Henning Mankell - The Return of the Dancing Master

He took off the invisible peaked cap and washed his face. By the time he left the bathroom the Western had almost finished. The man who had escaped the lynching party was sitting with a big-breasted woman in a log cabin. Lindman reached for the remote control and turned off the TV.

He called Elena’s number. She answered almost immediately.

“I’m leaving here tomorrow. I might even be back home by tomorrow evening.”

“Don’t drive too fast, will you?”

“That’s all, really. I’m worn out. We can talk when I get home.”

“How’s it going?”

“How’s what going?”

“You, your health.”

He said he didn’t have the strength to discuss how he was feeling, and Elena understood.

He drank another glass of wine before settling down in bed. I have one more visit to make, he thought as he was falling asleep. I have one more person to see before I talk to Larsson, and then I can put all of this behind me.

He woke up before dawn with excruciating pain in one of his cheeks. He was also running a temperature. He lay still in the darkness and tried to wish away the pain by sheer willpower. But it didn’t work. When he got out of bed, he felt another stab in his cheek. He found a tube of painkillers and dissolved two in a glass of water. He wondered if he’d been lying awkwardly during the night. But he knew that the pain was coming from the inside. The doctor had warned him. He might suddenly find himself in pain. He emptied the glass and lay down again, hoping the pain would go away. But things got no better. 7 A.M. passed but he was in too much pain to go down for breakfast.

After another hour, he couldn’t stand it any longer. He looked up the telephone number for the hospital in Borås and had a stroke of luck. His doctor answered as soon as he was put through. He described the pain he was in. She said she would write him a prescription and call it into the pharmacist in Sveg. If that didn’t ease the pain, he was to call her again. Lindman went back to bed. The doctor had said she would call Sveg immediately. He decided to try to put up with the pain for another hour. Then he would drive to the pharmacy. He lay still in bed. All he could think about was the pain. At 9 A.M. he got up, dressed, and went downstairs. The receptionist wished him a good morning. He smiled and left his key on the desk.

He got his pills and took the first dose immediately. Then he went back to the hotel. The girl handed him his key.

“Are you unwell?” she said.

“Yes, I’m in a bit of pain,” he said. “But it’ll pass.”

“You haven’t had any breakfast. Would you like something in your room?”

“Just coffee, please. And some extra pillows.”

He waited until she arrived with a tray and two more pillows.

“Give me a call if there’s anything you need.”

“You were upset last night,” he said. “I hope you feel better now.”

She didn’t seem surprised. “I noticed you in the doorway,” she said. “It was just a momentary weakness. Nothing more.”

When she was gone, Lindman lay down on the bed and wondered what a “momentary weakness” entailed. It occurred to him that he didn’t know her name. He took another pill.

After a while the pain began to ease. He looked to see what it said on the box. Doleron. There was a red warning triangle on the package. He noticed he was feeling drowsy, but he also thought that there was no greater happiness in life than the ebbing away of acute pain.

He stayed in bed for the rest of the day. The pain came and went. He dozed off and again dreamed of the pack of wild dogs. It was late afternoon before it became clear that the pain was going away rather than just becoming more bearable. Although he hadn’t eaten anything all day, he wasn’t hungry. Shortly after 4 P.M. his cell phone rang. It was Johansson.

“How did it go?” Lindman said.

“How did what go?”

“The poker game in Funäsdalen.”

Johansson laughed. “I won 19 kronor. After four hours. I thought you were going to get in touch with me?”

“I’m not feeling so well today.”

“Nothing serious, I hope?”

“Just a bit of pain. But I talked to Elsa Berggren.”

“Did she have anything interesting to say?”

“Not really. She claimed she’d known Molin for a long time.”

“Did she have any idea why he was murdered?”

“She found it incomprehensible.”

“I thought as much. Will you be coming by tomorrow? I forgot to ask how long you were staying.”

“I’m leaving tomorrow. But I can stop by even so.”

“About nine would be convenient.”

He turned off his phone. The pain had more or less gone now.

He dressed and went down to the lobby. He left his key on the desk and opened the hotel door. The snow had melted. He went for a walk through the little town. Went into Agardh’s and bought some disposable razors.

Last night he’d made up his mind to visit Abraham Andersson. He wasn’t sure he felt up to it. It was dark. He wondered if he would be able to find the house. But Andersson had said there was a sign to Dunkärret. He went back to the hotel and got into his car. I’ll go for it, he thought. Tomorrow morning I’ll visit Johansson. Then I’ll drive to Östersund and talk to Larsson. I can be back in Borås by nightfall.

Before leaving Sveg he stopped at a gas station and filled his tank. When he went to pay he noticed a display with pocket flashlights next to the counter. He bought one and put it in the glove compartment.

He set off in the direction of Linsell, waiting all the time to see if the pains were coming back. For now, at least, they were leaving him in peace. As he drove, he kept looking out for signs of animals by the side of the road. He slowed down as he passed the turnoff to Molin’s house. For a moment he wondered if he should go there, but decided it would be inappropriate. He pressed ahead, wondering what his daughter and her brother planned to do with the property. Who would buy a house in which someone had been so savagely murdered? The repercussions of that killing would haunt the region for a long time to come.

He passed Dravagen, kept going towards Glöte until he saw the sign for Dunkärret 2. The road was bumpy and narrow. After about a kilometer it divided into two. Lindman kept to the left as the other road appeared to be more or less unused. About another kilometer and he was there. Andersson had put up a sign of his own with the name Dunkärr. The house lights were on. Lindman turned off the engine and got out of the car. A dog started barking. Lindman walked up a slope. The house was quite high up, surrounded by darkness. He wondered what drove people to live in such isolated places. What could a person find in all this darkness, apart from a hiding place? He could see the dog now. It was running back and forth along a line stretched between a tree and the house wall. There was a doghouse by the tree. It was a Norwegian elkhound, the same breed as Molin’s. Lindman wondered who had buried the dead dog. The police? He walked up the steps to the front door and knocked hard. The dog started barking again. After a while he knocked again harder. He tried the door. It was unlocked. He opened it and shouted into the house. Perhaps Andersson was one of those people who go to bed early? He looked at his watch. 8:15. Too early. He stepped into the hall and shouted again.

Suddenly he was on his guard. He didn’t know why. He had the feeling that all was not as it should be. He went into the kitchen. There was an empty coffee cup on the table, and next to it a program for the Helsingborg Symphony Orchestra. He shouted again, but there was no answer. He went from the kitchen into the living room. There was a music stand next to the television, and a violin on a sofa. He frowned. Then he went upstairs and looked everywhere, but found no one. Something was definitely wrong.