Johan Theorin - The Quarry

‘What?’

Jerry raised his good arm and pointed over towards the coast road, winding its way between the quarry and the sea.

Per turned and saw that a car had stopped. A dark-red car had driven far enough to allow a clear view across the whole of the quarry. He hadn’t seen it arrive, but he was fairly sure the coast road had been empty when he and Jerry had walked down the steps.

He squinted at the car, which was almost directly in the path of the sun. ‘Why do you think... what makes you think it’s Bremer’s car?’

Jerry didn’t answer, but kept on staring at the car.

‘OK. I’ll go and have a word,’ said Per.

He strode across the huge expanse of gravel. The car was still there, and as he drew closer he could see a man hunched over the wheel, looking down at him. A motionless figure that seemed to be wearing some sort of cap.

When he was about a hundred metres away from the coast road, the engine sprang into life.

‘Hello!’ Per shouted and waved, without any idea of who he was waving to, and increased his speed. ‘Wait!’ he shouted.

But the dark-red car began to move. It reversed, swung around and shot away to the south, and it was still too far away for him to be able to make out a number plate, or even what make of car it was.

The sound of the engine died away, and Per had to turn back. He was out of breath when he reached the eastern end of the quarry.

Jerry looked enquiringly at him. ‘Bremer?’

‘No.’

‘Markus Lukas?’

Per shook his head, gasping for breath. No one from Jerry’s world was allowed to come here. Per lived here, and so did Jesper and Nilla.

‘I expect it was a tourist,’ he said. ‘Shall we try out the steps, then?’

Lars Marklund rang Per again at about three o’clock, when they were back in the cottage.

‘I’ve had a look at my diary,’ he said, ‘and I was thinking that perhaps we could meet halfway... Could you and your father come to the police station in Kalmar at the end of this week?’

‘OK.’

‘So we could meet on Friday at two o’clock, for example?’

‘Sure. But things are a bit up in the air at the moment, so I don’t know... I might have to go to the hospital.’

‘Is your father seriously ill at the moment, then?’

‘No, it’s not my father. It’s my daughter.’

‘I see. But could we say Friday anyway, and you can ring me if there’s a problem?’

‘Of course,’ said Per. ‘But can’t you tell me why you want us to come in? Have you found something in the house?’

‘One or two things.’

‘Was the person upstairs Hans Bremer?’

Marklund hesitated. ‘The bodies have been identified.’

‘A man and a woman, according to the papers,’ said Per. ‘And the fire was started deliberately, wasn’t it?’ There was no response from Marklund, so he went on. ‘You don’t have to say anything — I saw a leaking petrol can down in the studio. And the whole place stank of petrol.’

The silence continued, but eventually Marklund spoke. ‘As I said, we would like to ask your father a few more questions about what he saw when he arrived at the house... and what you saw inside.’

‘Are we suspected of anything?’

‘No. Not you, at any rate. You didn’t have time to set the fire.’

‘So you suspect my father? Or Bremer?’

Marklund was silent again, and then he sighed. ‘We don’t suspect Bremer. He can’t have attacked your father, or started the fire.’

‘Why not?’

Marklund hesitated again, then said, ‘Because Bremer’s hands were tied behind his back when he died. And so were the woman’s.’

‘Bye Ally, won’t be long!’

Vendela closed the door and walked across the gravel. She reached up towards the sky, stretching her body as she tried to grab the wispy clouds floating high above. Then she jogged over to the Mörners’ cottage and saw Per’s father sitting out on the patio, slumped in a sun lounger.

She knocked on the door. After a minute or so Per opened it a fraction, as if he was unsure who the caller might be. She thought he looked a bit uneasy, perhaps even afraid.

‘Ready?’ she said.

He looked at her. ‘Were we supposed to be going for a run today as well?’

Vendela nodded quickly. ‘That’s what we said yesterday. Have you changed your mind?’

Their arrangement seemed to have come back to him now. ‘No, I’m coming. I just need five minutes to get Jerry inside.’

It sounded as if he were talking about a pet, Vendela thought.

Ten minutes later, Per had woken his father and got him settled on the sofa indoors. Vendela could see that Jerry was still half asleep; his son placed a blanket over him and let him nod off again.

When Per had changed into his tracksuit and running shoes, they set off.

‘Same route?’

‘Fine by me,’ said Vendela.

They didn’t run as fast today, and the steadier tempo made it easier to talk.

‘Didn’t you want your father to be outside today?’ asked Vendela.

‘Yes, but not when I’m out,’ said Per. ‘I need to keep an eye on Jerry... he has a tendency to wander off.’

They carried on running, striding out and breathing evenly. It felt just as good as the last time. When they had left the buildings behind, Vendela turned to him and said, ‘You never use the word “Dad”.’

Per laughed, or he might have been panting. ‘No. We did away with all that.’ He took a deep breath and asked, ‘What about you... did you always say “Dad”?’

‘To Henry? Yes, but sometimes I said “Father” as well.’

‘But you loved him?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Vendela, looking over towards the quarry. ‘He came down here every morning and came home every evening. I think he was much happier here than he was on the farm... he enjoyed quarrying and working with the reddest limestone of all.’

‘You mean the stone from the place of blood?’ said Per. ‘I know what it is now.’

‘What it is ?’

‘I know how it was formed.’ He took a deep breath and went on, ‘I was talking to Gerlof Davidsson, and he said it was a geological—’

Vendela interrupted him. ‘I don’t want to know.’

‘Why not?’

‘It takes something away... it takes away the magic.’

They didn’t speak for a while; the only sounds were the crunch of their shoes on the ground and Per’s deep breathing.

Vendela suddenly veered off to the east on impulse, on to one of the smaller gravel tracks leading up to the main road.

Per followed her. ‘Where are you going?’

‘I want to show you something,’ she said, running on ahead.

She led him along the track leading to her childhood home, and stopped by the gate. It had been a week since her last visit. The grass had grown greener and more lush, but the house was empty. There was no Volvo parked outside. The happy family who lived there had gone home to the city.

Per had also stopped; he was taking deep breaths and looking around. ‘What is this place?’

Vendela opened the gate and said, ‘You can hear my childhood sighing in the trees here.’

‘Oh?’

‘This is where I grew up,’ said Vendela, walking into the garden.

Per seemed to hesitate before following her. ‘So what was it like, living here?’ he said. ‘Was it a good childhood?’

Vendela didn’t answer for a moment; she didn’t want to say too much. And she didn’t want to think about the cows.

‘It was a bit lonely,’ she said eventually. ‘I didn’t have any friends nearby, they lived up in Marnäs. I had my father for company, and then I had...’

She fell silent and stopped in front of the overgrown foundations that showed where the little barn had stood.