Sidetracked - By Henning Mankell & Steven T. Murray Page 0,126

used, hysterical. It would probably be more accurate to describe it as a neurotic predisposition.”

“Has she attempted suicide before?”

“Not that anyone knows of, and I didn’t think the mother was lying.”

“She really wanted to die,” Wallander said.

“That’s my impression too.”

Wallander knew that he had to tell Ann-Britt that Erika had slapped him. It was very possible that she might mention the incident. And there wouldn’t be any explanation for his not having done so, other than masculine vanity, perhaps. As they reached the hospital, Wallander stopped and told her. He could see that she was surprised.

“I don’t think it was more than a manifestation of the hysteria her mother spoke of,” he said.

“This might cause a problem,” Ann-Britt said. “She may be in bad shape. She must know that she nearly died. We don’t even know if she regrets the fact that she didn’t manage to kill herself. If you walk into the room, her fragile ego might collapse. Or it might make her aggressive, scared, unreceptive.”

Wallander knew she was right. “You should speak to her alone. I’ll wait in the cafeteria.”

“First we’ll have to go over what we actually want to learn from her.”

Wallander pointed to a bench by the taxi rank. They sat down.

“We always hope that the answers will be more interesting than the questions,” he said. “What did her suicide attempt have to do with her father’s death? How you get to that question is up to you. You’ll have to draw your own map. Her answers will prompt more questions.”

“Let’s assume that she says she was so crushed by grief that she didn’t want to go on living.”

“Then we’ll know that much.”

“But what else do we actually know?”

“That’s where you have to ask other questions, which we can’t predict. Was it a normal loving relationship between father and daughter? Or was it something else?”

“And if she denies it was something else?”

“Then you have to start by not believing her. Without telling her so.”

“In other words,” said Höglund slowly, “a denial would mean that I should be interested in the reasons she might have for not telling the truth?”

“More or less.” Wallander answered. “But there’s a third possibility, of course. That she tried to commit suicide because she knew something about her father’s death that she couldn’t deal with in any other way except by taking the information with her to the grave.”

“Could she have seen the killer?”

“It’s possible.”

“And doesn’t want him to be caught?”

“Also conceivable.”

“Why not?”

“Once again, there are at least two possibilities. She wants to protect him. Or she wants to protect her father’s memory.”

Höglund sighed hopelessly. “I don’t know if I can handle this.”

“Of course you can. I’ll be in the cafeteria. Or out here. Take as long as you need.”

Wallander accompanied her to the front desk. A few weeks earlier he had been here and found out that Salomonsson had died. How could he have imagined then what havoc was in store for him? Höglund disappeared down the hall. Wallander went towards the cafeteria, but changed his mind and went back outside to the bench. Once again he went over his thoughts from the night before. He was interrupted by his mobile phone ringing in his jacket pocket. It was Hansson, and he sounded harried.

“Two investigators from the National Criminal Bureau are arriving at Sturup this afternoon. Ludwigsson and Hamrén. Do you know them?”

“Only by name. They’re supposed to be good. Hamrén was involved in solving that case with the laser man, wasn’t he?”

“Could you possibly pick them up?”

“I don’t think that I can,” said Wallander. “I have to go back to Helsingborg.”

“Birgersson didn’t mention that. I spoke to him a little while ago.”

“They probably have the same communication problems that we do,” Wallander said patiently. “I think it would be a nice gesture if you went to pick them up yourself.”

“What do you mean by gesture?”

“Of respect. When I went to Riga I was picked up in a limousine. An old Russian one, but even so. It’s important for people to feel that they’re being welcomed and taken care of.”

“All right,” said Hansson. “I’ll do it. Where are you now?”

“At the hospital.”

“Are you sick?”

“Carlman’s daughter. Did you forget about her?”

“To tell you the truth, I did.”

“We should be glad we don’t all forget the same things,” Wallander said. He didn’t know whether Hansson had recognised that he was being ironic. He put the phone down on the bench and watched a sparrow perched on the edge of a rubbish bin. Ann-Britt