The Return of the Dancing Master(133)
“Why not say that the crimes are well-planned instead? Any trace of Hereira?”
“We’ve sent out three dogs, and the helicopter from Sundsvall finally showed up. But we’ve drawn a blank. No sign at all. Which is quite remarkable. How are you, by the way? Have you had some sleep?”
“I don’t feel dizzy anymore.”
“I have a bad conscience. I don’t know how many regulations I’ve broken by roping you into all this, but most importantly, I shouldn’t have forgotten that you’re sick.”
“I wanted to participate.”
“The forensic specialist thinks it could have been Erik’s gun that was used last night. It’s a possibility, at least.”
Lindman went to the dining room. He felt better after a meal, but he was still tired when he went back to his room. There was a stain on the ceiling that looked like a face. Jacobi’s face, he thought. I wonder if he’s still alive.
There was a knock on the door. He opened it. It was Veronica Molin.
“Am I disturbing you?”
“Not at all.”
“I’ve come to apologize. I reacted too strongly last night.”
“It was my fault. I was stupid.”
He wanted to ask her in, but there was dirty laundry lying around. Besides, it smelled stuffy.
“The room hasn’t been cleaned,” he said.
She smiled. “Mine has.” She looked at her watch. “I’m due to meet my brother at Ostersund Airport exactly four hours from now. There’s time for us to talk.”
He took his jacket and followed her down the stairs. He was just behind her and had to force himself not to reach out and touch her.
Her computer was turned off.
“I’ve spoken to Giuseppe Larsson,” she said. “I had to squeeze what happened last night out of him. I gathered from what he said that you might be in the hotel.”
“What did he tell you?”
“About the shooting. And that you haven’t caught the man you’re after yet.”
“The question is, how many men are the police after? Is it one or two? Maybe even three.”
“Why aren’t I being kept informed about what’s happening?”
“The police like to work in peace, without being harassed by reporters. And relatives. Especially when they don’t know what’s actually happened. And especially when they don’t know why something has happened.”
“I still don’t believe that my father died because he used to be a Nazi. Because of something he might have done when he was a German soldier. The war ended more than fifty years ago. I think his death is somehow connected with that woman in Scotland, whose name I remember as Monica.”
Lindman decided on the spur of the moment to tell her about the discovery he had made in Wetterstedt’s apartment in Kalmar. He didn’t know why. Perhaps to establish the fact that they had a secret to share and that both their fathers had been Nazis. He told her without saying how he’d made the discovery, without saying that he’d broken into the apartment and found out by accident. He told her about the network, and the foundation called Strong Sweden. About all the dead as well as the living who made contributions to the organization.
“I still don’t know enough,” he said in conclusion. “Perhaps that organization is just a small part of something much bigger? I’m not so naive that I think there might be a worldwide Nazi conspiracy, but it’s clear that Nazi ideas are alive and well. When all this is over I’ll talk to my boss in Borås. There must be grounds for the security services to look into this in earnest.”
She listened intently to what he had to say.
“You’re doing the right thing,” she said eventually. “I would have done the same.”
“We’ve got to fight against this lunacy,” he said. “Even if these people are harboring a hopeless dream, they are spreading the madness further into the world.”
She looked at her watch.
“I know you have to get your brother,” Lindman said. “Just answer me one question. Why did you let me sleep here?”
She put her hand on her computer.
“I said that this thing contains my entire life. That’s not really true, of course.”
Lindman stared at her hand and the computer. He was listening to what she was saying, but it was an image that imprinted itself on his mind. She removed her hand and the image disappeared.
“I’ll go now. What time’s the funeral tomorrow?”
“Eleven o’clock.”
He turned and walked to the door. He was about to open it when he felt her hand on his arm.
“You’ve got to get your brother,” he said.