They walked across a painted concrete floor into a fairly large cellar. There was a table in the middle of the room, a billiard table. There was plenty of stuff here.
Like a commando, Tommy indicated with a hand signal that they should split up, and Henrik nodded and went off to the left. There was a small bar along one side of the room, with a dozen or so bottles lined up. Five of them were unopened, and he carefully pushed them down into his rucksack, one after the other. Then he went further into the house, past the wooden staircase leading to the upper floor.
He went into a television room with a leather sofa. The
sofa was facing a small television and video, and he carried those over to Freddy by the outside door. Then he went back and took a look under the sofa.
There was something large and shiny under there. A set of golf clubs?
He bent down and pulled out a folded tarpaulin, with some effort. On top of it lay a complete set of diving equipment, with flippers, yellow oxygen tanks, some kind of pressure meter, and a black wetsuit. The stuff looked as if it had never been used; perhaps it had been bought the previous summer for some bored teenager who wanted to learn to dive but had changed their mind.
There was something else on the tarpaulin as welclass="underline" an old hunting gun.
The rifle seemed to be well looked after, with a polished wooden butt and a shoulder strap of well-oiled leather. A small red cardboard box containing cartridges lay beside it.
Henrik took one thing at a time. He started by carrying out the oxygen tanks and bumped into Tommy, who was carrying a computer monitor to the outside door.
Tommy saw the tanks and nodded his approval.
“There’s more,” whispered Henrik, and went back.
He put the rest of the diving equipment under one arm and slung the gun over his shoulder. He pushed the box of cartridges into his rucksack. Then he went back to the sliding door, where Tommy was busy carrying out an exercise bike. That looked brand new as well, but Henrik shook his head.
“No room,” he whispered.
“It’ll fit,” said Tommy, “we’ll take it apart and-”
They heard a thud in the darkness.
A thud, followed by footsteps. The noise came from upstairs.
Then the light on the staircase was switched on.
“Hello?” called a man’s voice.
“Forget the bike!” hissed Henrik.
They all took to their heels at the same time. Out through the glass door, across the lawn, out through the gate and down to the shore. All three were laden with stolen goods, but it wasn’t far to the van across the pebbles.
Henrik put down what he was carrying, took a deep breath and looked around. There were lights everywhere in the house now, but no one seemed to be following them.
“Load up!” shouted Tommy, pulling off his hood and climbing in behind the wheel.
He started the engine without putting the headlights on.
Henrik and Freddy quickly pushed everything into the back of the van-rucksacks, TV, diving equipment…They had managed to bring everything down from the house, everything except the exercise bike. Henrik still had the gun over his shoulder.
Tommy floored the accelerator and the van shot away. Up onto the road and south along the coast. Not until they were out of sight of the house did he switch on the lights.
“Take the east road,” said Henrik.
“What are you scared of?” said Tommy. “Roadblocks?”
Henrik shook his head.
“Take it anyway.”
It was one-thirty now, but Henrik was wide awake, his heart pounding. They had done it. They had found gold on the coast. It was almost like before, like his outings with Mogge.
“We must do this again,” said Tommy once they were out on the main highway. “It was so fucking easy!”
“Reasonably easy,” said Henrik beside him. “We woke them up.”
“So what?” said Tommy. “What could he do? We were quicker, straight in and out.”
They came to a sign on the eastern road pointing down to a side track, and Tommy slammed on the brakes. Then he turned the wheel.
“Where are you going?”
“Just one last thing. Something really simple, before we go home.”
A tall white stone building appeared among the trees to the left of the track. Long and narrow and illuminated by spotlights.
A church, Henrik realized.
It was the white medieval church in Marnäs. He vaguely remembered that his grandparents were married there many decades ago.
“Is it open?” said Tommy, pulling in by the churchyard wall. He continued on for a few yards to a small graveled track next to the church, and braked in the shelter of some close-growing trees. “You can usually walk straight in.”
“Not at night,” said Henrik.
“So? In that case we’ll just have to break in.”
Henrik shook his head as Tommy switched off the engine.
“I’m not coming in,” he said.
“Why not?”
“You two can do this on your own.”
Henrik had no intention of saying anything about his grandparents’ wedding in the Marnäs church. He just stared at Tommy, who nodded.
“Okay, you sit there and keep an eye open, then,” he said. “But if we find anything in there, it’s ours. Mine and my brother’s.”
Tommy took out the rucksack containing the tools, slammed the door of the van, and headed for the church, disappearing into the darkness with Freddy trailing along behind.
Henrik leaned back and waited. The darkness was dense among the trees. He thought about his grandmother, who had grown up around here.
The door of the van suddenly opened, and Henrik jumped.
It was Freddy. His eyes were shining, as they did after a particularly successful raid, and he was talking fast.
“Tommy’s on his way,” he said. “But look at this! There was a cupboard in the sacres… sacarest… What the fuck is it called?”
“The sacristy,” said Henrik.
“What do you think these might be worth?”
Henrik looked at the old candlesticks Freddy was holding out. Four of them; they looked like silver. Had they been there when his grandparents got married? There was a good chance.
Now Tommy was back at the van, sweaty and excited. “You can drive,” he said to Henrik. “I need to count all this.” He jumped into the passenger seat to the sound of clinking.
He had a plastic bag in his hand, which he emptied onto the seat between his legs. Coins and notes came pouring out.
“Their collection box was made of wood,” he said with a laugh. “It was right by the door, all I had to do was give it a kick.”
“Hundred-kronor notes,” said Freddy, leaning forward between the seats.
“I’m going to count them,” said Tommy, with a look at Henrik. “Just remember, this belongs to us.”
“You keep it,” said Henrik quietly.
He didn’t feel so good now. It was just too much, breaking into churches and stealing money that was meant to go to pensioners or people in Somalia with leprosy or whatever. Too fucking much. But what was done was done.
“What’s this?” said Tommy, bending down.
He had discovered the gun on the floor under the seat.
“I found it in the house,” said Henrik.
“Fucking hell.” Tommy picked it up. “It’s an old Mauser. Collectors love this sort of thing, but people still use them for hunting. They’re very reliable.”
He looked curiously along the barrel and pulled back the bolt.
“Take it easy with that thing,” said Henrik.
“It’s fine… the safety catch is on.”
“So you know about guns?”
“Sure,” said Tommy. “I used to hunt elk. When Dad was sober, we were always out in the forest.”
“You might as well take care of it, then,” said Henrik.
He started up the van and switched on the lights. He swung around and slowly drove out of the trees.
“Not too many more,” he said when they were back on the road.