That was the end of the conversation.
Lindman ran his tongue over his teeth. The lump was still there.
They ordered coffee. She asked if he minded if she smoked. He said that it was fine and she lit a cigarette and blew smoke rings towards the ceiling. Then she looked at him.
“Why did you come here, really?” she said.
Lindman gave her part of the truth. “I’m on sick leave. I had nothing else to do.”
“The policeman I spoke to in Ostersund said you were helping with the investigation.”
“One gets upset when a colleague is murdered, naturally. But my visit here is of no significance. I’ve just spoken to a few people, that’s all.”
“Who?”
“Mainly the police officer you’ll be meeting in Ostersund tomorrow. Giuseppe Larsson. And Abraham Andersson.”
“Who’s he?”
“Your father’s nearest neighbor, even if he does live quite a long way away.”
“Did he have anything interesting to say?”
“No. But if anybody was going to notice something, it would have been him. You can talk to him, if you like.”
She stubbed out her cigarette, crushing the butt as if it were an insect.
“Your father changed his name,” Lindman said. “From Mattson-Herzén to Molin. That was a few years before you were born. At about the same time he asked to be discharged from the army and moved to Stockholm. When you were two, there was another move, to Alingsås. You can hardly be expected to remember anything about the time in Stockholm. A two-year-old doesn’t have a conscious memory. But there’s one thing I wonder about. What did he do in Stockholm?”
“He had a music shop.” She could see that he was surprised. “As you say, I don’t recall anything about it. But I heard later. He tried running a shop and opened one in Solna. It went well in the early years. He opened a second one in Sollentuna. But things went rapidly downhill from there. My first memories are from Alingsas. We lived outside the town in an old house that never got sufficiently warm in the winter.” She paused and lit another cigarette. “I wonder why you want to know all this.”
“Your father is dead. That means that all questions are important.”
“Are you suggesting that somebody killed him because he once owned a music shop?”
Lindman didn’t answer and moved instead to the next question.
“Why did he change his name?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why would anybody want to change their name from Herzén to Molin?”
“I simply don’t know.”
Lindman suddenly had the feeling that he should be careful. He wasn’t sure where the feeling came from, but it was certainly there. He was asking questions and she was answering, but at the same time something quite different was going on. Veronica Molin was finding out how much he knew about her father.
He picked up the coffeepot and asked if she would like a refill. She said no.
“When we worked together I had the impression that your father was worried. In fact, that he was scared. What of, I’ve no idea, but I can remember his fear still, though it’s been more than ten years since he retired.”
She frowned. “What would he have been scared of?”
“I don’t know. I suppose I’m asking you.”
She shook her head. “My father wasn’t the frightened type. On the contrary, he was brave.”
“In what way?”
“He was never afraid of doing things. Never afraid of refusing to do things.”
Her cell phone rang. She apologized, and answered. The conversation took place in a foreign language. Lindman wasn’t sure if it was Spanish or French. When it was over she beckoned the receptionist and asked for her bill.
“Did you go out to see the house?” Lindman said.
She looked at him for a while before answering. “I have a good memory of my father. We were never close, but I’ve lived long enough to know what sort of a relationship some children can have with their parents. I don’t want to spoil the image of my father by seeing the place where he was killed.”
Lindman understood. Or at least, he thought he did.
“Your father must have been very fond of dancing,” he said.
“Why on earth should he have been?”
Her surprise seemed genuine.
“Somebody said so,” Lindman said.
The receptionist came with two bills. Lindman tried to take them both, but she insisted on taking hers.
“I prefer to pay my own way.”
The girl went to get some change.
“What exactly does a computer consultant do?” Lindman said.
She smiled but didn’t reply.
They went their separate ways in the lobby. Her room was on the ground floor.