Sidetracked - By Henning Mankell & Steven T. Murray Page 0,94
summer?” asked Wallander. “We’ve got fine weather.”
The boy smiled. “I’ve got plenty to do,” he replied.
Wallander waited for more, but he didn’t continue.
“What class are you going to be in this autumn?”
“Eighth.”
“Is school going well?”
“Yes.”
“What’s your favourite subject?”
“None of them. But maths is the easiest. We’ve started a club to study numerology.”
“I’m not sure I know what that is.”
“The Holy Trinity. The seven lean years. Trying to predict your future by combining the numbers in your life.”
“That sounds interesting.”
“It is.”
Wallander could feel himself becoming fascinated by the boy sitting across from him. His strong body contrasted sharply with his childish face, but there was obviously nothing wrong with his mind.
Wallander took the crumpled gas receipt out of his jacket. His house keys dropped out of the pocket. He put them back and sat down again.
“I have a few questions,” he said. “But this is not an interrogation, by any means. If you want to wait until your mother comes home, just say so.”
“That’s not necessary. I’ll answer if I can.”
“Your sister,” said Wallander. “When is she coming back?”
“I don’t know.”
The boy looked at him. The question didn’t seem to bother him. He had answered without hesitation. Wallander began to wonder if he had been mistaken the day before.
“I assume that you’re in contact with her? That you know where she is?”
“She just took off. It’s not the first time. She’ll come home when she feels like it.”
“I hope you understand that I think that sounds a little unusual.”
“Not for us.”
Wallander was convinced that the boy knew where his sister was. But he wouldn’t be able to force an answer out of him. Nor could he disregard the possibility that the girl was so upset that she really had run away.
“Isn’t it true that she’s in Copenhagen?” he asked cautiously. “And that your mother went there today to see her?”
“She went over to buy some shoes.”
Wallander nodded. “Well, let’s talk about something else,” he went on. “You’ve had time to think now. Do you have any idea who might have killed your father?”
“No.”
“Do you agree with your mother, that a lot of people might have wanted to?”
“Yes.”
“Why’s that?”
For the first time it seemed as though the boy’s polite exterior was about to crack. He replied with unexpected vehemence.
“My father was an evil man,” he said. “He lost the right to live a long time ago.”
Wallander was shaken. How could a young person be so full of hatred?
“That’s not something you ought to say,” he replied. “That a person has lost his right to live. No matter what he did.”
The boy was unmoved.
“What did he do that was so bad?” Wallander asked. “Lots of people are thieves. Lots of them sell stolen goods. They don’t have to be monsters because of that.”
“He scared us.”
“How’d he do that?”
“We were all afraid of him.”
“Even you?”
“Yes. But not for the past year.”
“Why not?”
“The fear went away.”
“And your mother?”
“She was scared.”
“Your brother?”
“He’d run and hide when he thought Dad was coming home.”
“Your sister?”
“She was more afraid than any of us.”
Wallander heard an almost imperceptible shift in the boy’s voice. There had been an instant of hesitation, he was sure of it.
“Why?” he asked cautiously.
“She was the most sensitive.”
Wallander quickly decided to take a chance.
“Did your Dad touch her?”
“What do you mean?”
“I think you know what I mean.”
“Yes, I do. But he never touched her.”
There it is, thought Wallander, and tried to avoid revealing his reaction. He may have abused his own daughter. Maybe the younger brother too. Maybe even Stefan. Wallander didn’t want to go any further. The question of where the sister was and what may have been done to her was something he didn’t want to deal with alone. The thought of abuse upset him.
“Did your Dad have any good friends?” he asked.
“He hung around with a lot of people. But whether any of them were real friends, I don’t know.”
“Who do you think that I should talk to?”
The boy smiled involuntarily but then regained his composure at once.
“Peter Hjelm,” he replied.
Wallander wrote down the name.
“Why did you smile?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you know Peter Hjelm?”
“I’ve met him.”
“Where can I find him?”
“He’s in the phone book under ‘Handyman’. He lives on Kungsgatan.”
“How did they know each other?”
“They used to drink together. I know that. What else they did, I can’t say.”
Wallander looked around the room. “Did your Dad have any of his things here in the flat?”
“No.”
“Nothing at all?”
“Not a thing.”
Wallander stuffed the paper into his trouser pocket. He had no more questions.