Henning Mankell - The Return of the Dancing Master

“Perhaps we shouldn’t be a hundred percent certain that the woman outside Andersson’s house really was Berggren.”

“If the woman actually was outside the door,” Larsson said. “I suspect that Hanna peered in through a window.”

“Surely the dog would have barked in that case?”

Larsson reached impatiently for another file. He leafed through it without finding what he was looking for. “I know I’ve read somewhere that after the murder of Molin, Andersson said that he sometimes had the dog inside the house. This could have been one of those occasions. Now, some guard dogs bark even when they’re in the house if they hear a noise outside, I’ll grant you that.”

“It didn’t seem all that alert for a guard dog when I was there,” Lindman said. “It appeared to be more of a hunting dog.”

Johansson was still skeptical. “Is there anything else that links them? We know that Elsa and Molin were Nazis. If we can believe everything that has emerged so far, that’s what they had in common. Two lunatics, in other words, but harmless. Was Andersson a Nazi?”

“He was a dues-paying member of the Center Party,” Larsson said grimly. “For a while he was even an elected member of the Helsingborg Town Council. He resigned over a split about funding for the local symphony orchestra, but he didn’t leave the party. We can assume that not only was Andersson a man with no links to the unpleasant political movement known as neo-Nazism, but also that he took great exception to it. It would be interesting to know how he’d have reacted if he’d realized that he had a former Waffen-SS officer for a neighbor.”

“Maybe he did know,” Lindman heard himself saying.

Larsson looked at him. It was quiet in the room. “Say that again.”

“I’m just suggesting that we could turn the way we’ve been thinking on its head. If Andersson had discovered that his neighbor, Molin, was a Nazi, and perhaps Berggren as well, that could indicate that there was in fact a link.”

“And what would that be?”

“I don’t know. But Molin had hidden himself away in the forest. He wanted to keep his past a secret, no matter the cost.”

“You mean that Andersson might have threatened to expose him?”

“It could even have been blackmail. Molin had done everything he could to disappear from view, to hide his past. He was scared of something. Presumably of a person, but possibly several. If Andersson discovered his secret, the whole of Molin’s existence would be under threat. Berggren had bought the house on Molin’s behalf. Suddenly some new circumstances arise in which he needs her help again.”

Larsson shook his head doubtfully. “Does that really add up? If Andersson had been killed before Molin, I could have understood it. But not afterwards. When Molin was already dead?”

“Maybe it was Andersson who helped the murderer to find Molin? But something went wrong. There’s another possibility, of course. Berggren could have realized, or assumed, that Andersson was somehow responsible for what happened to Molin, and took revenge.”

Johansson protested. “That can’t be right. Are you suggesting that Elsa, a woman in her seventies, dragged Andersson into the forest, tied him to a tree, and shot him? That can’t be right. Besides, she didn’t have a gun.”

“Guns can be stolen, as we know,” Larsson said, icily.

“I can’t see Elsa as a murderer.”

“None of us can, but we both know that people who are as gentle as lambs on the surface can commit violent crimes.”

Johansson made no comment.

“What Stefan says is worth bearing in mind, of course,” Larsson said. “But let’s not sit around here speculating. We should be gathering more facts. For instance, we have to find out how much you can see in the rearview mirror of a car parked in the place described by Hanna Tunberg. Obviously, we should then concentrate on Berggren. Without dropping everything else, of course. Everybody in this room knows that it could take a long time to work out what happened in the forest, but that doesn’t mean we should let it take any longer than necessary. We might have some luck and catch that man on the mountain, and find out that he killed Andersson as well as Molin.”

Before the meeting closed they called Rundström again, and the mist was as thick as ever.

4 P.M. Those present at the meeting went their various ways, leaving only Larsson and Lindman in the office. The sun had gone. Larsson yawned. Then he smiled broadly.

“I don’t suppose you’ve discovered a bowling alley on your rambles through Sveg? That’s what you and I need right now.”

“I haven’t even found a cinema.”

Larsson pointed at the window. “They show films at the community center. Fucking Amål is showing now. It’s good. My daughter forced me to see it.”

Larsson sat at the desk. “Erik’s upset,” he said. “I’m not surprised. It doesn’t look good for a police officer to have his guns stolen. I suspect that he forgot to lock his front door. It happens easily when you live out in the country. Maybe he left a window open. He’s keeping very quiet about how the thief got in.”

“Didn’t he say something about a broken window?”

“He could have broken it himself. Nor is it absolutely certain that he followed the regulations when he bought the rifle. There are lots of guns in this country that are not kept locked away as the law requires, especially hunting rifles.”

Lindman opened a bottle of mineral water. He could see that Larsson was eyeing him keenly.

“How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know. I suppose I’m a lot more frightened than I care to admit.” He put the bottle back on the table. “I’d rather not talk about it,” he said. “I’m more interested in what’s happening in the case.”

“I’m thinking of spending this evening here in the office. Going through some papers again. I think our discussion today has given us a few new leads. Berggren worries me. I can’t figure her out. If Hanna Tunberg really did see what she said she saw, what does it mean? Erik is right to soft-pedal a bit. It’s hard to imagine a woman in her seventies dragging a man into the forest, tying him to a tree, and then executing him.”

“There was an old detective in the Borås force called Fredlund,” Lindman said. “He was abrupt, sullen, and slow, but a brilliant investigator. Once when he was in an unusually good mood he said something I’ve never forgotten. ‘You work with a flashlight in your hand. You point it straight in front of you so that you can see where you’re putting your feet, but you should occasionally point it to each side as well, so that you can see where you’re not putting your feet.’ If I understand him correctly he was maintaining that you should always keep checking on what’s central. Which of the people involved is the most important?”

“What happens if you apply that to our situation? I’ve been talking too much today. I need to do some listening.”

“Could there be a link between the man on the mountain and Berggren? What she said about being attacked doesn’t have to be true. It strikes me now that it could have been my showing up there that triggered that situation. That’s the first question: is there a link between her and Hereira? The second question, leading me in a different direction, is: is there somebody else involved in all of this, somebody lurking in the shadows whom we haven’t yet identified?”

“Someone who may share the political views of Berggren and Molin? Are you thinking of some kind of neo-Nazi network?”

“We know they exist.”

“So, Hereira turns up to dance the tango with Molin. That sparks off a series of incidents. One important consequence is that Berggren decides that Andersson has to be killed. So she sends for somebody suitable from her brown-shirted brotherhood to take care of it. Is that what you’re saying?”