Fuck! she had thought.
But a second later she had let go of the wallet (which was very fat, unfortunately) and allowed it to slip back into his pocket. The boy had stuck his tongue in her ear, then turned back to the bar, as drunk as a skunk. He hadn’t noticed a thing.
Lisa got up and peered through the window at the glorious morning. The sky was bright blue and she could hear the rushing of the waves. The only slightly depressing note was struck by the maypole, abandoned over on the festival site and adorned with flowers that had wilted in the sunshine.
She noticed an old man with white hair over by a caravan that was listing to one side. He was bent over a jack, trying to right it. That explained the noise. She turned away from the window and decided it was time for breakfast.
When she had eaten, she picked up her mobile and called the apartment in Huddinge. It rang out twelve times before a hoarse, weary voice replied, ‘Hello?’
Silas. It was quarter to eleven — early in the morning for him.
‘Hi, it’s me.’
Silas sighed. Lisa could tell from his breathing that he was clean today. Tired, but clean.
‘Hi.’
Then there was silence, apart from the sound of breathing.
‘How are you?’ Lisa asked.
‘OK. Thirsty.’
‘Well, have a drink then.’
‘There’s nothing in.’
‘Drink tap water.’
‘I don’t want to... There’s arsenic in tap water.’
Silence.
‘I’ve sent you a letter,’ Lisa said.
‘With papers?’
‘Yes. Lots of papers.’
‘Good... Will you be sending more letters this summer?’
‘I think so,’ Lisa replied. ‘It looks that way.’
‘Great.’
Silas didn’t say thank you, but he sounded pleased.
The conversation didn’t last much longer, because Silas was on his way out. He didn’t say where he was going. As usual.
Lisa switched off her mobile and sat motionless in the caravan for a little while. Eventually, she picked up an empty plastic container and went out into the sunshine to fetch some water. As she was standing by the taps, the door of one of the neighbouring caravans among the dog roses opened. Lisa recognized the young woman who stepped out; she was the girl who had been at the midsummer dance with the Kloss family.
Paulina, wasn’t that her name? They nodded at one another.
‘Morning,’ Lisa said. ‘So you live here, too?’
Paulina nodded again.
‘Have you been here long?’
‘Two weeks... Summer job.’
‘Same as me,’ Lisa said. ‘I’m working here through July. Will you be going back to Poland after that?’
Paulina shook her head. ‘Not Poland. I come from Lietuva.’
‘Lietuva?’ Lisa thought for a moment. ‘That’s Lithuania, isn’t it?’
‘Yes... Lithuania.’
Paulina didn’t say anything else. Lisa gazed at Paulina’s caravan; it was smaller and even older than hers, and much shabbier. It resembled a cracked egg more than anything. She suddenly felt privileged, and slightly embarrassed.
‘Right,’ she said, picking up the container, ‘I’d better go and get ready for work... Are you working today?’
Another nod.
‘For the Kloss family?’
‘Not family. I only work for him.’
‘Him?’
‘Yes,’ Paulina said, her expression serious. ‘Only for Kent Kloss.’ She looked away and didn’t say any more. But Lisa got the feeling that Paulina didn’t much like what she had to do for Kent Kloss.
Gerlof
Jonas was recognized when they walked into the cottage; apparently, eleven-year-old Kristoffer, Julia’s bonus child following the loss of her son, Jens, had attended swimming classes with him. They said a slightly shy ‘hi’ to one another.
Good. An established friendship would make everything easier, Gerlof thought. He led Jonas over to the telephone.
‘Ring your parents. They must be worried — tell them you’re fine.’
The boy seemed hesitant. ‘There’s only my dad here... We’re staying with Auntie Veronica and Uncle Kent.’
Gerlof nodded; he knew about the owners of the Ölandic Resort.
‘Well, call the house then. Tell them you’re over at the Davidssons’. Do you want them to come and pick you up?’
Jonas shook his head, then slowly picked up the phone. His expression was so troubled Gerlof thought it best to leave the room. He heard the boy talking quietly to someone.
Afterwards, they had breakfast. Gerlof was expecting his three grandsons to ask where he had found Jonas, but they didn’t, and after a little while Jonas started to join in with the conversation, smiling when the other boys smiled.
Gerlof wasn’t smiling. He glanced over at the coffee table, where he had left the drawing of the ship. Elia. He looked at the black crosses by the cargo hatch, and pondered.
After breakfast, he picked up the drawing and his straw hat and asked Jonas to come outside with him for a little while. They sat side by side on deckchairs on the lawn, with the sun starting to burn down on Gerlof’s shoulders and legs. Jonas kept his eyes fixed on the grass.
‘Are you thinking about what happened yesterday?’ Gerlof asked.
The boy looked at him and nodded, and Gerlof knew that the fear had come back.
‘Everything you told me about the ship... Are you still saying it’s all true?’
‘Yes.’
‘You saw dead seamen on the ship, and two people who were still alive. An older man up in the wheelhouse, and a younger man with an axe... and you think he comes from Africa. Is that right?’
‘Well, yes,’ Jonas said quietly. ‘But I didn’t say he was from Africa. You asked me what came into my mind when I saw him — I thought about African animals and jungle drums.’
Gerlof was puzzled. ‘Have you ever been to Africa?’
Jonas shook his head.
Gerlof didn’t think he was going to get any further with this; he picked up his stick and slowly got to his feet. ‘I think we’d better call the police,’ he said.
Jonas looked frightened, but Gerlof held up his hand.
‘It’ll be fine... We’re family.’
Tilda Davidsson was the only serving police officer Gerlof knew, and she was also the granddaughter of his late older brother. Gerlof managed to get hold of her at home on the eastern side of the island and briefly explained what had happened.
‘So I was wondering whether the coastguard had seen any ships adrift in the Sound last night?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Tilda replied. ‘I’m not with the coastguard. And it’s my day off.’
Gerlof could hear children laughing in the background, but went on anyway. ‘Could you ask them to check?’
‘No, that will be up to the central communications office, if we decide the boy’s story is credible.’
Gerlof sighed; so much hassle. ‘Well, could you come over and see what you think?’
And she did, without any of her colleagues, and out of uniform. She was wearing a loose-fitting denim dress, and Gerlof wondered if she might be pregnant. However, he didn’t dare ask.
Tilda said hello to Gerlof and the grandchildren, then shook hands with Jonas Kloss, who was playing a video game.
‘Tilda is a police officer from Kalmar,’ Gerlof explained. ‘I think it would be a good idea if you two had a little chat.’
Jonas got up slowly, looking far from thrilled at the prospect. Tilda spoke quietly to Gerlof. ‘You can sit in.’
‘Can I?’
‘You can be a witness; the police sometimes bring in an independent observer to make sure an interview is carried out correctly.’