The Return of the Dancing Master(155)

But Lindman had already picked up Larsson’s gun. He had no intention of waiting. She had shot at him, tried to kill him. That made him furious. She had not only fooled him, but also tried to kill him, Hereira, and Larsson. There could easily have been three dead bodies on Elsa Berggren’s floor instead of two people with slight wounds and one unscathed. As Lindman picked Larsson’s gun up, he made up his mind that he was a man with cancer who was determined not to miss the chance to undergo treatment and be cured. As he left the house, Wigren was standing by the gate. When he saw Lindman he started running away. Lindman yelled at him to stop.

Wigren’s jaw wouldn’t keep still and his eyes were staring. I ought to beat up the bastard, Lindman thought. His insatiable nosiness very nearly got us all killed.

“Where did she go?” he roared. “Which direction?”

Wigren pointed to the road along the river to the new bridge.

“Stay here,” Lindman said. “This time don’t move an inch. There are police and an ambulance on the way.”

Wigren nodded. He asked no questions.

Lindman started running. A face stared from one of the houses. He tried to make out Veronica’s footprints in the snow, but there had been too much traffic, too many walkers. He stopped to cock his gun, then ran on. It was still only half light. Heavy clouds were motionless in the sky. He stopped when he came to the bridge. There was no sign of Veronica. He tried to think. She didn’t have a car. Something unplanned had happened. She was on the run and forced to make impromptu decisions. What would she have done? A car, he decided. She would find herself a car. She would hardly dare go back to the hotel. She knows that I’ve seen what was on her computer screen, a swastika and underneath it a letter in which she discussed old Nazi ideals that would last forever. She realizes that what’s in the computer doesn’t matter any more. She’s shot three people, and she doesn’t know if any of them have survived. She has two possibilities: try to run away, or give herself up. And she won’t give up.

He crossed the bridge. There were two gas stations on the other side. Everything seemed calm. Some drivers were filling their tanks. Lindman paused and looked around. If somebody had produced a gun and tried to steal a car there would have been turmoil. He tried to put himself in her position. He still thought she would look for a car.

Then he heard an alarm bell in his mind. Was he on the wrong track? Behind her cool, calm exterior he’d seen a confused, fanatical person. Maybe she would react differently? He looked at the church to his left. What had she said? My father will be avenged before he is buried. He continued staring at the church. Was it possible? He didn’t know, but he had nothing to lose. He could hear sirens in the distance. He ran to the church. When he saw that the main door was ajar he was immediately on his guard. He only opened it wide enough for him to slip inside. It creaked slightly. He stood close to the wall of the porch. The sirens were no longer audible. The walls were thick. Slowly he opened one of the doors into the church. There was a coffin at the far end, in front of the altar. Molin’s coffin. He squatted down, aiming Larsson’s gun with both hands. There was nobody there. He crept inside, ducking down behind the back pew. Everything was quiet. He peered cautiously over the back of the pew. There was no sign of her. He must have been wrong, and thought he might as well leave the church when he heard a sound coming from the choir. He wasn’t sure what it was, but there was somebody in the vestry, behind the altar. He listened. He heard nothing. Perhaps he was mistaken. Nevertheless, he didn’t want to leave until he was certain that the church was empty. He walked down the center aisle, still crouching, his gun at the ready. When he reached the coffin he stopped and listened. He looked up at the altarpiece. Jesus was on the cross, with a Roman soldier kneeling in the foreground. There was no sound from the vestry. At the altar rail he stopped again to listen. Still no sound. Then he raised his gun and entered the vestry. It was too late by the time he saw her. She was standing beside a tall cabinet, next to the wall at the side of the door. Motionless, with the gun pointing straight at his chest.

“Drop the gun,” she said.

Her voice was low, almost a whisper. He bent down and put Larsson’s pistol on the stone floor.

“You won’t even leave me in peace inside a church,” she said. “Not even on the day my father’s going to be buried. You should think about your own father. I never met him, but from what I’ve heard he was a good man. True to his ideals. It’s a pity he wasn’t able to pass them on to you.”