Johansson went off for his coffee. Lindman paused to have another look at the bear.
Then he drove to Ulvkalla and parked outside the white house. He saw Wigren in the street, no doubt looking for somebody he could invite into his kitchen for a cup of coffee.
She opened the door before he could ring the bell. Lindman didn’t know what to expect, but certainly not the elegantly dressed lady in the doorway. She had long black hair, obviously dyed, and she was heavily made-up around her eyes.
“I thought you might as well come in,” she said. “Instead of standing out there in the street.”
Lindman stepped into the hall. He’d gotten further than Wigren had managed in forty years. She led him into the living room that was at the back of the house, facing the garden. In the background Lindman could see the wooded hills rising towards Orsa Finnmark.
The room was expensively furnished. There were no prints of barebreasted gypsy girls on Berggren’s walls. She had original oil paintings instead, and it seemed to Lindman that she had good taste. She excused herself and disappeared into the kitchen. He sat on the sofa to wait. He stood up again immediately. There were several photographs in frames in a bookcase. One of the pictures was of two girls sitting on a park bench. It had been taken several decades ago. In the background was a house with a sign outside. Lindman peered to see if he could make out what was on it. It didn’t look like Swedish, but it wasn’t clear enough to be sure. He sat down again. Berggren came in with coffee and cookies.
“A man appears and stands staring at my house,” she said. “Naturally, I’m surprised. And worried as well. After what happened to Herbert things will never be the same again in Sveg.”
“I’ll tell you why I was there,” Lindman said. “I used to work with Herbert Molin. I’m also a police officer.”
“Erik told me that.”
“I’m on sick leave and was kicking my heels. So I came here. I happened to speak to a real estate agent in Krokom who told me you had bought Herbert’s house on his behalf.”
“He asked me to. He phoned before he retired. He wanted me to help him.”
“So you knew each other?”
She looked dismissively at him. “Why else would he ask me to help him?”
“I’m trying to understand who he was. I’ve realized that the man I used to work with was not who I thought he was.”
“In what way?”
“In many ways.”
She stood up and adjusted a curtain in one of the windows.
“I knew Herbert’s first wife,” she said. “We went to school together. So I also got to know Herbert, to some extent. That was when he lived in Stockholm. Then I lost contact with her after they divorced. But not with Herbert.” She returned to her chair. “That’s all there is to it. And now he’s dead. And I’m sad about that.”
“Did you know that his daughter Veronica’s here?”
She shook her head.
“No, I didn’t know that. But I don’t expect her to pay me a visit. It was Herbert I knew, not his children.”
“Did he move here because you were here?”
She looked him straight in the eye. “That is something that concerned only him and me. And now it concerns only me.”
“Of course.”
Lindman took a sip of coffee. Berggren was not telling him the truth. The disappearing wife was plausible, but there was something about what she said that didn’t add up. Something he should be able to work out. He put down his cup, which was blue with a gold edge.
“Do you have any idea who could have killed him?”
“No. Do you?”
Lindman shook his head.
“An old man who wanted to live in peace,” she said. “Who on earth would want to kill him?”
Lindman looked at his hands. “There must have been somebody who did,” he said.
There was only one other question he wanted to ask.
“I find it strange that you haven’t spoken to the police in Ostersund. The ones who are in charge of the investigation.”
“I’ve been waiting for them to contact me.”
Lindman was now certain. The woman was not telling him the whole truth.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about why Herbert came here,” he said. “Why would anybody want to live such a lonely life?”
“It’s not lonely up here,” Berggren said. “There’s lots you can do if you want to. For instance, I’m going to a concert in the church tonight. There’s an organist coming here from Sundsvall.”
“I heard from Erik Johansson that you give dancing lessons.”
“Children should learn how to dance. If nobody else teaches them, I can. But I don’t know if I’ve got the strength to go on for much longer.”