Peter nodded and shouted something to one of the other officers. He lay down on his stomach and handed the flashlight to Thomas, who took another deep breath and dived once more.
By the eerie glow of the flashlight he could see the boy, trapped between the wheel and the driving seat. His hair was floating outward around his head, like seaweed swaying in the current.
Thomas tried his best to free him, but he was running out of oxygen and had to swim back up to the surface to catch his breath.
“Did you see anything?” Peter asked as Thomas reappeared, gasping.
“There’s a boy under the boat,” Thomas panted. “But I couldn’t get him out. I’ll try again.”
He took several deep breaths, then went back down. Now he knew where the boy was and found his way more quickly. Suddenly Peter appeared beside him. Thomas signaled to him to take ahold of one leg and pull when he counted to three.
Using their combined strength, they managed to free him, and the other crewmembers on the police launch heaved the body on board.
“Is he still alive?” Thomas asked. Deep down he was already painfully aware of what the answer would be, but the question had to be asked.
One of the police officers looked at him sympathetically. “They don’t get any deader than this,” he said, gazing sadly at the young boy lying on the foredeck. “There’s nothing we can do. It’s too late.”
CHAPTER 79
The sky was beginning to grow light in the east. Too many minutes were ticking by. It was giving Thomas stomach cramps. He agonized over the choice between staying to help at the scene of the accident and heading out to Grönskär. But they had to keep searching for Nora, and the maritime police, who had now been joined by the coast guard, appeared to have the situation under control.
Several other passing boats had also stopped and offered their help. No one could save the unfortunate driver, who wasn’t much older than sixteen.
“Henrik, which way do you think is quickest?” Thomas shouted into the headwind. “Through the harbor and out via Korsö sound, or north of Kroksö?”
“North of Kroksö,” Henrik yelled above the noise of the engine. “If you go through the harbor we might meet another idiot, and we can’t afford that!”
Thomas couldn’t work out whether he was crying or he just had seawater on his face. They had lost at least thirty crucial minutes.
His expression was grim as he increased his speed. He didn’t know he was capable of driving so fast.
After ten minutes he saw the outline of Grönskär. The trip had felt like an eternity.
He frowned, trying to spot the fire, but he couldn’t see anything. The lighthouse was standing just as it had always stood. No smoke, no flames.
Carina had said that the curator was on his way, but he couldn’t see any sign of life on the barren island.
They moored the boat at the concrete jetty and made their way up to the lighthouse over the slippery rocks as quickly as they could.
There were no lights in the tower. Henrik cupped his hands around his mouth and called out Nora’s name.
No reply.
Thomas stopped at the foot of the tower and shouted as loud as he could.
“Shh.” Henrik tugged at his arm. “I thought I heard something.”
They both stood motionless, straining to pick up the sound. They heard only the waves crashing against the rocks and the cry of a lone merganser in the distance.
Thomas had an idea. “Call her phone,” he said. “If she’s unconscious she won’t be able to answer, but we might hear it ringing.”
Henrik took out his phone and called. From a bush to the left of the door came the theme from Mission Impossible.
“That’s her phone,” Henrik said. “That’s Nora’s ringtone. She must be nearby!” He ran toward the lighthouse and found the phone. But the door was locked, with the padlock in place. “She might be inside. We have to get in. Have you got anything in the boat that we could use to smash the lock?”
“Only an anchor and a paddle.” He looked at Henrik, his face set. “But I do have something else.” He reached inside his jacket and took out his service pistol, then he took a step back. “Out of the way.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Out of the way!” Thomas snapped. He had no time for explanations.
He took ahold of the pistol with both hands, removed the safety, and carefully aimed at the padlock.
The shot sounded like a clap of thunder. The sound rolled across the rocks and disappeared into the sea. The padlock fell to the ground, landing among the purple heather.
“Come on, quick!”
Thomas led the way up the steps, two at a time. It was dark inside, with the acrid stench of smoke. Henrik coughed. There was no doubt that something had been burning in here.
When they reached the first level, Thomas stopped.
The door was fastened with a sturdy hasp. Through the old-fashioned bail handle someone had taken the additional precaution of barricading the door with a large black spanner made of iron, the kind that was used in times gone by to loosen nuts as big as the palm of a hand.
It was jammed.
“Nora,” Henrik shouted, hammering on the door. “Nora, are you there?”
Thomas altered his grip on the spanner, tugging at it so hard that he could taste blood in his mouth. Henrik tried to help as best he could, but it was impossible to move. The spanner was held in place against the sturdy wooden door by its own weight.
Thomas let go, his hands aching. He looked at the door, wondering if it was possible to kick it down. Probably not. It had been built to last for centuries. Like everything else in the lighthouse, it had been constructed of the finest wood, using old-fashioned expertise. It would have required the strength of a giant to break it down.
He kicked it anyway, out of pure rage.
It didn’t move.
“This is no good—it’s completely stuck. We’re going to have to chop through it.” He turned to Henrik. “See if you can find an axe or something. There are houses on the island—there might be someone at home who can help us.”
Once again he tried to move the heavy iron spanner, but it wouldn’t budge. The feeling of hopelessness was unbearable. He saw Emily’s little body in his mind’s eye, lying there motionless, her lips blue; it had been so painfully obvious that she would never breathe again. He felt equally helpless now.
He couldn’t lose Nora, too. There must be something he could do.
He pulled at the spanner, his knuckles white with effort, straining the muscles that had been honed over many intense handball matches. The spanner moved a fraction but dropped back as soon as he let go. He felt as if he might explode with frustration. The smoky air brought tears to his eyes. He banged on the door again, calling out Nora’s name over and over, but there was no reply.
Henrik hurtled down the lighthouse steps. When he got outside, he stopped and looked around.
To the north, less than a hundred yards away, stood the old lighthouse keepers’ houses. To their left, he could see a large house made of stone, in complete darkness. Behind it there was another house, and a short distance away the old master keeper’s residence painted Falu red. There were no lights showing there either.
He ran to the stone house and tugged at the door. It was locked. He tried to look in through the windows, but it was difficult to see anything in the darkness.