Юхан Теорин - The Voices Beyond

Vlad is in control, but Aron is tired now. He is tired of picking people up, tired of the interrogations, tired of being a guard. He is thirty years old, but often feels as if he were sixty.

The interrogations continue, the transportations continue, the shootings continue. Traitors are shot, deserters are shot, enemies are shot. Russians or foreigners, it makes no difference.

‘Do you know why we put a bullet in the back of their neck?’ Karrek asks late one night, after several glasses of vodka.

Aron and the other guards shake their heads. They’ve never given it any thought; they’ve just done it, year after year, bullet after bullet, even if the first shot wasn’t fatal. Sometimes it took a second bullet when the prisoner was lying down. Sometimes a third. There are rumours that sometimes the sand that was thrown over a body kept on moving.

‘You don’t know?’

‘No.’

‘It’s obvious,’ Karrek says. ‘Because the back of the neck can’t stare at us.’

‘I don’t know how you have the patience,’ John Hagman said.

‘It keeps my hands flexible,’ Gerlof replied.

He was sitting at the table opposite John, concentrating on finishing off the rigging for a clipper, the classic Cutty Sark . It was a fiddly job, using wire hooks and thread and thin yardarms made of toothpicks.

When the very last tiny knot had been tied, he let out a long breath.

‘I don’t really understand it either, John,’ he admitted. ‘And I haven’t even got a customer for this one, I’ve just—’

He was interrupted by the sound of the telephone. He stared at it, then pulled himself together and picked up the receiver.

‘Davidsson.’

‘Good evening,’ a voice said quietly.

Gerlof recognized it; he was more prepared this time. He nodded to John.

‘Good evening, Aron. How are you?’

‘Fine.’

‘I’m not,’ Gerlof said. ‘I’ve been reading a book, a history book about the terrible things that happened in the Soviet Union in the thirties. The Great Terror .’

‘I don’t read books.’

‘But you’re familiar with the Great Terror.’

There was no reply, and Gerlof went on, ‘A million people were executed between 1936 and 1938 alone. Most were shot, according to the book. Others died under torture. A million, Aron, in less than two years.’

Still nothing.

‘What were you doing during those years, Aron? You said you were a soldier, but what did you do?’

‘I obeyed orders,’ the voice said. ‘I fought against Fascism.’

‘But you’re not a soldier any longer, Aron. You can give up now. You can start talking to the Kloss family.’

‘No. There are too many dead.’

‘Not here on the island,’ Gerlof said.

‘Yes. Here, too.’

‘Where?’

The voice seemed to hesitate before answering. ‘On Kloss land.’

‘Who are you talking about?’

‘A security guard,’ the voice went on. ‘He’s buried under the cairn between the shore and Rödtorp. He was shot.’

As Gerlof listened, he remembered Tilda talking about a security guard who had gone missing at midsummer. ‘Why are you telling me this, Aron?’

‘Who else would I tell?’

Gerlof thought for a moment. ‘I heard about your sister,’ he said. ‘I know that your younger sister died in the home at Marnäs last year, Aron. Was she your only family?’

‘I have a daughter. But she’s not here.’

‘So you must have a wife, too.’

‘Not any more.’

‘What happened?’

The voice didn’t respond.

‘Goodbye,’ it said eventually, and Gerlof heard a click at the other end of the line. He sighed and put down the phone.

So that was that. He looked at John.

‘He’s somewhere else now... I couldn’t hear the same background noises. There was no whinnying horse this time.’

‘The question is, why did he call you?’

‘I suppose he wants some kind of contact, like everyone else,’ Gerlof said. ‘Everyone wants to feel human. Even murderers have that need within them.’

He stared at the telephone.

‘Aron had a family,’ he said. ‘He talked about a daughter, and about a wife who isn’t around any more. I think he’s completely alone now, and that’s not good... It felt as if that was our last conversation, as if he was just calling to say goodbye.’

When John had left, Gerlof picked up the phone again and called Tilda. She was back in Sweden, but didn’t want to talk.

‘I’m on holiday,’ she said.

‘It’s about a police matter,’ Gerlof said.

‘As I said, I’m on holiday.’

‘Unfortunately, this can’t wait. The security guard who disappeared at midsummer — is he still missing?’

‘As far as I know,’ Tilda said.

‘I’ve got some information.’ He explained what Aron Fredh had told him about the body near Rödtorp.

At least Tilda was listening.

‘I’ll ask them to check,’ she said. ‘Where exactly is Rödtorp?’

‘It’s where the Ölandic Resort is now. Aron Fredh grew up there.’

‘Inside the complex?’

‘Yes, down by the water,’ Gerlof said. ‘So this will mean more hassle for the Kloss family, if what he says is correct... as I’m sure he’s well aware.’

Gerlof could hear Tilda writing something down, then she said, ‘We have to try and find this man.’

Gerlof sighed. ‘Talk to Kent Kloss.’

Something bad had happened. Jonas could feel it in the air around Villa Kloss.

He didn’t speak to anyone, he just kept on working, and Veronica’s decking was half finished. After several weeks on his knees, he had developed a routine when it came to sanding down and oiling the wood, and fortunately he was able to make much faster progress; there were only three days left of his summer holiday in Stenvik. Everyone seemed to be hurrying to get things finished before the summer was over.

Jonas hadn’t seen much of his father; Niklas often worked late at the restaurant, and stayed in bed in the mornings. He emerged later and later with each passing day, wearing dark glasses, but he always had a smile for Jonas before he went off to work.

Mats was going home on Saturday morning, Jonas and Niklas on Sunday. Either Veronica or Uncle Kent would give them a lift to the station.

Jonas was hoping it would be Veronica.

He had a good view of Villa Kloss from the decking, and he could see brief family meetings here and there: Uncle Kent and Niklas had a lunch meeting by the garage, Veronica and Niklas had a chat afterwards by the pool, and later in the evening he noticed Kent and Veronica sitting on Kent’s decking. Whispered conversations, every one.

Something had definitely happened — but there was still work to do and a blazing sun to bring him out in a sweat, so Jonas kept on slogging away.

At the beginning of the holiday he had been afraid that he would be lonely, but now he enjoyed spending time on his own during the day. Avoiding Kent and his cousins — even Mats and their father.

Urban and Mats got back very late from working at the Ölandic that evening. Urban went straight to his room, but Mats stopped to have a word with his kid brother. He crouched down on the decking and asked quietly, ‘Have you heard, bro?’

‘No, what?’

‘The police have found a body. Hidden under a cairn.’

Jonas immediately glanced over at the ridge, but Mats shook his head. ‘Not that one — another one, inside the Ölandic complex. The cops are all over the place.’

‘Who was it?’

‘A guy who worked for us, a security guard... I never met him, but he worked at the Ölandic.’

Jonas looked at his brother and wondered whether to tell him about the cairn ghost, but Mats straightened up. ‘Anyway, that was my last shift.’ He sounded relieved.