The Return of the Dancing Master(143)

He turned to Lindman. “I don’t think much more is going to happen tonight. Routine procedures are clicking into place now. A diver can start searching for the gun under the bridge tomorrow morning, but the best thing we can do until then is get some sleep. I’ll stay at Erik’s place. I can’t face a hotel room at the moment.”

Johansson turned off his computer.

“At least we’ve taken a big step forward,” he said. “Now we’re looking for two people. We’ve even got the name of one of them. That has to be regarded as an improvement.”

“Three,” Larsson said. “We’re probably looking for three people.”

Nobody contradicted him.





Lindman put on his jacket and left the community center. The snow felt soft under his feet. It muffled all sounds. Occasional flakes of snow were still drifting down. He kept stopping and turning around, but there was no sign that he was being followed. The whole town was asleep. No light in Veronica Molin’s window. The funeral was at 11 A.M. later that day. They would have plenty of time to get to Sveg if they decided to stay in Ostersund. He unlocked the front door of the hotel. The two men from yesterday were playing cards again, despite the late hour. They nodded to him as he went past. It was too late to call Elena now. She’d be asleep. He undressed, showered, and went to bed, thinking about Holmström all the time. Discreet, Niklasson had called him. No doubt he could make that impression if he tried, but Lindman had also seen another side of him. Cold as ice and dangerous. He had no doubt at all that it was Holmström who had tried to kill Hereira. The question was, did he also kill Andersson? What was still unclear was why Berggren had confessed to that murder. It was possible that she was guilty, of course, but Lindman could not believe it. One could take it for granted that Holmström would have told her anything that wasn’t in the newspapers, like the clothesline.

The pattern, he thought, is clearer now. Not complete—there are still some gaps. Even so, it’s acquiring a third dimension. He turned off the light. Thought about the funeral. Then Veronica Molin would return to a world he knew nothing about.

He was brought back to consciousness by the sound of the phone ringing. He fumbled for his cell phone. It was Larsson.

“Did I wake you up?”

“Yes.”

“I wondered if I should call, but I thought you’d like to know.”

“What’s happened?”

“Molin’s house is on fire. Erik and I are on our way there. The alarm was raised a quarter of an hour ago. A snowplow went past and the driver saw the glow among the trees.”

Lindman rubbed his eyes.

“Are you still there?” Larsson said.

“Yes.”

“At least we don’t need to worry about anybody being injured. The place is deserted.”

Reception was poor. Larsson’s voice was lost. The link was broken. Then he called again.

“I thought you’d like to know.”

“Do you think the fire has any significance?”

“The only thing I can think of is that somebody knew about Molin’s diary but didn’t know that you’d already found it. I’ll call again if anything crops up.”

“So you think it has to be arson?”

“I don’t think anything. The house was already largely destroyed. It could be natural causes, of course. Erik says they’ve got a good fire chief here in Sveg. Olof Lundin. They say he’s never wrong when it comes to establishing the cause of a fire. I’ll be in touch.”

Lindman put the phone on the bedside table. The light coming in through the window was reflected by the snow. He thought about what Larsson had said. His mind started wandering. He settled down in order to go back to sleep.

It already felt as if he were walking up the hill to the hospital. He was passing the school now. It was raining. Or maybe it was sleet. He was wearing the wrong shoes. He had gotten dressed up in preparation for what was in store. The black shoes he’d bought last year and hardly ever worn. He should have been wearing boots, or at the very least his brown shoes with the thick rubber soles. His feet already felt wet.

He couldn’t get to sleep. It was too light in the room. He got up to pull down the blinds and shut out the light from the hotel entrance. Then he saw something that made him do a double take. There was a man in the street outside. A figure in the half-light. Staring up at his window. Lindman was wearing a white T-shirt. Perhaps it was visible even though it was dark in the room? The shadow didn’t move. Lindman held his breath. The man slowly raised his arms. It looked like a sign of submission. Then he turned on his heel and walked out of the light.