Åke Edwardson - Sail of Stone

Susanne still hadn’t gotten out of the car as Aneta stood in front of the door. She didn’t feel calm, but she wasn’t agitated either, as she had been recently. She saw her hand knock on the door, one-two-three times. She called out. She opened the door. She called out again:

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

She turned around, but Susanne was still sitting in the car. The car was half in shadow.

Something moved behind it, another half shadow.

Winter and Macdonald walked across Bayview Road. The door into the Three Kings was half open. It was quarter past eleven.

The woman who had stood behind the bar before was standing there now, too, drying glasses, or maybe polishing them.

She could have been fifty, or fifty-five. It was the same woman as yesterday. They walked across the floor, which shone. There was sun in the room, and it cut across the wood of the bar. The woman continued to rub a glass with a rag as she looked at them. There was no recognition in her eyes. She might as well be looking right through us, thought Winter.

Now she nodded.

“Yes?”

Macdonald looked at Winter. Nice and calm.

Macdonald pointed at one of the ale labels in front of the wooden handles that stood in a row of four.

“Two pints, please.”

The woman put down the glass she’d been polishing and polishing and reached for two new glasses on a shelf behind her. She drew the fresh, cloudy ale into the glasses and placed them on coasters on the bar.

Macdonald paid. The woman took a few steps away.

“I wonder if you can help us,” said Macdonald.

She stopped. Winter could see the tension in her face. She knew. She had immediately revealed something when she hadn’t shown any recognition of them.

She knew, knew something.

“We’re looking for a man,” said Macdonald.

The woman looked at Winter, and back at Macdonald. Then she turned her profile to them.

“Oh?”

“An older man. A Swede. His name is John Osvald.”

“John Osvald,” Winter repeated.

“Oh?”

She was still standing in profile. A muscle moved in her neck. She didn’t ask what it was about. What should we answer if she asks? Winter thought.

“We think he lives here in Cullen,” said Macdonald.

“He might call himself Johnson, too,” said Winter.

“We think he was sitting here yesterday afternoon when we were here,” said Macdonald, nodding toward the empty table and the empty chair by the window.

That was the direction the woman seemed to be looking. The sun was intense through the window; it lit up half the table and half the chair. Everything outside the window was bright. The woman was still looking toward the window.

“I don’t know any Swede,” she said without moving.

She’s afraid, Winter suddenly thought. She’s afraid of this, afraid of us. No. Afraid of saying something. Afraid of someone else.

“He’s lived in Scotland for a long time,” Macdonald said. “He might not sound like a Swede.”

She still didn’t ask why they were asking. She looked. Winter could glimpse the corner of the house on the other side, and a little bit of the beach.

Winter walked across the floor to the table by the window. He could see more of the road and the houses and the beach, and he could see the sea. The roofs of Seatown. The beach was divided by the Three Kings rocks, and it continued on the other side. Winter could see the golf club next to the cliffs; the parking lot, which had a few cars in it.

Winter walked closer to the window to get a better view. He turned around and saw that the woman behind the bar also had a good view.

He saw a figure on the sand, on this side of the Three Kings cliffs. It could have been the same figure they’d seen when they’d parked down by Seatown. The figure didn’t seem to have moved.

Winter turned around again and saw the woman’s face, and he knew. He turned toward the window and the figure down on the beach, and back to the woman again, and everything became clear, he could read everything in her face, and Macdonald seemed to understand without really understanding and came up to the window and saw what Winter saw.

“It’s him,” Macdonald said. He turned to the woman. “That’s Osvald out there, isn’t it?”

She didn’t answer, and that was an answer in itself.

They turned around and walked toward the door.

“I couldn’t stand the lifelong lie anymore,” she said.

They turned around again.

“Sorry?” said Winter.

“I couldn’t stand Da… Dad’s lifelong lie anymore,” she said without taking her eyes from the window.

“Dad’s…?” said Macdonald.

“Couldn’t stand it,” she said. “And he couldn’t stand it.”

Winter and Macdonald didn’t say anything.

“I sent a letter,” she said.

“It arrived,” said Winter.

She turned her head to them, suddenly.

“Be careful down on the beach.”

When they had crossed Bayview Road and continued down the steps to Seatown, Winter could see the harbor and the breakwaters and the few local fishing boats, the very small ones, which were in a little row alongside the wall.

He could also see the trawler of steel that was just inside the harbor entrance. It was blue, blue like the sky and the sea on this day.

He saw the name.

Aneta stood facing the car and saw Susanne’s silhouette in the window.

Last time, there had been a small plastic boat moored at the dock that belonged to the cabin. It was gone now. That meant something.

Someone moved behind the car.

“I didn’t want you here,” said Hans Forsblad, stepping into the sunshine.

“Where is Anette?” Aneta asked.

“Where is Anette? Where is Anette?” Forsblad mimicked her.

“She has the right to live her own life,” said Aneta.

“Not as long as you keep interfering,” said Forsblad. “You’re always interfering!”

“I’m here with your sister,” said Aneta.

“I’m aware of that.”

There was a shine in his eyes; it wasn’t from the sun.

Aneta took a step forward.

“What have you done with Anette?” she said, but she knew the answer.

Halders could move his head. He had regained consciousness some time ago; he hadn’t been gone from the world for long. There were people standing around the car. He could see colleagues in marked cars and uniforms. I don’t see an ambulance. They wouldn’t waste an ambulance on me.

Someone had opened the car door without cutting the metal.

He could get out!

He did so, with some help.

“The ambulance is on its way,” said Jansson or Jonsson or Johansson or whatever the fuck his name was, the detective from Frölunda.

“You can take it yourself,” said Halders. “I don’t need an ambulance.”

He walked a few steps, and after a little bit, a few more.

“What time is it?” he said.

His colleague answered. Halders tried to focus on his watch, but he couldn’t really see his arm clearly. He focused on the guy in the uniform.

“Can you drive me somewhere?” Suddenly he felt that it was urgent. He saw more clearly. “It’s fucking urgent,” he said, and fumbled for his cell phone but then gave up. “Can you make a call for me?”

Winter and Macdonald walked across the beach. Seatown was behind them. Winter could see the cars in the parking lot of the golf club. He thought one of them shimmered green, like metal.

They walked toward the figure. It was a man bent over, looking across the sea. They saw him in profile. He straightened up but remained in profile.

Winter knew who it was; Macdonald knew. It was the same profile.

He knew now. Here they came, side by side, one fair and one dark, suede jacket, leather jacket. As though they owned the whole world. But no! They didn’t own a thing.