Юхан Теорин - Echoes From the Dead

He waits.

A few minutes later another person comes plodding along. It’s a boy, maybe thirteen or fourteen years old, but almost as tall as Nils. He has a thick cap pulled down over his forehead, and his hands are thrust deep into the pockets of his oil-stained trousers.

“Hey!” calls Nils from behind the bush.

He calls out quietly, and the boy doesn’t react. He keeps on walking.

“You! With the cap!”

The boy stops. He looks around suspiciously, and Nils cautiously stands and waves to him. “Over here.”

The boy changes course and takes a few steps toward the bush. He stands there staring at Nils, without saying a word.

“Do you work here at the sawmill?” asks Nils.

The boy nods proudly. “It’s my first summer.”

His voice very nearly cracks, and he speaks with the Småland dialect.

“Good,” says Nils. He is making a real effort to sound calm and friendly. “I need some help. I want you to fetch August Kant. I need to talk to him.”

“The boss?” asks the boy in surprise.

“August Kant, the boss, that’s right,” says Nils. He holds the boy’s gaze and extends his hand to show that he is holding a whole one-krona coin between his fingers. “Tell him Nils is here. Go to the office and tell the boss he has to come.”

The errand boy nods, without any reaction to the name Nils, and quickly grabs the coin. Then he turns away, without any great hurry. He pushes the coin deep into his pocket.

Nils breathes out and settles back down behind the bush. That’s it, everything will be all right now. His uncle will look after him, hide him until everything has calmed down. No doubt he’ll have to stay out of the way here in Småland for the rest of the summer, but he’ll just have to put up with that.

He has to wait again, for far too long. At last he hears steps approaching the barn. Nils raises his head, smiling, and takes a step forward — but it isn’t his Uncle August. It’s just the boy with the cap again.

Nils looks at him. “Wasn’t he in the office... the boss?” he asks.

“Yes.” The boy nods. “But he doesn’t want to come.”

“Doesn’t want to?” says Nils uncomprehendingly.

“I’m to give you this,” says the boy.

He is holding a small white envelope in his hand.

Nils takes it, turns his back on the boy, then opens it.

There is no letter in the envelope, just three bills. Three one-hundred-krona bills, folded up.

Nils closes the envelope and spins around.

“Was that all?” he asks.

The boy nods.

“The boss didn’t say anything... He didn’t send a message?”

The boy shakes his head. “Just the letter.”

Nils lowers his eyes and stares at the bills.

Money, that’s all he got. Money to get away, and it’s a very clear message.

His uncle doesn’t want anything to do with him.

He sighs and looks up again, but the boy is gone. Nils catches a glimpse of him as he disappears around the corner of the barn.

Nils is alone again. He’ll have to manage on his own.

So he has to get away. Where to?

Away from the coast, first and foremost. After that, something will turn up.

Nils looks around. The insects are humming, the scent of lilac fills the air. Everything is green, the dark rich green of summer. To the northeast he can see a little strip of blue water.

He will come back. They might be able to chase him away right now, but he will return. Öland is his island.

Nils looks at the water for one last time, then turns and strides back into the safety of the fir trees in the forest.

A broad path made of large limestone slabs led up to Martin Malm’s big white house; Julia looked at the building and thought of Vera Kant’s house in Stenvik. It was about the same size, but of course this one had been painted and was well looked after, and somebody lived here. But who lit a candle in Vera Kant’s house late at night? Julia couldn’t stop wondering — had she really seen the light at the window?

She held on to Gerlof’s arm as they opened the heavy iron gate and made their way over the rough stones. Maybe he was supporting her as much as she was supporting him, thought Julia, because she was feeling nervous now.

For her, this was a meeting with Jens’s murderer. If Martin Malm had definitely sent the sandal, then he must be the murderer — whatever reservations Gerlof might have.

The path stopped at steps leading up to a broad mahogany door with an iron nameplate that said MALM. In the middle of the door beneath a small stained glass window was a bell, shaped like a little key.

Gerlof looked at Julia. “Ready?”

Julia nodded, and reached out toward the bell.

“Just one more thing,” said Gerlof. “Martin had a brain hemorrhage quite a few years ago. He has good days and less good days, more or less like I do. If this is a good day, we can talk to him. If not...”

“Okay,” said Julia, her heart pounding.

She twisted the bell and a muted but prolonged ringing could be heard from inside the house.

A shadow appeared behind the glass panel after a moment, and the door opened.

A young woman was standing in front of them. She was small and blonde and slightly wary.

“Hello,” she said.

“Good afternoon,” said Gerlof. “Is Martin home?”

“Yes,” said the girl, “but I don’t think he—”

“We’re good friends,” said Gerlof quickly. “My name’s Gerlof Davidsson. From Stenvik. And this is my daughter. We wanted to call on Martin.”

“Okay,” said the girl. “I’ll check.”

“Could we come into the warmth in the meantime?” asked Gerlof.

“Of course.”

The girl stepped back.

Julia helped Gerlof over the threshold and across the marble floor of the hallway. It was spacious, with dark wooden panels on the wall, showing off framed photographs of old and modern ships. Three doors led off into the house, and a wide staircase led to the upper floor.

“Are you a relative of Martin’s?” asked Gerlof when they had closed the front door behind them.

“I’m a nurse from Kalmar,” the girl said, shaking her head and walking toward the middle door.

She opened it and Julia tried to see what lay beyond, but there was a dark curtain on the other side.

She and Gerlof remained where they were, in silence, as if the big house with its closed doors didn’t invite conversation. Everything was as hushed and solemn as in a church — but when Julia listened carefully she thought she could hear someone moving about upstairs.

The middle door opened and the nurse came back out.

“Martin isn’t feeling too well today,” she told them quietly. “I’m sorry. He’s tired.”

“Oh dear,” said Gerlof. “That’s a shame. We haven’t seen each other for several years.”

“You can come back another time,” said the nurse.

Gerlof nodded. “We’ll do that. But we’ll call first.”

He was moving backwards toward the front door, and Julia reluctantly went with him.

Outside the air seemed even colder than before, Julia thought. She walked beside Gerlof in silence, opened the iron gate, and then looked back at the big house.

She could see a pale face staring at her through one of the broad windows on the upper floor. It was an elderly woman, standing up there and gazing intently down at them through the window.

Julia opened her mouth to ask if Gerlof recognized the woman, but he was already at the car. She had to move quickly to get the door open for him.

When she looked at the house again, the woman at the window had vanished.

Gerlof settled into his seat and looked at his watch.

“Half past one,” he said. “Maybe we should get something to eat. Then we need to pop down to the liquor store. I promised some of my neighbors at the home I’d make a few purchases. Is that okay?”