‘So Edvard Kloss was your father. Was he your sister Greta’s father, too?’
‘Everyone knew,’ the voice said. ‘But he always denied it.’
Gerlof sighed. ‘I know you feel bitter towards him, Aron. But Edvard’s grandchildren have nothing to do with these old grievances. You do realize that, don’t you?’
Once again, there was a long silence before Aron spoke. ‘Those grandchildren took the croft away from me. They took everything I had here.’
Now it was Gerlof’s turn to keep quiet. What could he say?
‘And you took a ship from them,’ he said eventually, ‘and the crew suffocated in the hold... How could you do that?’
When the voice eventually spoke, there was no trace of regret.
‘The crew were criminals. And they weren’t supposed to be on board; I had to move them below deck. But it was Kloss’s ship, with plenty of cash, and that was what mattered. So we took the money and sank the ship.’
‘Where is she?’ Gerlof asked.
‘Far out in the Sound. Five nautical miles north-west of Stenvik.’ Gerlof sighed again, even more heavily this time. ‘Don’t make any more trouble, Aron.’
The voice didn’t speak for a while, but when it did reply it was every bit as hard as before. ‘I’m doing what I’ve learned to do. I had to make my way out into the world and learn how things are done... I became a soldier.’
‘In Russia,’ Gerlof said.
‘In the Soviet Union. I was a soldier in the new country.’
‘But the war is over now, Aron. There’s plenty of help available; you don’t have to keep on making mistakes. Otherwise, you’ll be hearing that knocking sound for the rest of your life.’
‘I don’t need any help. I haven’t got long left.’ Aron sounded worryingly sure of himself.
‘What are you going to do now, Aron?’ Gerlof said eventually.
The only reply was a click.
Gerlof slowly put down the phone; his hand was shaking. He reached out to open the veranda window, to let in some cool, fresh air.
Out there in the darkness, he could hear the bush crickets chirruping, but he couldn’t see any shadows moving around. The trees, the grass and the plants were resting now, after another trying day in the sun.
Gerlof knew that the plantlife on Öland was tougher than any soldier. Nature would always have the upper hand. If the earth and the plants were in good shape, there would be food. If not, people would starve.
Most things were sparse and tough on the island. There were no plentiful resources to be extracted, and no one had ever discovered oil or a goldmine. Tourism was no more than a moderate success; there were no plans to open enormous hotels or casinos with the aim of creating a Swedish Las Vegas.
It was hard to make a fast buck here and, as a consequence, Öland had escaped the invasions of fortune hunters or armies which had destroyed so much in other defenceless places around the world. There was plenty of sunshine and stone and there were many hardy plants on the island, but not much else.
For which Gerlof was very grateful.
He was also glad that a strong leader hadn’t suddenly appeared, demanding that everyone should report on their neighbour for their own good. Gerlof and his fellow islanders had therefore managed to avoid the difficult decisions which others had been forced to make in uncertain times.
There were a number of guns here, of course, but, fortunately, not many. Nor was the population divided into different sects or tribes, each believing they had a right to more power and higher status than others, and therefore any disputes had been restricted to local village issues. People had argued about land, but those quarrels had never gone beyond harsh words or court judgements.
The island had been lucky, on the whole.
But now there was a problem.
Gerlof closed the window before any mosquitoes found their way in, and picked up the phone again. He felt sleepy but wanted to make one call.
John answered almost right away, and Gerlof got straight to the point. ‘Aron Fredh rang me.’
‘Did he now? Where was he?’
‘He didn’t say... but it sounded as if he was outdoors, in a phone box.’
‘Well, there aren’t many of those around.’
‘No,’ Gerlof said. ‘And the interesting thing was that I could hear something in the background... a kind of humming. Or maybe rattling, with a faint whinny from time to time. I couldn’t work it out, but I’ve been giving it some thought, and I think it might be an electric horse.’
‘An electric horse?’
‘You know, one of those rides for children — you put money in and it moves around for a while.
John was quiet for a moment. ‘There’s a phone box by the shop down at the resort... I think they’ve got some rides there, too.’
‘You mean Aron is staying at the Ölandic? Well, they do say you should keep your friends close and your enemies closer...’
‘Did he sound sorry?’ John wanted to know.
‘Not in the slightest. But at least we talked; we’ll just have to hope that he calls again, even if I am moving back to the home on Monday.’
‘I’ll give you a lift.’
‘Thanks, John. Goodnight.’
Gerlof put the phone down, then went and sat on his bed to think things over.
An old soldier had come home to the island, hell-bent on revenge, spreading fear all around him. No one knew who he was, and no one knew where he was either. As long as it was high season, as long as Öland was packed with summer visitors, he could move around freely. Who could stop him?
The Kloss family?
Gerlof?
Lisa
Lisa didn’t have a gig on this hot Sunday, but of course she had a different kind of job to do for Kent Kloss. She was supposed to snoop around the Ölandic Resort, looking for a particular man.
A man who was old but apparently dangerous.
At around two o’clock, she parked her car by the hotel and walked over to the top campsite. She was wearing shorts and a yellow T-shirt, just like an ordinary holidaymaker. A white baseball cap pulled well down over her eyes and a pair of oversized sunnies meant that she could carry out her task without anyone noticing. She hoped.
The first time she had seen the Ölandic Resort, towards the end of June, the expanse of grass that made up the campsite had been fresh and green, but since then the sun had blazed down almost non-stop. Now the grass was dry and yellow, almost brown in places, and the short blades crunched underfoot as she moved among the caravans.
The campsite felt a bit like a burning desert, quivering in the heat. But following the previous week’s outbreak of gastroenteritis there were plenty of empty spaces, and Lisa could see several families packing up and getting ready to leave. She wasn’t interested in them, of course, but in the guests who were staying.
She was hunting for golf balls in the grass.
It was Kent Kloss’s idea, and she wasn’t sure whether it was brilliant or completely stupid: he had placed a white ball next to each caravan or chalet that he wanted her to investigate. As if the balls had just happened to land on the campsite...
So Lisa kept her eyes on the ground, and after about fifty metres she spotted the first flash of white in the yellow grass. It was next to a fairly new caravan with a small awning.
She stopped a few metres away and glanced around. There was no one nearby.
A risky business, she thought, and wished she could have worn her wig, like Lady Summertime.
She was nervous. Even if the security guards had been told to leave her alone, the occupants of the caravan might turn up. What was she supposed to say then — that she was cleaning?
If the neighbours saw her, she could pretend that this was her caravan and simply walk in. Which would be fine until the real owner appeared.