The Return of the Dancing Master(18)

“No. He let me play down by the lake whenever I wanted. To tell you the truth, I never set foot in this house before today. He never came around to visit me either.”

“Was there anybody else who visited him?”

The man’s reaction was almost imperceptible, but Lindman noticed the slight hesitation before he answered. “Not as far as I know.”

So he did have visitors, Lindman thought. But he said: “So, in other words, you’re a retiree as well. And you’ve hidden yourself away in the forest, just like Herbert.”

The man started laughing again. “Not at all,” he said. “I’m not a retiree, and I haven’t hidden myself away in the forest. I write a little bit for a few dance bands.”

“Dance bands?”

“The occasional song. Light hearts, broken hearts. Mostly crap, but I’ve had some hits. Not as Abraham Andersson, of course. I use what’s known as a pseudonym.”

“What do you call yourself?”

“Siv Nilsson.”

“A woman’s name?”

“I once knew a girl at school I was in love with. It was her name. I thought it was a rather nice way of declaring my affection for her.”

Lindman wondered if Andersson was pulling his leg, but decided that he was telling the truth. He looked at the man’s hands. His fingers were long and slim. He could indeed be a violinist.

“You have to ask yourself what on earth happened here,” the man said. “Who could have come out here and finished Herbert off. The place has been crawling with police until yesterday. There have been folks coming in helicopters and roaming around with dogs, police knocking on doors for miles around. But nobody knows a thing.”

“Nobody?”

“Nobody. Herbert came here from somewhere else and wanted to be left in peace. But somebody didn’t want to leave him in peace, and now he’s dead.”

“When did you last see him?”

“You’re asking the same questions as the police.”

“I am the police.”

Andersson looked at him quizzically. “But you’re not from the local police. That means you can’t be on the case.”

“I knew Herbert. I’m on vacation. I came here.”

Andersson nodded, but Lindman was sure he hadn’t been believed.

“I leave here for one week every month. I go to Helsingborg to see my wife. It’s odd that it should happen when I wasn’t here.”

“Why?”

“Because I never go away at the same time. It could be in the middle of a month from Sunday until the following Saturday, but it might just as easily be from Wednesday to Tuesday. Never the same. And yet it happens when I’m away.”

Lindman thought that over. “So you think that somebody was keeping watch and made his move when you weren’t around?”

“I don’t think anything. I’m just saying that it’s odd. I’m probably the only one who wanders around here. Apart from Herbert.”

“What do you think happened?”

“I don’t know. I have to go now.”

Lindman walked him to his car, which was parked at the bottom of the slope. He could see a violin case in the back seat.

“Where did you say you lived?” he said. “Dunkarret?”

“Just this side of Glöte. Keep going when you get there. About six kilometers. There’s a sign pointing to the left. Dunkarret. 2.”

Andersson got into the car. “You have to catch whoever did this,” he said. “Herbert was an oddball, but harmless. Whoever killed him must have been insane.”

Lindman watched the car drive off, standing there until the sound of the engine had died away. It struck him that sound travels a long way in a forest. Then he went back to the house and along the path that led to the lake. All the time he was pondering what Andersson had said. Nobody knew Molin. But somebody had paid him visits. Andersson hadn’t been prepared to say who, however. And the murder had taken place when Andersson wasn’t in the vicinity, always assuming that Dunkarret could be counted as in the vicinity. Lindman paused to think. That could only mean one thing. Andersson must suspect that whoever killed Molin knew that Andersson was away, and that in turn could mean only two things: either the murderer was local, or he’d been keeping watch on Molin for a considerable period of time—at least a month, possibly longer.

He came to the lake. It was bigger than he’d expected. The water was brown, with only a very few gentle ripples. He squatted down and dipped his hand in. It was cold. He stood up and suddenly saw Boras Hospital in his mind’s eye. It was several hours since he’d last thought about what was in store for him. He sat on a rock and gazed over the lake. Wooded ridges stretched away into the distance on the other side, and he could hear a power saw somewhere a long way off. I have no business being here, he thought. Molin might have had a reason for coming up north to the gigantic forests and the silence, but I haven’t. On the contrary, I should be preparing myself for what’s going to happen. My doctor has given me a good chance of surviving. I’m still young, and I’m strong, but the bottom line is that nobody can know for sure whether I’m going to make it or not.