‘They were among the records,’ Kent said. ‘I presume you were hiding them?’
Lisa didn’t say a word.
I can explain — that was probably what you were supposed to say under the circumstances.
She knew she looked guilty. She didn’t have a chance, but she made an attempt to sound both honest and bored. ‘Oh, those... I found them in the bar. People lose all kinds of stuff in there. I asked if anyone owned them, but no one came forward. So I brought them back here... but maybe someone saw me in the club and misunderstood.’
Kent Kloss stared at her. ‘You’re right, someone did see you. It was Emanuel, one of our security guards. He saw you pick up a mobile phone from a table on Tuesday night.’
Lisa took another step towards him. ‘I found that one, too.’
‘I’m sure you did. And now I’ve found you.’
Kent Kloss got to his feet. Perhaps he was just irritated; he moved closer to her.
‘I’ve met all sorts over the years,’ he said. ‘Campsite security guards who steal from chalets, bartenders who help themselves out of the till, light-fingered cleaners in hotel rooms... I know the score.’
Lisa was aware of a strong smell emanating from him, but it wasn’t aftershave. Kent stank of booze, and there was a menacing glint in his eye.
‘Are you working for him?’ he said quietly.
‘For who?’
The slap came without warning, striking her hard and fast across the nose and cheek, and she staggered backwards. She stumbled over her beach bag and ended up on the floor. The caravan was rocking like a ship on stormy seas.
Kloss didn’t wait for her to recover. ‘Is that what you’re doing? Are you spying on us?’
Lisa blinked, felt her nose. ‘Who would I be spying for?’ she said, trying to get up.
‘Don’t move!’
Kloss took a deep breath, gathered his strength and kicked her hard in the thigh. The pain was horrendous; Lisa whimpered, but didn’t move. She could hear her own shallow breathing in the silence that followed. She reached up to her nose and felt drops of warm blood.
‘I don’t know who... who you’re talking about.’
‘Don’t you?’ he sneered.
Lisa released Lady Summertime, who snapped, ‘You and your family steal from the guests, too.’
‘Do we?’
She nodded. ‘Fourteen hundred for a bottle of champagne, Kent. Sparkling wine that’s probably smuggled in for fifty kronor a bottle... Isn’t that daylight robbery?’
‘Don’t change the subject. One of us has a problem here, and it’s not me.’
Summertime braced herself for another blow, but went on: ‘Call the cops, then.’
Kloss looked down at her. ‘Not yet.’
A blood vessel was throbbing on his suntanned forehead; he remained motionless for a few seconds, then relaxed. He took at step back and sat down on the bed, legs wide apart, leaving his crotch exposed.
‘There’s something you can help me with,’ he said.
Lady Summertime considered giving him a swift kick, right there in the middle. But Lisa pushed her aside. She got up cautiously, still expecting him to hit her again, but nothing happened. Kent Kloss had vented his anger, and he hadn’t called the police.
He glanced out of the window, as if to check that no one could see him, his fingers drumming on his thighs. Eventually, he spoke. ‘A man has come over to the island this summer, and he’s... he’s caused some problems. I didn’t know who he was at first, but now I do. His name is Aron Fredh.’
He was looking closely at Lisa, as if she might react to the name. But she’d never heard of Aron Fredh. Would Kent hit her again if she said the wrong thing?
‘OK,’ she said. ‘Aron Fredh.’
Kloss looked down at his tanned hands. ‘I don’t know what he looks like; he’s keeping a low profile... but I need to find him. I think you might be able to help me track him down. He’s here somewhere; I think he might be staying over at the resort, on the campsite or in a chalet under a false name. He must be, because he managed to poison our drinking water, and that can only be done from inside the complex.’
Poison our drinking water. Lisa had extensive experience of the effects of that particular event.
‘The Ölandic Resort is enormous,’ she said. ‘How am I supposed to find him?’
Kent was smiling again now. It was as if the slap and the kick had never happened. ‘You snoop around, of course... After all, that’s what you’re good at.’
Lisa let out a long breath. ‘So you just want me to find this man, among all the guests, when you haven’t a clue what he looks like?’
‘He’s an old man, we know that, but in good shape for his age. And he’s probably alone. That description fits a number of men at the resort; we’ll tell you where they’re staying and, when their caravans or chalets are empty, you go and check them out. Discreetly.’
‘When they’re empty?’
‘Of course... We don’t want the guests to know what’s going on.’
‘And how will I know when it’s safe?’
‘The security guards will keep an eye on things. Most caravans and chalets are empty in the middle of the day.’
Lisa didn’t have much choice. ‘What am I looking for?’
‘Anything unusual. Guns, balaclavas, bundles of cash. You’ll know when you see it... This is no ordinary holidaymaker.’
‘And then I’m free to leave?’
Kloss got to his feet.
‘We’ll see. You’re not going to be arrested, anyway. And you can carry on gigging for the time being... as long as you keep your fingers to yourself.’
‘And what if I get caught snooping around?’
A victorious smile spread across Kent’s face. ‘You’ve already been caught, Summertime. That’s why you’re going to do this.’
Gerlof
There had been a few comments on the newspaper article about the knocking from the grave, and Gerlof was still hoping that it had been read by the right person. It was a bit like a personal ad. If Aron Fredh was still on the island, of course.
He sat down to wait for visitors. These were his last few days in the cottage; after the weekend, he was going back to his room in the residential home in Marnäs.
But on Friday he had a visit from a murderer. Not the one he was looking for this summer, but a murderer he himself had tracked down many years earlier.
Gerlof was in the garden as usual, in the shade of the parasol. It was always open these days; the heat of the sun was merciless.
His hearing aid was switched on, and suddenly he heard a rustling sound behind him, in the meadow. Footsteps, definitely footsteps. Gerlof turned his head, and a few seconds later the man appeared among the juniper bushes, wearing jeans and a shirt and loafers. He stopped on the other side of the boundary, in the tall grass. Gerlof recognized him.
This was the man who had killed his grandson.
The visitor remained where he was, and they looked at each other for a few seconds. Gerlof was glad his daughter Julia wasn’t in the village today.
‘Good afternoon,’ the man said quietly.
‘Good afternoon.’
Gerlof wondered if he ought to be afraid, but he wasn’t. Not at all. This murderer didn’t look dangerous, just tired and pale in the sunshine. Much older. And he had nothing in his hands.
So Gerlof nodded to him. ‘Come and sit down.’
The man walked slowly across the garden and sat down on the opposite side of the table.
‘So you’re out,’ Gerlof went on.
The man shook his head. ‘I haven’t been released. I’m out on parole. My first unsupervised outing, so I wanted to call round and...’ The man fell silent and looked around, over towards the gate and the cottage, then asked, ‘Are you alone?’