Nothing else happened for a long time. The sun carried on shining, the shadow stayed where it was, the rumbling noise continued.
Gerlof was tired, and his legs were aching, but after a while he got up and went over to the gate.
There was an enormous car out on the road, with tinted windows. One of those SUVs, built to withstand a collision with a traffic island or a pushchair in the city. A plethora of chrome and glass sparkled in the sunlight.
The driver’s window slid down, and Gerlof saw Kent Kloss sitting there, one hand resting on the leather-covered steering wheel, his mobile pressed to his ear.
Kent obviously had two cars. Gerlof opened the gate and slowly made his way over to the car.
‘Hello there,’ he said. ‘Thanks for the other day.’
They hadn’t seen each other since Jonas’s interview at Villa Kloss.
‘No, thank you,’ Kent said.
He looked tired, and made no move to switch off the engine.
‘Did you want something, Kent?’
Kloss nodded. ‘I’ve come to pick up JK.’
‘JK?’
‘Jonas... my nephew. I’ve come to take him home.’
Gerlof didn’t move. He had no intention of fetching Jonas.
‘How are things over there?’ he asked instead.
‘Absolutely fine. It’s just as hot as it is here.’
‘I meant at the resort,’ Gerlof said. ‘I hear you’ve had some problems down there.’
Kloss lowered his gaze. ‘That’s right — gastroenteritis. It’s been chaos all weekend... But the toilets have been cleaned and everything’s fine now.’
‘And the guests?’
‘They’re coming back,’ Kent said quickly. ‘One by one.’
But he looked far from convinced and started revving the engine impatiently.
Gerlof wondered what Kent was really doing here. Why did he need to pick up his nephew in the car? Did he want to keep an eye on him?
‘Any news about the Ophelia?’ he asked.
‘Sorry?’
‘The cargo boat you hired.’
Kent looked down at the sea. ‘Not as far as I know,’ he said. ‘She’s disappeared, but...’ He paused, then added, ‘I’m trying not to think about her.’
‘No,’ Gerlof said. ‘After all, she was being used to move contraband.’
Kent took his foot off the accelerator. ‘What did you say?’
‘You were smuggling alcohol on board the Ophelia.’
Kloss stared at him and shook his head. ‘We were transporting fish,’ he said, revving the engine once more in what could be perceived as a threatening manner.
‘Smuggling alcohol is an ancient occupation,’ Gerlof went on. ‘Not only on Öland; it used to go on all along the coast throughout southern Sweden. Do you remember Algoth Niska?’
Kloss didn’t say anything, so Gerlof went on, ‘When I was young, Algoth and his gang used to sail out into international waters and meet up with ships from Poland and Germany. They would buy vodka for one or two kronor a litre. Tobacco, too, and sometimes arms. They would bring the whole lot back to the island and hide it all over the place, in boathouses, wells, under piles of logs... even in shelters way out on the alvar.’ He looked down at Kent Kloss. ‘What happens nowadays?’
‘No idea.’
‘I’m sure it’s tempting to sell the alcohol on,’ Gerlof said. ‘When the high season begins, the police keep a close check on bottles brought on to the island over the bridge, but they don’t monitor vehicles as they leave. So once you’ve unloaded the cargo from the ship, the contraband can be transferred to cars and distributed that way. Am I right?’
Kent managed a thin smile. ‘As I said... the Ophelia was carrying fish.’
‘I’m sure there was some fish on board. An old cargo that you could show Customs... but that was a mistake. She had no refrigeration unit, so the fish went rotten in the heat. That was fine as long as the hold was left open, but when someone battened down the hatches the crew suffocated.’
Kent took his foot off the accelerator again. ‘We’re looking into the matter,’ he said. ‘There are one or two security guards at the Ölandic who have turned out to be somewhat unreliable...’
‘Like Peter Mayer?’ Gerlof said.
‘He no longer works for us; he was dismissed last year. Another guard disappeared at midsummer.’
‘And Einar Wall? Do you know him, too?’
‘Only in a business capacity... He supplied a small amount of fish and game to our restaurants.’
Gerlof was beginning to suspect what had happened at midsummer. A small group of people knew that there was a cargo ship with cash on board moored at the Ölandic dock, and those people had come up with a plan. Einar Wall had been part of the group, along with his nephew Peter Mayer and an old man who had returned home from overseas. They had decided to rob a ship that was being used to smuggle contraband, and that was exactly what they had done.
But things hadn’t exactly gone according to plan.
‘Peter Mayer died on the main road,’ Gerlof said. ‘And Einar Wall died not far from his cottage.’
He hadn’t asked a question, and Kent’s only response was to rev the engine yet again.
But Gerlof hadn’t finished. ‘You ought to be careful, Kent. Things could happen.’
Kent looked up at him. ‘Are you threatening me, you doddery old fool?’
It was quite an amusing insult, but Gerlof remained serious. He shook his head. ‘Not me. It’s someone else who constitutes a threat.’
‘Who do you mean?’
Gerlof took a risk, and said the name that was spinning around in his head: ‘Aron Fredh.’
Kent’s expression was grim, and Gerlof knew that the name meant something to him. After a few seconds, Kent smiled wearily. ‘Aron Fredh... that’s another story.’
‘Is it?’
‘Aron Fredh was a snotty kid who went off to the USA with his stepfather, Sven, who was another loser.’
‘Was he?’
‘Absolutely,’ Kent said. ‘Sven Fredh was supposed to move the cairn for us, but he cocked it up completely.’
‘Sven built the cairn?’
Kent nodded. ‘Sven Fredh moved the stones down to the coast back in the twenties, along with my grandfather and his brothers. But the whole thing fell down... it almost landed on top of Sven, and it crushed his foot. They had to start all over again, and they gave Sven the sack.’
Gerlof listened; this was news to him. He raised his voice above the noise of the engine. ‘I’ve met Aron.’
‘This summer?’
Kent was interested now, but Gerlof shook his head. ‘When I was young... in the summer of 1930. Aron Fredh and I worked in the churchyard together, digging a grave.’
Kent leaned forward. ‘In that case, you should be able to find him, Gerlof. You know what he looks like.’
‘Not now. I’m too old.’
‘But you have a good memory, in spite of your age... I mean, you remember ships and people and all kinds of things. You could make some money out of this.’
‘Money? Why is Aron Fredh so dangerous?’
But he didn’t get a reply. The gate squeaked behind him; Jonas had emerged from the cottage. The boy approached the car, looking at his uncle the way a dog looks at its master.
‘Time for dinner, JK,’ Kent said.
Jonas nodded and got into the car.
Kent gave Gerlof one last long look. ‘Perhaps we’ll speak again,’ he said. He put the car into gear and drove off.
Gerlof watched him go. It had been an interesting conversation, but of course he realized that, although Kent Kloss had said quite a lot, he had admitted nothing.
Jonas