Firewall by Henning Mankell Read Free Book Online Page B

down and visit soon?"
"I don't have time."
"I'm happy to pay your fare."
"I told you, I don't have time. It's not about the money."
Wallander realised he was not going to be able to change her mind. She was as stubborn as he was.
"How are you doing anyway?" she said, again. "Do you have any contact with Baiba these days?"
"That ended a long time ago. You know that."
"It's not good for you to go on like this."
"What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean. You're even starting to sound whiny. You never had that before."
"You think I sound whiny?"
"You're doing it right now. But I have a suggestion. I think you should contact a dating agency."
"A dating agency?"
"Where you can find someone. Otherwise you're going to turn into a whiny old man who worries about where I'm spending my nights."
She sees right through me, he thought. I'm an open book.
"You mean I should put an ad in the paper?"
"Yes, or use one of those companies."
"I'd never do that."
"Why not?"
"I don't believe in them."
"And why not?"
"I don't know."
"Well, it was just a suggestion. Think it over. I have to get back to work."
"Where are you?"
"At the restaurant."
They said goodbye and hung up. Wallander did wonder where she had spent the night. A couple of years ago Linda had been involved with a young man from Kenya who was at medical school in Lund. But that was over, and since then he had not known very much at all about who she was going out with, other than that every so often she started seeing someone new. He felt a pinch of irritation and jealousy. Though the idea of putting in a personal ad or of signing up with a dating agency had occurred to him before, he had always drawn back at the last minute. It was as if making that choice would mean sinking to an unacceptable level of desperation.
The strong wind chilled him as soon as he walked outside. He got into his car and started the engine, listening to the strange noises that were getting worse. Then he drove out to the townhouse where the Hökbergs lived. Martinsson's report had only given him the information that Hökberg's father was "self-employed". He didn't know what at. The small garden in the front was neat and tidy. He rang the doorbell. After a moment a man opened the door. Wallander knew at once that they had met before. He had a good memory for faces. But he didn't know when and where it had been. The man had also immediately recognised Wallander.
"It's you," he said. "I knew the police would be coming out, but I didn't expect it to be you."
He stepped to one side to let Wallander enter. He heard the sound of a television from somewhere. He could not remember where he had met this man before.
"I take it you remember me?" Hökberg said.
"Yes, I do," Wallander said. "But I'm having trouble placing you in the right context."
"Erik Hökberg doesn't ring a bell?"
Wallander searched his memory.
"And Sten Widén?"
Suddenly Wallander remembered. Widén, with his stud farm in Stjärnsund. And Erik. The three of them had shared a passion for the opera. Sten had been the most involved, but Erik was a childhood friend of his and had often sat around the record player with him as they listened to Verdi's operas.
"Yes, I remember now," Wallander said. "But your name wasn't Hökberg then, was it?"
"I took my wife's name. As a boy I was called Erik Eriksson."
Hökberg was a large man. The coat hanger he held out to Wallander looked small in his hand. Wallander had remembered him as thin, but now he was substantial. That must have been why it had been so hard to make the connection.
Wallander hung up his coat and followed Hökberg into the living room. There was a television in the middle of the room, but it was turned off. The sound was coming from another room. They sat down. Wallander tried to think of how to begin.
"It's horrible what's happened," Hökberg said. "Naturally I have no idea what got into her."
"Has she ever been violent before?"
"Never."
"What about your wife? Is she home?"
Hökberg seemed to have