Sidetracked - By Henning Mankell & Steven T. Murray Page 0,141

that Louise no longer has any relationship to reality,” the woman said in a voice that was so faint that Wallander had to lean forward to hear her. “She has left everything behind. She’s living in her own world. She doesn’t speak, she doesn’t listen. She’s pretending that she doesn’t exist.”

Wallander thought carefully before he continued.

“Even so, it could be important for the police to know why she became ill. I actually came here to ask for your permission to meet her. Speak to her. I realise now that it may not be appropriate. But then you’ll have to answer my questions instead.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” she said. “She got sick. It came out of nowhere.”

“She was found in Pildamm Park,” Wallander prompted her.

Both the son and the mother stiffened. Even the little boy on her lap seemed to react, affected by the others.

“How do you know that?” she asked.

“There’s a report on how and when she was taken to the hospital,” said Wallander. “But that’s all I know. Everything to do with her illness is confidential. I understand that she was having some difficulty in school before she got sick.”

“She never had any trouble, but she was always very sensitive.”

“I’m sure she was. Still, usually specific events trigger acute cases of mental illness.”

“How do you know that? Are you a doctor?”

“No, I’m a police officer. But I know what I’m talking about.”

“Nothing happened.”

“But you must have wondered about it. Night and day.”

“I’ve hardly thought about anything else.”

Wallander felt the atmosphere becoming so intolerable that he wished he could break off the conversation and leave. The answers he was getting were leading him nowhere, though he believed they were mostly truthful, or at least partly so.

“Do you have a photograph of her I could look at?”

“Is it necessary?”

“Please.”

The boy sitting next to her began to speak, but checked himself instantly. Wallander wondered why. Didn’t the boy want him to see his sister? Why not?

The mother got up with the little boy hanging on to her. She opened a drawer and handed him some photographs. Louise was blonde, smiling, and resembled Stefan, but there was nothing of that wariness he sensed now in the room, or that he’d seen in the family photograph in Fredman’s flat. She smiled openly and trustingly at the camera. She was pretty.

“A nice-looking girl,” he said. “Let’s hope she gets better some day.”

“I’ve stopped hoping,” the mother said. “Why should I hope any more?”

“Doctors can work wonders these days,” Wallander said.

“One day Louise is going to leave that hospital,” the boy said suddenly. He smiled at Wallander.

“And it’s vital that when she does she has a family to support her,” Wallander replied, annoyed that he expressed himself so stiffly.

“We support her in every way,” the boy went on. “The police have to search for the person who killed our Dad. Not go bothering her.”

“If I visit her at the hospital it’s not to bother her,” Wallander said. “It’s as part of the investigation.”

“We’d prefer it if you left her in peace.”

Wallander nodded. The boy was quite determined.

“If the prosecutor, the leader of the preliminary investigation, makes the decision, then I’ll have to visit her,” said Wallander. “And I presume that will happen. Very soon. Either today or tomorrow. But I give you my word that I won’t tell her that her father is dead.”

“Then why are you going there at all?”

“To see her,” said Wallander. “A photograph is still just a photograph. Although I’ll have to take this with me.”

“Why?” The response was immediate. Wallander was surprised by the animosity in the boy’s voice.

“I have to show it to some people,” he said. “To see whether they recognise her. That’s all.”

“You’re going to give it to the newspapers,” said the boy. “Her face will be plastered all over the country.”

“Why would I do that?” asked Wallander.

The boy jumped up from the sofa, leaned over the table, and grabbed the photographs. It happened so fast that Wallander didn’t have time to react. He regained his composure, but he was angry.

“I’m going to be forced to come back here with a warrant to make you hand over those pictures,” he said, although this wasn’t true. “There’s a risk that some reporters will hear about it and follow me here. I can’t stop them. If I can borrow a picture now, this won’t have to happen.”

The boy stared at Wallander. His previous wariness had now evolved into something else. Without a word he handed back one