Henning Mankell - The Return of the Dancing Master

They got out of the car.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Larsson said. “Hereira used his driver’s license for an ID. It could be a forgery, of course, but, for simplicity’s sake, let’s assume it’s genuine. We could be closer to him now than we ever were on the mountain.” Lindman was exhausted. Larsson left his suitcase with the reception desk.

“I’ll be in touch,” he said. “Are you staying?”

“I’ll stay one more day.”

Larsson put his hand on Lindman’s shoulder. “I must admit it’s been a long time since I’ve had somebody to talk to like you. But tell me, honestly: if you had been in my shoes, what would you have done differently?”

“Not a thing.”

Larsson burst out laughing. “You’re too kind,” he said. “I can handle the occasional hit. Can you?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, but rushed out to his car. Lindman wondered about the question as he got his key. It was a new girl at the reception desk. He went up to his room and lay down on the bed. He thought he should call Elena, but first he needed to get some rest.

When he woke he knew he’d been dreaming. A chaotic dream, but all he could remember was the fear. He looked at his watch: 9:15. He’d better hurry if he were going to get some dinner. Besides, he had an appointment with Veronica Molin.

She was waiting for him in the dining room.

“I knocked on your door,” she said. “When you didn’t answer, I assumed you were asleep.”

“It was a strenuous night and a long day. Have you eaten?”

“I have to eat at regular times. Especially when the food is like it is here.”

The waitress was also new. She seemed hesitant. Lindman had the impression that Veronica Molin must have complained about something. He ordered a steak. Veronica Molin was drinking water. He wanted wine. She watched him with a smile.

“I’ve never met a policeman before. Not as close up as this, at least.”

“What’s it like?”

“I think everybody’s a little frightened of policemen, deep down.” She paused and lit a cigarette.

“My brother’s on his way here from the Caribbean,” she said. “He works on a cruise ship. Maybe I said that already? He’s a steward. When he’s not at sea he lives in Florida. I’ve only visited him once, when I was in Miami to close a business deal. It took us less than an hour to start arguing. I can’t remember what about.”

“When’s the funeral?”

“On Tuesday, eleven o’clock. Are you thinking of coming?”

“I don’t know.”

Lindman’s meal arrived.

“How can you stay as long as this?” he said. “I had the impression that it was difficult for you to get here at all. Now you’re staying forever.”

“Until Wednesday. No longer. Then I’m leaving.”

“Where to?”

“First London, then Madrid.”

“I’m only a simple policeman, but I’m curious about what you do.”

“I’m what the English call a dealmaker. Or ‘broker.’ I bring interested parties together and help them produce a contract. So that a business deal can take place.”

“Do I even dare ask how much you earn from that kind of work?”

“Presumably a lot more than you.”

“Everybody does.”

She turned up a wineglass and slid it towards him.

“I’ve changed my mind.”

Lindman filled her glass. He drank to her health. She seemed to be looking at him in a different way now, not as warily as before.

“I went to see Elsa Berggren today,” she said. “I realized too late that it was not a good time. She told me what happened last night. And about you. Have you caught him?”

“Not yet, no. Besides, it’s not me who’s hunting him. I’m not part of the investigation team.”

“But the police think that the man who attacked you is the person who murdered my father.”

“Yes.”

“I tried to get Giuseppe Larsson on the telephone. I do have a right to know what’s happening, after all. Who is this man?”

“We think he’s called Fernando Hereira. And that he’s from Argentina.”

“I hardly think my father knew anybody from Argentina. What is the motive supposed to be?”

“Something that happened during the war.”

She lit another cigarette. Lindman looked at her hands and wished he could hold them.

“So the police don’t believe my theory? About the woman from Scotland?”

“Nothing is excluded. We follow up every lead. That’s one of the basic rules.”

“I shouldn’t smoke while you’re eating.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve already got cancer.”

She looked at him in surprise. “Did I hear you correctly?”

“It was a joke. I’m totally fine.”

What he really wanted to do was leave the table. Go up to his room and call Elena. But there was something else driving him now.

“A strange sort of joke.”

“I suppose I wanted to see how you reacted.”

She put her head to one side and looked hard at him.

“Are you making a pass at me?”

He emptied his glass.

“Don’t all men do that? You must be aware that you are very attractive.”

She shook her head but didn’t say anything, and moved her glass away when Lindman tried to give her more. He filled his own glass.

“What did you and Elsa Berggren talk about?”

“She was tired. What I was most interested in was meeting the woman who knew my father and had helped him to buy the house where he died. She had known my mother, but we didn’t have much to say to each other.”

“I’ve wondered about their relationship. Apart from the Nazi link.”

“She said she was sorry my father was dead. I didn’t stay long. I didn’t like her.”

Lindman ordered coffee and a brandy, and asked for the bill.

“Where do you think this Hereira is now?”

“Perhaps he’s up in the mountains. He’s still in the area, I am sure of it.”

“Why?”

“I think he wants to know who killed Andersson.”

“I can’t work out what connection that man had with my father.”

“Nor can we. It will become clear sooner or later, though. We’ll catch up with both the murderers, and we’ll find out what their motives were.”

“I hope so.”

Lindman swallowed the brandy in one gulp, and sipped at his coffee. After he signed his bill, they went out to the lobby.

“Will you let me offer you another brandy?” she said. “In my room. But don’t expect anything else.”

“I stopped expecting anything long ago.”

“That doesn’t sound quite true.”

They walked down the corridor. She unlocked her door. Lindman was standing as close to her as possible without actually touching her. On her desk was a laptop computer with a glittering screen.

“I have my entire life on this,” she said. “I can still keep working while I’m waiting for the funeral.”

She poured some brandy for him from a bottle on the table. She didn’t take any herself, but kicked off her shoes and sat on the bed. Lindman could feel that he was getting drunk. He wanted to touch her now, undress her. His train of thought was interrupted when his cell phone rang in his jacket pocket. It was bound to be Elena. He didn’t answer.

“Nothing that can’t wait,” he said.

“Don’t you have a family?”

He shook his head.

“Not even a girlfriend?”

“It didn’t work.”

He put his glass down and put out his hand. She stared at it for a long time before taking it.

“You can sleep here,” she said. “But please expect no more than me lying beside you.”

“I’ve already said I don’t expect anything.”

She shuffled along the edge of the bed until she was sitting close to him.

“It’s been a long time since I met anybody who expects as much as you do.”