Firewall - By Henning Mankell & Ebba Segerberg Page 0,17

from Kenya who was at medical school in Lund. But that was over, and since then he had not known very much at all about who she was going out with, other than that every so often she started seeing someone new. He felt a pinch of irritation and jealousy. Though the idea of putting in a personal ad or of signing up with a dating agency had occurred to him before, he had always drawn back at the last minute. It was as if making that choice would mean sinking to an unacceptable level of desperation.

The strong wind chilled him as soon as he walked outside. He got into his car and started the engine, listening to the strange noises that were getting worse. Then he drove out to the townhouse where the Hökbergs lived. Martinsson's report had only given him the information that Hökberg's father was "self-employed". He didn't know what at. The small garden in the front was neat and tidy. He rang the doorbell. After a moment a man opened the door. Wallander knew at once that they had met before. He had a good memory for faces. But he didn't know when and where it had been. The man had also immediately recognised Wallander.

"It's you," he said. "I knew the police would be coming out, but I didn't expect it to be you."

He stepped to one side to let Wallander enter. He heard the sound of a television from somewhere. He could not remember where he had met this man before.

"I take it you remember me?" Hökberg said.

"Yes, I do," Wallander said. "But I'm having trouble placing you in the right context."

"Erik Hökberg doesn't ring a bell?"

Wallander searched his memory.

"And Sten Widén?"

Suddenly Wallander remembered. Widén, with his stud farm in Stjärnsund. And Erik. The three of them had shared a passion for the opera. Sten had been the most involved, but Erik was a childhood friend of his and had often sat around the record player with him as they listened to Verdi's operas.

"Yes, I remember now," Wallander said. "But your name wasn't Hökberg then, was it?"

"I took my wife's name. As a boy I was called Erik Eriksson."

Hökberg was a large man. The coat hanger he held out to Wallander looked small in his hand. Wallander had remembered him as thin, but now he was substantial. That must have been why it had been so hard to make the connection.

Wallander hung up his coat and followed Hökberg into the living room. There was a television in the middle of the room, but it was turned off. The sound was coming from another room. They sat down. Wallander tried to think of how to begin.

"It's horrible what's happened," Hökberg said. "Naturally I have no idea what got into her."

"Has she ever been violent before?"

"Never."

"What about your wife? Is she home?"

Hökberg seemed to have collapsed into a heap in his chair. Behind the rolls of fat in his face Wallander thought he could sense the outline of another face from a time that now seemed immeasurably distant.

"She took Emil and went to her sister in Höör. She couldn't stand to stay here. The reporters kept calling. They show no mercy. They called in the middle of the night, some of them."

"I'm afraid I have to speak to her."

"I know. I've told her the police would reach her there."

Wallander wasn't sure how to proceed. "You and your wife must have talked about what happened."

"She doesn't understand it any more than I do. It was a total shock."

"You have a good relationship with Sonja?"

"There were never any problems."

"And between her and her mother?"

"The same. They had fights from time to time but only stuff you would expect. There have never been any problems, at least as long as I've known her."

Wallander furrowed his brow.

"What do you mean by that?"

"You knew she was my stepdaughter?"

Wallander was sure that this had not been in the report. He would have remembered it.

"Ruth and I had Emil together," Hökberg said. "Sonja was about two when I came on the scene. That was 17 years ago. Ruth and I met at a Christmas party."

"Who was Sonja's father?"

"His name was Rolf. He never cared about her. He and Ruth were never married."

"Do you know where he is?"

"He died a few years ago. Drank himself to death."

Wallander looked for a pen in his coat pocket. He had already realised that he had forgotten both his glasses and notebook. There was a pile of old papers