“Not according to the printed receipt.”
“Strange. The most reasonable thing to assume would be that someone was waiting for him to withdraw money and then strike when he had the cash.”
“That occurred to me as well, of course, but the last time he made a withdrawal was on Saturday, and that wasn’t a large sum.”
Martinsson handed Wallander a small plastic bag containing the blood-spattered bank receipt. It had recorded the time as being two minutes past midnight. He handed it back to Martinsson.
“What does Nyberg say?”
“That nothing apart from the head wound points to a crime. He probably suffered a heart attack.”
“Perhaps he had been expecting to see a higher amount than the one on the printout,” Wallander said thoughtfully.
He stood up.
“Let’s wait for the autopsy report. Until then we’ll assume no crime was committed, so put it aside for now.”
Martinsson gathered up his papers.
“I’ll contact the lawyer who was assigned to Hökberg. I’ll let you know when he can be expected down here so you can talk to her.”
“Not that I want to,” Wallander said. “But I guess I should.” Martinsson left the room and Wallander walked to the bathroom. He thought gratefully that at least his days of running to the bathroom due to elevated blood sugar were over.
For an hour he kept working on the smuggled cigarettes while the thought of the favor he had agreed to do for Höglund nagged at the back of his mind.
Two minutes past four Martinsson called to say that Sonja Hökberg and her lawyer were ready.
“Who is he?” Wallander asked.
“Herman Lötberg.”
Wallander knew him. He was an older man who was easy to work with.
“I’ll be there in five minutes,” Wallander said and hung up.
He walked back over to the window. The blackbirds were gone and the wind had picked up. He thought about Anette Fredman and the little boy who had played so quietly on the floor. He thought about the boy’s frightened eyes. Then he shook his head and tried to work out the questions he was going to ask Sonja Hökberg. From Martinsson’s notes he learned she was the one who had sat in the back seat and hit Lundberg in the head with a hammer. There had been many blows, not just one. As if she had been in a blind rage.
Wallander grabbed a notebook and pen and left. When he was halfway there, he realized that he had left his glasses. He walked back.
There’s really only one question, he thought as he returned to the conference room.
Why did they do it?
Their statement about needing money isn’t enough.
There’s another answer somewhere, a deeper answer that I have to find.
Chapter Four
Sonja Hökberg did not look anything like Wallander had expected. Afterward he couldn’t quite recall what he had been expecting, but he knew it wasn’t the person he had met in that room. Sonja Hökberg was seated when he came in. She was small and thin, almost to the point of transparency. She had shoulder-length blond hair and blue eyes. She could have been a poster child for innocence and purity. Nothing indicated that she was a crazed hammer-wielding murderer.
Wallander had been met by her lawyer outside the room.
“She’s very much in control of herself,” he said to Wallander. “But I’m not convinced she understands the gravity of the charges she’s facing.”
“It’s not a matter of accusation; she’s guilty,” Martinsson said firmly.
“What about the hammer,” Wallander asked. “Have we found it?”
“She put it under her bed. She hadn’t even tried to wipe the blood off. The other girl got rid of her knife. We’re still searching for it.”
Martinsson left. Wallander stepped into the room with the lawyer. The girl looked at them expectantly. She didn’t seem nervous at all. Wallander nodded to her and sat down. There was a tape recorder on the table. Wallander looked at her for a long time. She looked back.
“Do you have any gum?” she asked finally.
Wallander shook his head and looked over at Lötberg, who also shook his head.
“We’ll see if we can get you some later,” Wallander said and turned on the tape recorder. “But first we’re going to have a little chat.”
“I’ve already said what happened. Why can’t I have some gum? I can pay for it,” she said and held up a black purse with an oak-leaf clasp. Wallander was surprised that it hadn’t been confiscated. “I won’t talk until I get my gum.”
Wallander reached over for the phone and called the reception desk. Ebba will take care of this, he thought. It wasn’t until an unfamiliar woman’s voice came on the line that he remembered that Ebba was retired now. Even though she had been gone for six months, Wallander had still not grown used to the new receptionist. She was a woman in her thirties named Irene. She had previously worked as an administrative assistant in a doctor’s office, and she had already become well-liked at the police station. But Wallander missed Ebba.
“I need some gum,” Wallander said. “Do you know anyone who would have any?”
“Yes,” Irene said. “Me.”
Wallander hung up and walked out to the reception desk.
“Is it for the girl?” Irene asked.
“Fast thinker,” Wallander said.
He returned to the examination room, gave Sonja Hökberg the stick of gum, and realized he had forgotten to turn off the tape recorder through all of this.
“Let’s begin,” he said. “It’s a quarter past four on October sixth, 1997. Kurt Wallander is questioning Sonja Hökberg.”
“So do I have to tell you everything all over again?” she asked.
“Yes. Try to speak clearly and direct your words at the mike.”
“What about the fact that I’ve already told you everything?”
“I may have some additional questions.”
“I don’t feel like going over it again.”
For a moment Wallander felt thrown by her total lack of anxiety.
“Unfortunately you’ll just have to cooperate,” he said. “You have been accused of a very serious crime, and what’s more, you have confessed. Right now you stand accused of assault in the third degree, but this already serious charge may be upgraded to something worse if the taxi driver’s condition deteriorates further.”
Lötberg gave Wallander a disapproving look but didn’t say anything.
Wallander started at the beginning.
“Your name is Sonja Hökberg and you were born on February second, 1978.”
“That makes me an Aquarius. What’s your sign?”
“That doesn’t concern us at present. You’re here to answer my questions and that is all. Understand?”
“Do I look stupid?”
“You live with your parents at twelve Trastvagen, here in Ystad.”
“Yes.”
“You have a younger brother, Emil, born in 1982.”
“He’s the one who should be sitting in this chair, not me.”
Wallander raised his eyebrows.
“Why do you say that?”
“He never leaves my things alone. He’s always looking through my stuff. We fight a lot.”
“I’m sure it can be trying to have a younger brother, but let’s leave it for now.”
She’s still so composed, Wallander thought. Her nonchalance was starting to irritate him.
“Can you describe the events of last Tuesday evening?”
“It’s such a drag to have to tell the same thing twice.”
“That can’t be helped. You and Eva Persson went out that evening?”
“There’s nothing to do around here. I wish I lived in Moscow.” Wallander regarded her with surprise. Even Lötberg seemed startled.