“You have a good relationship with Sonja?”
“There have never been any problems.”
“And between her and her mother?”
“Same. They’ve had fights from time to time but only stuff you would expect. Nothing else, at least as long as I’ve known her.”
Wallander furrowed his brow.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Didn’t you know she was my stepdaughter?”
Wallander was sure that the information 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 entered the scene. That was seventeen years ago. Ruth and I met at a Christmas party.”
“Who was Sonja’s biological 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. He drank himself to death.”
Wallander looked for a pen in his coat pocket. He had already realized that he had forgotten both his glasses and notebook. There was a pile of old newspapers on the glass table.
“Do you mind if I tear off a piece?”
“Can’t the police afford to stock office supplies anymore?”
“That’s a good question. As it happens I’ve forgotten to bring my notebook.”
Wallander used a magazine as a writing pad. He saw that it was an English-language financial magazine.
“Do you mind if I ask you what you do for a living?”
The answer came as a surprise.
“I play the stock market.”
“I see. What exactly does that entail?”
“I trade stocks, options, foreign currency. I also place some bets, mainly on English cricket games. Sometimes American baseball.”
“So you mean you gamble?”
“Not the usual kind. I never place bets on horses. But I guess you can call trading stocks another form of gambling.”
“And you do all this from home?”
Hökberg got up and gestured for Wallander to follow him. When they reached the adjoining room, Wallander paused in the doorway. There was not simply one TV in this room; there were three. Various numbers flashed past in a dark ribbon on the bottom of each screen. On one wall was a row of clocks showing the time in other parts of the world. It was like stepping into an air traffic control tower.
“People always say technology has made the world smaller,” Hökberg said. “I think that’s debatable. But the fact that it’s made my world bigger is beyond dispute. From this flimsy townhouse at the edge of Ystad, I can reach all the markets in the whole world. I can connect to betting centers in London or Rome. I can buy options on the Hong Kong market and sell American dollars in Jakarta.”
“Is it really so simple?”
“Not completely. You need permits, good contacts, and knowledge. But when I step into this room I’m in the middle of the world. Whenever I choose. Strength and vulnerability go hand in hand.”
They returned to the living room.
“I would like to see Sonja’s room,” Wallander said.
Hökberg led him up the stairs. They walked past a room that Wallander assumed belonged to their boy, Emil. Hökberg pointed to a door.
“I’ll wait downstairs,” he said. “If you don’t need me, that is.”
“No, I’ll be fine.”
Wallander heard Hökberg’s heavy steps recede down the stairs. He pushed open the door. There was a sloping ceiling in the room and one of the windows was slightly open. A thin curtain wafted in the wind. Wallander knew from experience that the first impression was often the most valuable. A closer examination could reveal dramatic details that were not immediately visible, but the first impression was something he always came back to.
A person lived here in this room. She was the one he was looking for. The bed was made, heaped with pink flowery cushions. On one of the walls was a shelf covered with teddy bears. There was a mirror on the closet door and a thick rug on the floor. There was a desk by the window, but there was nothing on its surface. Wallander stood in the doorway for a long time and looked into the room. This was where Sonja Hökberg lived. He entered the room, knelt by the bed, and looked underneath. There was a thin covering of dust everywhere except in one spot where an object had left an outline of itself. Wallander shivered. He suspected it was the spot where the hammer had been found. He got up and opened the drawers of the desk. None of them was locked. There weren’t even any locks. He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for. Maybe a diary or some photographs. But nothing in the drawers caught his attention. He sat down on the bed and thought about his meeting with Sonja Hökberg.
There was something that had struck him as soon as he saw her room from the doorway.
Something didn’t add up. Sonja Hökberg and her room didn’t go together. He couldn’t imagine her here among all the pink cushions and teddy bears. But it was her room. He tried to figure out what it could mean. Which was closer to the truth — the indifferent girl he had met at the police station, or the room where she had lived and hidden a hammer under her bed?
Many years ago Rydberg had taught him how to listen. Each room has its own life and breath. You have to listen for it. A room can tell you many secrets about the person who lives there.
At first Wallander had been skeptical about Rydberg’s advice, but in time he had come to realize that Rydberg had imparted a crucial knowledge.
Wallander’s head was starting to ache, particularly in his temples. He got up and opened the closet door. There were clothes on the hangers and shoes on the floor. On the inside of the closet door was a poster from a movie called The Devil’s Advocate. The starring role was played by Al Pacino. Wallander remembered him from The Godfather. He shut the closet door and sat down on the chair by the desk. That gave him a new angle from which to view the room.
There’s something missing, he thought. He remembered what Linda’s room had looked like as a teenager. Of course there had been some stuffed animals. But above all there were the pictures of her idols, who changed from time to time but were always there in some form or another.
There was nothing like that in Sonja Hökberg’s room. She was nineteen, and all she had was a movie poster in her closet.
Wallander remained for a few more minutes, then left the room and walked back down the stairs. Hökberg looked at him carefully.
“Did you find anything?”
“I just wanted to have a look around.”
“What’s going to happen to her?”
Wallander shook his head.
“She’ll be tried as an adult, and she’s confessed to the crime. They’re not going to be easy on her.”
Hökberg didn’t say anything. Wallander could see he was pained. Wallander took down the number for Hökberg’s sister-in-law in Höör.
Then he left the townhouse and drove back to the station, feeling worse and worse. He was going to go home after the press conference and crawl into bed.
When he walked into the reception area, Irene waved him over. Wallander saw that she was pale.
“What’s happened?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “They were looking for you, and as usual you didn’t have your phone with you.”
“Who was looking for me?”
“Everyone.”
Wallander lost his patience.
“What do you mean, ‘everyone’? Give me some names, dammit!”
“Martinsson. And Lisa.”
Wallander went straight to Martinsson’s office. Hansson was in there.
“What’s happened?”
Martinsson answered.
“Sonja Hökberg has escaped.”