Юхан Теорин - Echoes From the Dead

“I went over to the apartment,” said John. “Anders is back home. They let him go.”

“Excellent. Hi there, Anders.”

John’s son merely nodded.

“It’s good that the police believed you, isn’t it?” said Gerlof.

“Yes,” said Anders.

“You won’t go into Vera Kant’s house anymore, will you?”

“No.” Anders shook his head. “It’s haunted.”

“That’s what I heard,” said Gerlof. “But you weren’t scared?”

“No,” said Anders. “She stayed in her room.”

“She? You mean Vera?”

Anders nodded. “She’s bitter.”

“Bitter?”

“She feels as if she’s been deceived.”

“Does she indeed,” said Gerlof.

He was thinking about what Maja Nyman had told him, about the two male voices she’d heard in Vera’s kitchen. Had one of them belonged to Martin Malm?

It kept on raining, and John switched on the windshield wipers as he pulled out into the street.

“I was thinking of staying here in Borgholm with Anders for a while,” he said. “We’re going to have a coffee with his mother. I’m sure you’d be welcome too.”

“No, I’d better get back,” said Gerlof quickly. “Otherwise Boel will have a fit.”

“Right,” said John.

“I can get the bus to Marnäs,” said Gerlof. “Isn’t there one at half past three?”

“We can have a look at the depot,” said John.

Gerlof sat in silence as they drove through Borgholm, thinking things over. As usual he had the feeling he’d missed things at Martin Malm’s, that he’d asked the wrong questions and hadn’t interpreted correctly the few answers he’d been given. He should have made some notes.

“Martin can’t talk anymore,” he said with a sigh.

“Oh yes?” said John.

When the car turned right at the square, Gerlof turned his head and suddenly saw Julia through a window on the opposite side of the street.

She was sitting in a restaurant beside the church with Lennart Henriksson, the policeman. Gerlof felt no surprise at seeing them together.

Julia was looking at Lennart and she looked calm, Gerlof thought as the car moved away from the restaurant. Not happy, perhaps, but peaceful. And Lennart also looked better than he had for many years. Good.

“So you’re okay catching the bus?” asked John.

Gerlof nodded. “I feel fine now,” he said. This was partly true; he could walk, at any rate. “And we have to support public transport. Otherwise no doubt they’ll get rid of the buses too.”

John turned north toward Borgholm’s bus station. It had been a railway station in times gone by, the terminus for the train Nils Kant had jumped off after he murdered the policeman — but now only buses and cabs stopped there.

The car pulled into the parking lot. John got out and went around to the passenger’s side to open the door.

“Thanks,” said Gerlof, wobbling to his feet. He nodded a farewell to Anders.

It had been a strenuous day, but he fought hard to walk steadily and with dignity toward the buses behind the station, with his briefcase in one hand and his cane in the other. The drizzle was coming down more heavily now. The bus going to Byxelkrok via Marnäs was already in; the driver was sitting behind the wheel reading the paper.

Gerlof stopped by the door of the bus.

“Anyway, it’s finished now,” he told John. “We’ve done as much as we could. Martin will have to live with what he’s done. For however long he’s got left.”

“Yes. He will,” said John.

“One thing...” said Gerlof. “Fridolf... have you ever heard of anyone Martin knew by that name?”

“Fridolf?” John said. “As in Little Fridolf? In the comic strip?”

“Yes. Or maybe Fritiof,” said Gerlof. “Fridolf or Fritiof.”

“Not that I know of,” said John. “Is it important?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

Gerlof stood in silence in front of John for a few moments as two teenage boys in black padded jackets and with spiky hair pushed quickly past them and leapt onto the bus without so much as glancing at the two old men.

Gerlof suddenly realized it wouldn’t matter at all if he’d just unmasked a murderer or not. It wouldn’t change a thing. Life was carrying on as normal around him, and Öland was still a sparsely populated island.

He felt depressed. Perhaps he was having an eighty-year-old’s crisis.

“Thanks for today,” he said to John. “I’ll call you when I get back.”

“You do that.”

John nodded and held his cane as Gerlof struggled up the high steps onto the bus. He took his cane, paid the driver for his journey, including his senior citizen’s discount, and went to sit on the right by a window. He watched John walk back to his car and get inside.

Gerlof leaned back, closed his eyes, and heard the bus rumble into life. As slowly as an old cargo boat, it began to pull away from the station.

Fridolf or Fritiof, he thought. And a meeting in Ramneby, where Ernst grew up.

Fridolf? Fritiof?

Gerlof didn’t know anyone on Öland with either of those names.

“No, I’m not married,” said Lennart. “Never have been, either.”

“No children?” said Julia.

Lennart shook his head. “No children, either.” He looked down into his half-empty glass of water. “I’ve had precisely one serious relationship in my life, but on the other hand, it lasted almost ten years. It ended five years ago... she’s living in Kalmar now, and we’re still friends.” He smiled at Julia. “Since then I’ve devoted most of my energy to the house and the garden.”

“Perhaps northern Öland isn’t the best place,” said Julia. “If you want to meet somebody, I mean.”

“You mean there’s not much choice,” said Lennart, still smiling. “That’s very true. I suppose it’s much better in Gothenburg?”

“I don’t know...” said Julia. “I’ve almost stopped looking.” She drank some of her water and went on: “I’ve really only had one serious relationship as well. And it was even longer ago than yours... It was with Jens’s father, Michael; he was always restless, and it ended... well, afterward. You know.”

Lennart nodded. “You have to be very determined to maintain a relationship.”

Julia nodded.

“But what are your plans now?” said Lennart. “Are you going to stay on Öland?”

“I don’t know... maybe,” said Julia. “There isn’t much to keep me in Gothenburg. And Gerlof isn’t all that well. He probably doesn’t want anybody keeping tabs on him, but I think he might need it.”

“Northern Öland needs nurses, I know that,” said Lennart, looking at her. “And I’d like you to—”

He was interrupted by a persistent bleeping, and Julia jumped. Lennart looked down at the pager on his belt.

“They’re after me again,” he muttered.

“Is it something important?”

“No. It looks as if I just need to call in at the station for a little while.” He got to his feet. “I’ll go and pay our bill.”

“We can split it.”

“No, no.” Lennart waved the suggestion away. “I was the one who dragged you over here.”

“Thanks,” said Julia.

As usual she was short of money.

“Shall we say we’ll meet up at...” Lennart looked at his watch. “... a quarter to four over at the station? I should be done by then, and we can get out of the big city and head home.”

“Fine.”

“Perhaps you’d like to come and see where I live? It isn’t a big house, but it’s right by the sea north of Marnäs. The sun rises out of the sea with each new day, if you want to put it poetically.”

“I’d like that,” Julia told him.