“Did you never see anyone arrive at the house?”
“Nobody has ever seen anyone set foot inside her house, nor come out again, for that matter.”
Lindman decided it was time to move on. He looked at his watch. “I’m afraid I’ve got to go now,” he said. “But thank you for the coffee.”
They headed for the front door. Lindman pointed to the fourteenpointed antlers. “I shot that beast when I belonged to a group of hunters from around Lillhardal.”
“Is that big?”
Wigren burst out laughing. “The biggest I ever shot. It wouldn’t have found its way onto my wall if it wasn’t. When I die, it will end up on the garbage pile. None of my children want it. We could be in for some snow tonight,” he said, at the door. Then he turned to face Lindman. “I don’t know why you’ve been asking all these questions about Elsa, but I’m not going to say anything. One of these days though, you’ll come and join me here in the kitchen and tell me what’s going on.”
Lindman nodded. He’d been right not to have underestimated Wigren.
“Good luck with the cancer,” the old man said in farewell. “What I mean is, I hope you recover.”
Lindman walked back the way he’d come. There was still no car in Berggren’s drive or in the garage. He glanced at the windows. No movement of the curtains. When he crossed the bridge he stopped again and gazed down into the water. The fear he felt at the thought of his illness came and went in waves. He could no longer stop himself from thinking about what was in store for him. What he was doing here. Wandering about the periphery of the investigation of Molin’s murder was a form of therapy which had only a limited effect.
In the center of the town he found the public library in the community center. There was a large stuffed bear in the foyer, staring at him. He had a sudden urge to attack it in a test of strength. The thought made him burst out laughing. A man carrying a bundle of papers looked up at him in surprise.
Lindman located the shelves with medical literature, but when he sat down with a book with information on all varieties of cancer, he couldn’t bring himself to open it. It’s too soon, he thought. One more day. But not more. Then I will have to come to terms with my situation instead of trying to bury it under my pointless efforts to find out what happened to Molin.
When he left the community center, he felt a wave of indecision again. Annoyed, he started marching back to the hotel. On the way, he decided to stop at the wine shop. He hadn’t been told by the doctor in Boras that he shouldn’t drink alcohol. No doubt he shouldn’t, but just now, he didn’t care. He bought two bottles of wine. As he emerged onto the street, his phone rang. He put his bag down on the pavement and answered it. It was Elena.
“I was wondering why you haven’t called me.”
Lindman immediately felt guilty. He could hear that she was hurt and disappointed.
“I don’t feel too good,” he said apologetically.
“Are you still in Sveg?”
“Where else could I be?”
“What are you doing there?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m waiting to go to Molin’s funeral.”
“Do you want me to come? I could take some time off work.”
He nearly said yes. Yes, he did want her to come. “No,” he said. “I think it’s better for me to be by myself.”
She didn’t ask again. They talked for a while without anything being said. Afterwards, he wondered why he hadn’t told her the truth. Why hadn’t he told her that he missed her? That he didn’t want to be on his own? It was as if he understood less and less about himself. And all because of the accursed lump in his mouth.
He walked into the hotel with his bottles. The girl was in the lobby, watering the flowers.
“Do you have everything you need?” she said.
“Everything’s fine,” he said.
She fetched his key, still holding the watering can.
“I can’t believe how gray everything looks,” she said. “Early November. And the worst is yet to come. All that awful winter.”
She went back to her plants. Lindman returned to his room. The suitcase was where he had left it. He put the shopping bag on the table. It was a few minutes past three. It’s too early, he thought. I can’t sit here drinking wine midway through the afternoon.
He stood motionless, gazing out of the window. Then he made up his mind. He would drive to the lake where he’d discovered the traces of a camp, but he’d go to the far side, to the forestry roads Larsson had talked about. He didn’t expect to find anything, but it would help to pass the time.