Johan Theorin - The Quarry

‘It was a film studio,’ said Per. ‘The guest rooms were for the actors who came to work there. Other rooms were set up for filming a variety of scenes. I was never involved, but according to my father they had every possible scenario.’

‘Oh, so they made films there,’ said the inspector. ‘Anything we might have heard of?’

Per sighed to himself before replying. ‘No. They made films that went straight to video, films that were made very quickly.’

‘Mysteries?’

‘No. They made... erotic films.’

It was like a production line , he thought. Hans Bremer had worked fast as a director; Jerry had said that he sometimes made an entire full-length film in two days.

‘Erotic films... Do you mean porn?’

‘Exactly. They took male and female models out there and made porn films.’

Marklund paused.

‘I see,’ he said eventually. ‘Well, that isn’t necessarily illegal, as long as no minors are involved. Were they?’

‘No,’ Per said quickly, although he wasn’t absolutely certain. How old had Regina actually been?

‘So you were part of this... activity?’

‘No, not at all. But my father has told me a certain amount.’

‘Has he said anything about why his companion burnt down their studio?’ asked the inspector. ‘Or do you have any idea why he did it?’

The question revealed how the police were thinking. They believed Bremer was behind the fire.

‘No,’ said Per. ‘But I don’t think the business has been going all that well for the last few years. My father fell ill, and I think perhaps competition from abroad has increased in... in this particular industry. But that’s no reason to kill yourself, surely?’

‘You never know,’ said Marklund.

Per wondered whether to tell him about the figure he had seen on the edge of the forest, but decided to keep quiet. He’d already mentioned it in an interview; that would have to do.

He looked out of the window at the patio, where Jerry was fast asleep on a sun lounger. ‘Are you going to talk to my father?’

‘Not before Easter,’ said Marklund. ‘But we’ll be in touch.’

Per put down the phone. That was that.

If Jerry hadn’t been fully retired before this weekend, he had no choice now — his workplace was gone. Per would drive him back to his apartment after Easter, and he could live a peaceful life there. Sit in front of the TV and live on his pension. If he had one.

Per went out on to the patio. ‘I’ve just been speaking to the police, Jerry. They’ve found two bodies in your house... Hans Bremer and a woman. Did you see a woman there?’

Jerry looked up at him and shook his head.

Per sat down opposite him. ‘The police seem to think it was Bremer who set fire to the place,’ he said. ‘And that does seem like the logical explanation, doesn’t it?’

But Jerry was still shaking his head. Eventually his mouth formed just one word: ‘No.’

‘Yes, Jerry. They think he wanted to destroy the studio.’

His father appeared to abandon the attempt to speak. He bent down to his briefcase and opened the worn straps. He rooted through a pile of papers and pulled out a magazine. It was the same old copy of Babylon he had whipped out at the party.

‘I don’t want to look at that,’ said Per curtly.

But Jerry started flicking through the pages anyway, as if he were looking for something. Then he found a particular double-page spread, and held it up to Per. ‘Markus Lukas,’ he said.

Per sighed, he didn’t want to look. But he leaned forward anyway.

The pictures Jerry was holding up showed nothing more than yet another sex scene between a well-built man and a young blonde woman — the same scenario his father had published in one magazine after another over the years. The female model was lying underneath the man, but her face was turned away from him and towards the photographer, and the couple seemed to be making every effort to touch each other as little as possible. There could be no hint of love or tenderness.

‘Markus Lukas,’ said Jerry, pointing at the man.

‘OK, Markus Lukas. So that was the name of your male model?’

Jerry nodded.

Per contemplated the naked back of a muscular, broad-shouldered man aged between thirty and forty. He had thick, curly black hair, visible in one picture that showed the back of his head; most of the pictures revealed him only from the waist down.

He thought about the man who had been driving the car that spring day, with Per and Regina in the back seat. Jerry had called him ‘Markus Lukas’. Was this the same man?

‘You can’t see his face,’ said Per.

Jerry nodded, but pointed at the man again. His stiff mouth was working. ‘He... ang—’

‘Angry? Is he angry?’ said Per.

Jerry nodded.

‘Who is he angry with? You and Hans Bremer?’

Jerry looked away. ‘Cheated,’ he said.

‘That doesn’t surprise me... you and Bremer cheated him out of some money?’

Jerry shook his head, but said nothing more.

Per picked up the magazine and leafed through it. There were plenty of pictures of different girls, page after page of close-ups and full-length shots, but the male models with whom they were having sex were only partly visible in the photographs. The camera focused on the women; the men were completely anonymous.

‘Are there no pictures of Markus Lukas’s face?’ he asked.

Jerry shook his head.

Per sighed, but he wasn’t surprised. There was no need to show the men’s faces — only one small part of their body was important.

‘So what’s Markus Lukas doing now? Do you know where he lives?’

Another shake of the head.

‘But he’s not involved in porn any more?’

Jerry didn’t say anything. Per thought he understood why; in a way Jerry no longer worked in the porn industry, although of course it hadn’t been a voluntary decision.

‘And I don’t suppose he was actually called Markus Lukas, was he?’ Per went on. ‘I imagine it was made up, just like all the names you gave the girls?’

Jerry nodded.

‘So what was his name?’

Jerry’s gaze was blank.

‘You don’t remember what Markus Lukas was called?’

A brief shake of the head.

‘In the contract,’ said Jerry.

‘OK, so he had a contract of employment, and his real name is on that?’

Jerry nodded and pointed across the water, in the direction of the mainland. ‘Home,’ he said.

‘Good, you’ve got it at home,’ said Per. He looked down at the pictures in the magazine, at the naked man.

‘Angry,’ said Jerry.

Per looked at the magazine one last time. He remembered the year after his meeting with Regina, when he finally realized why his father took women out into the forest and photographed them: it was to earn money from a magazine he published, a magazine called Babylon . Per had cycled to a newsagent’s on the other side of Kalmar and sneaked in to buy a copy.

BABYLON, it said on the cover in dark-red letters, above a picture of a smiling girl who resembled Regina.

He stuffed it under his jumper, took it back to his room and hid it under the mattress. Late that night when Anita was asleep, he sat there looking through the pages by the light of a torch. He saw page after page of smiling, naked girls, their white skin glowing in the sunshine or under the studio lights. They were all blonde, but several of them looked as if they were wearing a wig.

On one of the pictures he noticed a thin curl of cigarette smoke drifting across from the left — and he knew that Jerry was standing there smoking just a few metres away. Inside his head Per could hear Jerry coughing and encouraging the model to arch her back and show as much as possible. He could hear his voice.