Both Hökberg and his wife regarded him intently.
“Let’s look back about three years,” Wallander said. “Sometime in 1994 or 1995. Can you remember anything unusual that happened to Sonja during that time?”
Ruth, Sonja’s mother, spoke very quietly. Wallander had to lean forward to catch her words.
“What kind of thing are you looking for?”
“Did she ever come home looking as if she had been involved in an accident? Did she have unexplained bruises?”
“She broke her ankle once.”
“Sprained,” Erik Hökberg said. “She didn’t break her ankle. She sprained her ankle.”
“I’m thinking more of bruises on her face and body. Did that ever happen?”
Ruth Hökberg jumped in abruptly.
“My daughter was never naked in the house.”
“She may have been unusually upset or depressed during this time,” Wallander continued.
“She was a moody girl.”
“So neither one of you can think of anything unusual along these lines?”
“I don’t even understand why you’re asking these questions.”
“He has to,” Erik Hökberg said. “It’s his job.”
Wallander was grateful for this.
“I can’t ever recall her coming home with bruises.”
Wallander decided he couldn’t keep going around in circles.
“We have some information to indicate that Sonja was raped at some point during this time. But she never reported it.”
Ruth flinched as if she had been burned.
“It’s not true.”
“Did she ever speak of it?”
“That she had been raped? Never.”
She started laughing helplessly.
“Who said this? It’s a lie. It’s nothing other than a lie.”
Wallander had the feeling that she was withholding something. Perhaps she had suspected something of the kind. Her objections were forced.
“The information we have is quite compelling.”
“Says who? Who is spreading these lies about Sonja?”
“Unfortunately I cannot reveal our sources.”
“Why not?”
Erik Hökberg had jumped back into the conversation.
“It’s standard practice during investigations of this nature.”
“Why?”
“For now it has to do with making sure the informant remains protected.”
“What about my daughter?” Ruth screamed. “Who is protecting her? No one! She’s dead!”
The situation was getting out of hand. Wallander regretted not letting Höglund handle this questioning. Erik calmed his wife, who had started to sob. It was a horrible scene.
After a while he continued asking questions.
“She never talked about having been raped?”
“Never.”
“And neither one of you noticed anything unusual in her behavior?”
“She was a hard person to gauge.”
“In what way?”
“She kept to herself. She was often in a bad mood, which I guess is normal for teenagers.”
“Was she angry with you?”
“It was mostly directed toward her younger brother.”
Wallander thought back to the only conversation he had ever had with Sonja. She had complained then about the fact that her younger brother always got into her things.
“Let’s go back to the years 1994 and 1995,” Wallander said. “She had returned from England. Did you notice anything at that time? Any sudden change?”
Erik jumped out of his chair so violently that it fell backward.
“She came home one night with bleeding from her mouth and her nose. It was in February of 1995. We asked her what had happened but she wouldn’t say. Her clothes were dirty and she was in shock. We never found out what happened. She said she had fallen down. Of course it was a lie. Now I realize that, now that you come here and tell us she was raped. Why do we have to keep lying about this?”
Ruth started crying again. She tried to say something, but Wallander couldn’t tell what it was. Erik gestured for him to follow him into the study.
“You won’t get anything else out of her for now.”
“I only have a few more questions.”
“Do you know who raped her?”
“No.”
“But you suspect someone?”
“Yes. But I can’t give you any names.”
“Was he the same person who killed her?”
“I doubt it. But it may still help clarify the events that led to her death.”
Hökberg was silent.
“It was toward the end of February,” he said after a pause. “It snowed all day. By evening everything was white. And she came home bleeding. The following day you could still see her blood on the snow.”
Suddenly it was as if he was overcome by the same helplessness as his wife crying in the room next door.
“You have to get him. A person who can do something like this deserves whatever’s coming to him.”
“We will do what we can,” Wallander answered. “We will get the person who is responsible, but we need your help.”
“You have to understand my wife,” Hökberg said. “She’s lost her daughter. How is she supposed to react to the news that Sonja was also raped?”
Wallander understood.
“So it was the end of February, 1995. Do you remember anything else? Did she have a boyfriend at the time?”
“We never knew who she associated with.”
“Did any cars ever stop outside the house? Did you ever see her with a man?”
Anger flashed in Hökberg’s eyes.
“A man? I thought you were talking about boyfriends?”
“That’s what I meant.”
“It was a grown man who did this to her?”
“I’ve already said I can’t give you any information.”
Hökberg lifted his hands defensively.
“I’ve told you everything I know. I should get back to my wife.”
“Before I leave I’d like to take a look around Sonja’s room again.”
“You’ll find it the way it was last time. We haven’t changed anything.”
Hökberg went into the living room and Wallander went upstairs. When he walked into Sonja’s room he was struck by the same feeling he’d had the first time. It was not the room of a grown woman. He opened the door to the closet to look at the movie poster. It was still there. The Devil’s Advocate. Who is the Devil? he thought. Tynnes Falk worshipped his own image. And Sonja Hökberg has a picture of the devil in her closet. But he had never heard rumors of Satan-worshippers in Ystad.
He closed the closet door and was about to leave when a boy turned up in the doorway.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
Wallander told him who he was. The boy regarded him suspiciously. “If you’re police you should be able to get the guy who killed my sister.”
“We’re trying,” Wallander answered.
The boy didn’t move. Wallander couldn’t decide if he seemed scared or simply curious.
“You’re Emil, aren’t you?”
The boy didn’t answer.
“You must have liked your sister.”
“Sometimes.”
“Only sometimes?”
“Isn’t that enough? Do you have to like people all the time?”
“No, you don’t.”
Wallander smiled. The boy didn’t smile back.
“I think I know one time when you liked her,” Wallander said.
“When?”
“A couple of years ago. She came home and was hurt.”
The boy shifted.
“How do you know that?”
“I’m a policeman,” Wallander said. “I have to know. Did she ever tell you what happened?”