright dear. Detective Wallander is right. There are things he needs to know." She had a somber voice; low and resigned. Her eyes particularly were saddened with grief, but all of this did little to calm Kurt's ire. This needed to end and it needed to end now.

Perching on the edge of a loveseat, Kurt glared at the woman sitting on the couch across from him. "What are you hiding, Mrs. Bromstad?" Kurt bluntly inquired.

This rubbed Mr. Bromstad the wrong way. "Now see here! Have some courtesy, detective."

Kurt was indignant. "Courtesy!" he scoffed. "The little stunt your wife pulled could have killed my partner, so you'll forgive me if I'm not feeling very courteous right now." Margret lowered her head into her hands but taking in the shocked silence emanating from Mr. Bromstad Kurt continued. "Oh so you didn't know that your wife fired a gun at two officers last night. Or that she knocked my partner's head against a concrete slab and was only lucky there wasn't any serious damage done."

"You have no proof of that!" cried Mr. Bromstad.

"Oh no!" was Kurt's sardonic reply. "She was the only woman within ear shot when I told Schmidt where I was going." Kurt grew angry at the memory and there was an edge to his words that bordered on rage.

"I just wanted to protect my daughter," Margret sobbed into her quaking hands.

"It's far too late for that!" roared Kurt as he launched to his feet, finally giving in to the overwhelming urge to shout. "You can't protect her anymore!" Margret's breath hitched as her head jerked out of her hands. Her eyes grew large with sudden realization.

"Get out!" cried Mr. Bromstad. He too was now on his feet. "Out!"

"No," Margret insisted, reaching desperately for her husband's sleeve in an attempt to pull him back toward the couch. "No," she repeated. "He's right. We can't protect her anymore."

The admission was submissive, meek. At this Kurt sobered. He understood. Truly he did. All a parent ever wants is to protect their child and it's devastating the day you realize you can't. But there were other things at stake, other lives. They had no time to be delicate. "Please," he all but begged. "You must tell me what happened four years ago."

"It was stupid," she said. "Foolish teens being foolish teens."

"But they took it too far." Kurt prompted. "Someone paid for it?"

Margret nodded. "John, Jimmy, and Linda all went into town. There were a few others but they've all moved away now. There was also another boy a grade younger than they were."

"Casius," inserted Kurt.

"Yes. How did you know that?" Margret asked.

"It's not important," replied the detective. "What happened to Casius?"

Margret sighed and let her gaze slip to the floor. "Casius was shy. The boys thought they'd play a trick on him. You know how young boys are. They blindfolded him and tied a rope around his wrists. They told him it was an initiation. That they would lead him around and he would have to trust them." She stopped and rested her chin on her hand, letting her nails lie gently on her lower lip. Almost as though she were going to bite them.

"What happened then?" asked the detective, his voice breaking Margret of her reverie.

"They tied him to the truck," she gasped out, her voice quivering slightly. "They were only going to make him run after it for a few seconds, but they got carried away. Another car came, driving toward them. They swerved but Casius couldn't."

"He was hit and killed," Kurt surmised.

"Yes," Margret breathed. "Linda was so upset. She hadn't even agreed with it in the first place." At this point she was near sobbing. "And poor Tracy, she must have been so devastated."

Kurt started a moment, confused by the comment. "Tracy? Was she there as well?" The report hadn't said that, not that they actually had access to the whole thing. She could be another target and they wouldn't have had a clue until she showed up sprawled on her own carpet, dead. Margret shook her head though.

"No, no," she said. "Casius was Tracy's brother."

"What! Her brother?"

"Yes. That's how her and Linda became such close friends. Linda was so eager to make amends."

Kurt lurched to his feet, and quickly began punching the buttons on his phone. How could they have missed this? "Magnus," he barked when the younger detective answered at his end. "Have Schmidt send someone to pick up Tracy Malon."

"What?" replied Magnus. "Why?"

Kurt growled in obvious frustration. "Casius was the name of her brother. She could be our killer."

"No!" Mrs. Bromstad cried behind Wallander. "It couldn't be."

"Why now?" added Mr. Bromstad.

Kurt pointedly ignored them as he issued the orders into the phone. "Did you get that?" he demanded after the silence from Magnus drew on a moment too long.

"Kurt, she was here," came his mortified response.

"What!" the exclamation was becoming a staple in Kurt's vocabulary.

"She was here. She left a few minutes ago. Just after…"

"Magnus?"

"After Schmidt told me Tourneau had arrived."

Oh hell.

I can't say it enough – Thanks to everyone who has read and/or reviewed my story. You are all awesome. I think the next chapter is going to be the last. Let me know what you think.