‘What kind of indications?’
‘There are signs that an accelerant was used.’
‘So the fire was started deliberately?’
Hämäläinen grimaced and shook his head. Alexandersson looked troubled, scraping his foot at the ash around the foundations.
‘So I’m suspected of starting the fire,’ I said.
Hämäläinen shrugged, then looked me straight in the eye.
‘Did you?’
‘Did I what?’
‘Start the fire.’
I turned to Alexandersson. ‘Who is this fucking Finn you’ve brought with you?’
I didn’t wait for a response, but stormed off down to the caravan. Kolbjörn, who was outside balancing on a ladder, could see that I was upset. But he didn’t say anything.
A little while later I heard the coastguard’s boat start up. I waited until the throb of the engine had died away, then I went outside. I explained to Kolbjörn that I was thinking of moving the caravan to the skerry without a name. Could he help me? I knew he had an old cattle ferry. He would also be able to solve the problem of finding a block and tackle to get it into the right place in the hollow.
He promised to see what he could do. Sorting out a supply of electricity would be no trouble either.
He finished work just before dusk fell. A lantern shone outside the boathouse.
I switched on the lamp he had placed on the small table in the caravan. It would be easier to make decisions now, I thought. The light would help me.
That evening I ate unmemorable fish soup. I was fast asleep before midnight.
Chapter 5
The following day I spent a long time searching the boathouse for something to write on. The only thing I could find, in a box of worn-out paintbrushes, was a tattered notebook in which my grandfather had kept a record of the oil changes he had carried out on his car, a PV444 that he owned in the 1950s. The book was stiff with dried oil, but there were several blank pages that would serve my purpose.
I was about to push away the box of brushes when I discovered another object right at the bottom, under a few sheets of well-used sandpaper. It was a black yo-yo, made of wood and with the string still intact.
I hadn’t held a yo-yo in my hand for sixty years. Had my grandfather or grandmother secretly performed tricks with it? Or could this be my own childhood toy?
I went out onto the jetty, slipped the middle finger of my right hand through the loop and tried to make the yo-yo dance. I could just about get it to travel up and down the string once.
I’m not quite sure what happened next. I felt dizzy and collapsed onto the bench; the dizziness was followed by nausea. There was no pain in my chest or my left arm. I sat completely still, trying to breathe calmly. The yo-yo dangled lifeless from my right hand. Slowly I began to feel better. I tried to think of it as nothing more than a funny turn, but then I realised I was having a panic attack that was spreading through my body. I thought that each breath, each moment would be my last.
I staggered up to the caravan and lay down on the bed, convinced that I was going to die right there and then. I swallowed two tranquillisers with a mouthful of cold coffee, but the panic continued to grow. I felt as if I had a herd of horses inside my head, bolting in all directions. I slammed my hand against the wall to chase them away, but to no avail.
By the time the attack had passed and I tried to sit up, the sun was no longer shining in through the skylight. I switched on the transistor radio. After a few minutes a classical music programme was interrupted by the news. It was two o’clock. I had been battling the panic and terror for at least five hours.
I switched off the radio and went outside. The sun was still strong. I carried on down to the boathouse. The notebook containing my grandfather’s record of his oil changes was lying on the jetty. I picked it up and put it in my pocket.
Now the attack was over, I thought that perhaps it had been caused by old age. Until now I had believed that the passing years didn’t mean much. I was ageing, but slowly, almost imperceptibly. Growing older was like a mist silently drifting across the sea.
But perhaps that was no longer the case. Now suddenly I was an old man, afraid of dying. Taking that step across the invisible border was the final element. It was a step I feared much more than I had realised.
All at once I knew I needed to talk to someone. I don’t know when I last felt that urge. I keyed in Jansson’s number, but as the phone started to ring I cancelled the call. I didn’t want to talk to him; instead I called my daughter, but once again I changed my mind before she could answer.
I heard the throb of an engine in the distance. After a little while I realised it was the coastguard’s boat, and that the sound was getting closer. I wondered if I had time to cast off and slip away on my boat in order to avoid seeing Alexandersson and whoever he had brought with him, but it was too late.
Pålsson was at the helm. I had no idea what had become of the blonde girl, Alma Hamrén. However, both Alexandersson and Hämäläinen were on board. We shook hands and went up to the site of the fire.
‘Have you got anywhere?’ I asked.
Alexandersson glanced at Hämäläinen.
‘We have no explanation for the fire,’ Hämäläinen said. ‘But we do have a number of clues.’
‘Like what?’
‘As I told you last time, the fire seems to have started in several places simultaneously.’
‘And how would you interpret that?’
‘It’s too early to say.’
I didn’t ask any more questions because I knew I wouldn’t get any straight answers. I left them up by the ruins and went back to the caravan. I put the notebook on the table and found a pen. But I didn’t write anything. I had nothing to say. There was a little mirror hanging on the wall, and I could see my unshaven face. I looked like a highwayman. Or perhaps I looked the way an arsonist is supposed to look. I made a note to buy razors and shaving foam. That was the first thing I wrote in my grandfather’s old notebook.
I lay down on the bed and must have fallen asleep. I was woken by someone knocking on the door; it was Alexandersson.
‘Did I wake you?’
‘Of course not. Who the hell sleeps in the middle of the afternoon?’
He shook his head apologetically.
‘We’d like to ask you a few questions. Well, not me — Hämäläinen.’
We went back up to the ruins, where Hämäläinen was waiting. The sun was low in the sky now. The rain I had been expecting had gone away.
This is when it happens, I thought. This is when they accuse me.
The yo-yo was in my pocket. I wondered whether to whip it out and try to make it dance while Hämäläinen was asking his questions.
I left it where it was and looked him in the eye.
‘There’s still this feeling that the fire started in several places at the same time.’
‘Is it a feeling or a fact?’
He didn’t answer my question.
‘It’s impossible to pick up a specific odour,’ he said instead. ‘But in all four corners of the house there are signs that a highly flammable liquid has been poured out and ignited. It leaves particular marks on burning wood.’
‘That’s ridiculous!’
‘Ridiculous or not, it’s something we have to investigate further.’
‘What did you want to ask me?’
‘Do you have access to petrol or diesel?’
‘I have a boat engine that runs on petrol. Apart from the tank on board, I have a can with a reserve supply of twenty litres.’
‘Could we go down and take a look at it?’
‘The tank on board or the reserve supply?’
‘I was thinking of the reserve supply.’