Johan Theorin - The Quarry

The telephone in the house rang a few times, but she didn’t answer. At about seven she went in and ran herself a hot bubble bath, ate a couple of pieces of crispbread for dinner, and stared out of the window. Over towards the little cottage to the north.

She didn’t want to go for a run on the alvar this evening. She thought about going to see old Gerlof, but didn’t want to disturb him. What she really wanted was to go over to Per Mörner and spend the rest of the evening sitting chatting to him, but his car wasn’t there. So she sat there in her big empty house, waiting for her husband and her dog to come back.

They didn’t come. At ten o’clock she went to bed.

Through the fog of sleep Vendela could hear a throbbing noise coming closer, then she was woken by the sound of someone unlocking the front door. She opened her eyes and saw from the clock by her bedside that it was quarter to eleven.

The light went on in the hallway and a strip of light fell across her bed.

‘Hello?’ called a man’s voice.

It was Max.

‘Hello...’ she replied quietly, running a hand over her forehead.

‘Hi darling!’

Max came into the bedroom, still wearing his padded jacket.

Vendela raised her head and looked around the floor. ‘Where’s Aloysius?’

‘Here,’ said Max, throwing something on the bed. ‘It’s done now.’

Vendela looked at him in confusion. ‘What’s done?’

Then she looked down at the bed and saw something small and narrow lying beside her, something strangely familiar. She reached out and picked it up.

It was a strip of leather. A dog collar.

She recognized the faint smell of Aloysius. It was his collar.

Max was still standing by the bed. ‘I thought you might want that. As a memento.’

‘Max, what have you done?’

He sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘I’ll tell you about it, if you want to know. It was very peaceful and I was holding him all the time... The vets know exactly what to do.’

Vendela just stared at him, but he carried on. ‘First of all they gave him a tranquillizer, just like the ones you take sometimes. Then they injected an overdose of anaesthetic into his front leg, and by that time—’

Vendela sat up. ‘I don’t want to hear it!’

She threw the covers aside and leapt out of bed, pushing past Max. She ran into the hallway, pulled on her coat and boots and hurtled out of the door. When she landed on the path the gravel flew up around her feet.

Away, she had to get away.

Suddenly the Audi was there in front of her and she fumbled with the door. It wasn’t locked.

She got in the car and leaned her head against the hardness of the wheel.

Then came the tears. Tears for Aloysius.

Ten years. She and Max had bought him when he was just a young dog, the autumn they got married. When they walked into the kennels to look for a dog he had wagged his tail and come running up to them, as if he had chosen them instead of vice versa, and he had been with Vendela every single day since then.

A shadow appeared next to the car.

‘Vendela?’ It was Max, tapping on the window. ‘Come inside, then we can talk.’

‘ Go away !’

She flung open the door and clenched her fists, forcing Max to take a step backwards. Then she took the torch out of the glove compartment and got out of the car. ‘Don’t touch me!’ she screamed.

He took two more steps backwards and she walked past him, heading for the gravel track.

‘Where are you going, Vendela?’

She didn’t answer — she just wanted to get away from her husband as quickly as possible, heading out into the cold and the darkness.

A bitterly cold wind was blowing in off the Baltic as Per got out of his car in front of the Honolulu restaurant. The air felt icy cold tonight, as if the winter had suddenly changed its mind and come back.

The restaurant was right by the water just outside the centre of Karlskrona, but it didn’t look as though it boasted many Michelin stars. Two of the neon letters weren’t working, so the sign above the entrance said HON LULU RE TAURANT.

He went into the warmth and took off his jacket. There were about thirty tables, only eight of which were occupied, but then it was Monday, after all. No doubt there would be plenty more customers in three days’ time, on May Day.

He sat down at a table in a quiet spot by the window and picked up the menu; the choice was limited almost exclusively to pizza and hamburgers. When the waiter appeared, Per ordered a glass of water and a Honolulu burger with cheese.

He glanced covertly at the waiter as he took Per’s order through to the kitchen. He was dark-haired and broad-shouldered like one of Jerry’s models, but he looked about twenty-five, and was hardly likely to have been employed by Jerry ten years ago.

When he came back with the food fifteen minutes later, Per asked, ‘Do you know Tobias Jesslin?’

The waiter put the plate of food down on the table. ‘Tobias? Tobias the chef?’

‘That’s right, the chef,’ Per said quickly. ‘I’d really like to speak to him.’

The waiter looked dubious. ‘Is it to do with the food?’

‘No, it’s nothing to do with the food.’

‘Tobias is rushed off his feet at the moment.’

‘But he’ll be free later, won’t he? Could you give him a note?’

The waiter hesitated, then nodded.

Per took an old receipt out of his wallet and quickly jotted down a message, similar to the one he had left at the Moulin Noir.

The waiter took the note and disappeared without a word. Per started to eat his burger, which was greasy and somewhat rubbery. He gazed out at the blackness of the sea as he chewed. The old cargo ships carrying limestone from Öland had sailed past out there, heading for Denmark and Norway.

When the plate was empty he sat there staring at the kitchen door. It remained closed.

The thought that Markus Lukas might be behind that door was making him nervous. After waiting for ten minutes he just had to do something. He got up, went into the empty foyer and called a mobile number he had rung earlier that day. It was answered immediately.

‘Fall?’

‘This is Per Mörner from Öland. I rang you this morning... about Hans Bremer?’

‘Yes, I remember.’

Thomas Fall sounded tired, but Per went on anyway. ‘I just wanted to check if you’d found that briefcase yet... Bremer’s briefcase?’

‘Yes... it was in the loft.’

‘Great. Have you looked inside?’

Fall seemed hesitant, as if he were embarrassed. ‘Yes... I did take a look, just a quick look. It’s full of old magazines, and some kind of book manuscript.’

‘Like a diary?’

‘Maybe. I haven’t read it.’

‘Could I have a look at it?’

‘Of course,’ said Fall. He paused. ‘Actually, you can have it. It’s no use to me.’

‘That would be great, although it’s going to be a bit difficult for me to come and pick it up...’

Per was just working out how he could drop everything and drive all the way back down to Malmö again — he couldn’t go so far away from Nilla right now — but Thomas Fall solved the problem.

‘I’m driving up to Stockholm for the May Day celebrations, so I could take a detour to Öland and drop it off, if I can have your address.’

Per gave it to him and explained how to get to Stenvik. ‘It’s the third house along by the quarry,’ he said. ‘The smallest one.’

He switched off his mobile and went back to the table. The waiter removed his plate.

At half past nine the kitchen door opened and a man in chef’s whites emerged. He came over to Per’s table and held up the note. He didn’t look put out or annoyed, just curious. ‘Did you write this?’ He spoke with a Skåne accent.