Юхан Теорин - The Voices Beyond

‘Right,’ she said, picking up the container, ‘I’d better go and get ready for work... Are you working today?’

Another nod.

‘For the Kloss family?’

‘Not family. I only work for him .’

‘Him?’

‘Yes,’ Paulina said, her expression serious. ‘Only for Kent Kloss.’ She looked away and didn’t say any more. But Lisa got the feeling that Paulina didn’t much like what she had to do for Kent Kloss.

Jonas was recognized when they walked into the cottage; apparently, eleven-year-old Kristoffer, Julia’s bonus child following the loss of her son, Jens, had attended swimming classes with him. They said a slightly shy ‘hi’ to one another.

Good. An established friendship would make everything easier, Gerlof thought. He led Jonas over to the telephone.

‘Ring your parents. They must be worried — tell them you’re fine.’

The boy seemed hesitant. ‘There’s only my dad here... We’re staying with Auntie Veronica and Uncle Kent.’

Gerlof nodded; he knew about the owners of the Ölandic Resort.

‘Well, call the house then. Tell them you’re over at the Davidssons’. Do you want them to come and pick you up?’

Jonas shook his head, then slowly picked up the phone. His expression was so troubled Gerlof thought it best to leave the room. He heard the boy talking quietly to someone.

Afterwards, they had breakfast. Gerlof was expecting his three grandsons to ask where he had found Jonas, but they didn’t, and after a little while Jonas started to join in with the conversation, smiling when the other boys smiled.

Gerlof wasn’t smiling. He glanced over at the coffee table, where he had left the drawing of the ship. Elia. He looked at the black crosses by the cargo hatch, and pondered.

After breakfast, he picked up the drawing and his straw hat and asked Jonas to come outside with him for a little while. They sat side by side on deckchairs on the lawn, with the sun starting to burn down on Gerlof’s shoulders and legs. Jonas kept his eyes fixed on the grass.

‘Are you thinking about what happened yesterday?’ Gerlof asked.

The boy looked at him and nodded, and Gerlof knew that the fear had come back.

‘Everything you told me about the ship... Are you still saying it’s all true?’

‘Yes.’

‘You saw dead seamen on the ship, and two people who were still alive. An older man up in the wheelhouse, and a younger man with an axe... and you think he comes from Africa. Is that right?’

‘Well, yes,’ Jonas said quietly. ‘But I didn’t say he was from Africa. You asked me what came into my mind when I saw him — I thought about African animals and jungle drums.’

Gerlof was puzzled. ‘Have you ever been to Africa?’

Jonas shook his head.

Gerlof didn’t think he was going to get any further with this; he picked up his stick and slowly got to his feet. ‘I think we’d better call the police,’ he said.

Jonas looked frightened, but Gerlof held up his hand.

‘It’ll be fine... We’re family.’

Tilda Davidsson was the only serving police officer Gerlof knew, and she was also the granddaughter of his late older brother. Gerlof managed to get hold of her at home on the eastern side of the island and briefly explained what had happened.

‘So I was wondering whether the coastguard had seen any ships adrift in the Sound last night?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ Tilda replied. ‘I’m not with the coastguard. And it’s my day off.’

Gerlof could hear children laughing in the background, but went on anyway. ‘Could you ask them to check?’

‘No, that will be up to the central communications office, if we decide the boy’s story is credible.’

Gerlof sighed; so much hassle. ‘Well, could you come over and see what you think?’

And she did, without any of her colleagues, and out of uniform. She was wearing a loose-fitting denim dress, and Gerlof wondered if she might be pregnant. However, he didn’t dare ask.

Tilda said hello to Gerlof and the grandchildren, then shook hands with Jonas Kloss, who was playing a video game.

‘Tilda is a police officer from Kalmar,’ Gerlof explained. ‘I think it would be a good idea if you two had a little chat.’

Jonas got up slowly, looking far from thrilled at the prospect. Tilda spoke quietly to Gerlof. ‘You can sit in.’

‘Can I?’

‘You can be a witness; the police sometimes bring in an independent observer to make sure an interview is carried out correctly.’

Gerlof agreed, and followed Jonas and Tilda out into the shimmering heat.

‘Do you come here every summer, Jonas?’ Tilda asked when they were settled under the parasol.

‘No. Last summer we stayed at home with Mum. Because Dad...’ He fell silent and looked at Gerlof.

‘And where does your mum live?’ Tilda went on.

‘Huskvarna.’

Gerlof sat quietly and let Tilda do the talking. First of all, they chatted about video games and football stickers, which it seemed Tilda knew quite a lot about. After a few moments, she leaned forward. ‘I believe you saw something terrible last night...’

Jonas nodded.

‘Would you like to tell me about it?’

‘OK.’

They sat there listening for twenty minutes. Gerlof heard the same story from Jonas Kloss all over again — the same dark ship in the Sound, the same dead seamen, the same man with the axe and the elderly man called Aron — and because it matched his first account so perfectly, Gerlof became more and more convinced that it was true.

Afterwards, Tilda and Gerlof stayed in the garden and let Jonas go back indoors.

‘Your interrogation produced the same result as mine,’ Gerlof said.

‘That wasn’t an interrogation,’ Tilda quickly corrected him. ‘You have to be very careful when you question minors — we have specially trained officers for that. We were just having a chat.’

‘So are you going to look into this?’

‘Look into what, Gerlof? If the county police are going to send out officers to start knocking on doors and questioning witnesses, there has to be a crime scene. And as far as we know, there isn’t one.’

Gerlof unfolded the drawing he had brought from the boathouse.

‘There’s this. I drew it this morning, with Jonas’s help. He says this is the ship he was on. It’s not from Öland.’

Tilda looked at the sketch.

‘How do you know?’

‘It’s too big. It looks like a smallish cargo ship, probably around ninety feet, from the period between the wars. It could be an old cement ship from Degerhamn, but none of them is called Elia .’

‘OK, but in that case, where is it? I drove a little way along the coast road before I came here, and there were no ships in the Sound.’

‘It’s moved on. The boy said it had engines... I heard a ship last night, heading north, and I saw the backwash. It could have left the Sound and carried on into the Baltic.’ Gerlof paused for a moment, then added, ‘Unless it’s sunk. Or been scuttled.’

‘All right, you win.’ Tilda gave him back the drawing. ‘I can ask the coastguard to keep an eye open, but if no ship turns up we don’t have much to work on. Just a little boy.’

‘A frightened boy. His whole body was shaking when he stumbled into my boathouse. He’d seen something truly horrific.’

‘Ghosts on a ghost ship,’ Tilda said.

‘ Seeing ghosts isn’t the same as saying they exist ,’ Gerlof insisted. ‘But I could tell you a story...’

Tilda smiled wearily. ‘One of your ghost stories?’

Gerlof wagged a finger at her. ‘Just you listen to me. This is true. It’s something that happened to me back in the fifties, when we were carrying stone to Stockholm. We sailed along the coast virtually every week — it was pure routine. But one hot summer’s day we stopped in Oskarshamn to unload a cargo of machine oil. There was a fishing boat moored beside us at the quayside; she looked completely seaworthy but seemed to be deserted. There was no sign of anyone on board. But at sea it’s a tradition to call on your neighbours, so when we’d finished unloading I went over to see where the crew were, thinking they might be asleep or something.’