But she didn’t say anything; she just sat quietly on the sofa listening to Kent. Paulina was over by the door; she didn’t say anything either.
Kent was on his feet as usual, his head almost touching the ceiling, and even though his face was pale and tired, there was an energy in his body. He kept opening and closing his fists, turning his head and listening, shifting position.
He had placed a black bag on the worktop.
‘He’s got a day,’ Kent went on. ‘Maybe two... Before his luck runs out.’
Lisa had heard what had happened, of course: a security guard had been found shot and buried in the resort. She was almost certain that it was the same man who had appeared in the forest on her first day here, but she had no intention of asking Kent any questions about the matter. This wasn’t the time to reveal that she had met him just before he died.
Instead she asked, ‘So what’s he doing down there in the bunker?’
‘He’s spying,’ Kent said. ‘He’s spying on me and my family. And he’s using the bunker as his operational base.’
Lisa noticed that Kent had started using military terminology, but she kept quiet, and so did Paulina.
Kent unzipped the bag and took out two small items made of black plastic. ‘You’ll need these tonight.’
Lisa realized they were walkie-talkies. No surprise there — Kent Kloss liked his gadgets.
He glanced at his watch and went on, ‘It will be dark in an hour. We’ll meet on the coast road down below my house at ten, and I’ll explain what you have to do. Bring torches and the walkie-talkies... Any questions?’
Lisa and Paulina remained silent.
For the first time in many years, Lisa wished the police would turn up. Knock on the door and start investigating the whole thing. But she knew that Kent Kloss didn’t want the police anywhere near him, whatever he was intending to do to the man in the bunker.
Kent picked up the bag and opened the caravan door. ‘Good. See you later... Wrap up warm — it could be a cold night.’
He stepped outside and shut the door behind him.
Lisa stayed where she was as the smell of Kent’s aftershave gradually faded. ‘Bollocks,’ she said to the closed door. ‘It’s going to be a warm night.’
She looked at her walkie-talkie, which looked like a large black toy mobile phone. But Kent Kloss was serious, so no doubt it worked.
Then she looked over at Paulina, who was sitting with her hands clasped in her lap, a determined expression on her face. Lisa felt she had to say something. ‘So we’re going to do this?’
Paulina nodded. ‘We are.’
‘Why?’
Paulina was quiet for a moment. ‘Sick mother,’ she said eventually.
‘Your mother is sick?’
Paulina nodded again, and Lisa asked, ‘So Kent Kloss is paying you well?’
‘Yes.’
‘How much?’
‘A thousand.’
‘A thousand kronor?’
‘Dollars,’ Paulina said, taking an old tea caddy out of her bag. ‘He give me a hundred already.’ She opened the caddy and showed Lisa the notes.
‘OK. Good,’ Lisa said.
Paulina looked at her. ‘And you? Why you do this?’
Lisa hesitated before answering. ‘I have a relative who needs money.’
‘Relative?’
‘My father... my dad. He lives in Stockholm and he uses the street drugstore, if you know what I mean.’
Paulina obviously didn’t understand.
‘He’s a junkie,’ Lisa explained. She quickly got to her feet. ‘OK, we’d better make sure we’re ready.’
She wished she hadn’t mentioned Silas. She just wanted to get away now, dump this last job and drive away from the island right now.
But she knew she had to stay.
The walkie-talkie was silent, but Lisa’s mobile rang when Paulina had left. Lisa was lying on the bed. She stared at it for a long time without answering.
She knew who it was.
The phone kept on ringing: eight signals. Nine. Ten.
But Lisa didn’t take the call. She just stared out of the window, where the fiery yellow sun was on its way down over the Sound. Eventually, the ringing stopped; Lisa stayed where she was.
After half an hour she got up, pulled on a dark jacket and covered her blonde hair with a black cap.
The sun had disappeared; it was time to go.
Gerlof
For the past week, Gerlof had been hearing stories about Veronica Kloss. How fantastic she was, how well she looked after the elderly.
‘Incredible energy,’ the staff in the residential home said. ‘Never gave up. Happy to chat or to listen. Kept the old ladies going. Used to read to them.’
But if Veronica was so considerate, why hadn’t she been here this summer? Gerlof knew that the Kloss family had had a number of problems to sort out down at the Ölandic, but even so... He hadn’t seen her once.
Last summer, Veronica had been here almost every week. According to the temporary care assistant he had spoken to, Veronica had got on well with Greta Fredh, and had made several subsequent visits to read to Greta and the others.
Then Greta had died after a fall in her bathroom, and Veronica had stopped coming. Gerlof had talked to several residents who missed her and wished she would come back.
But why had she stopped? Was it only Greta who had been important to her?
The door of Ulf Wall’s room was often ajar, but the room inside was dark even when the sun was shining down on the home in Marnäs, and Gerlof had resisted the temptation to call in. He didn’t know much about Ulf, just that he was at least five years older than Gerlof, and might be the father of Einar Wall, the huntsman and arms dealer. And that he had been Greta Fredh’s neighbour.
Finally, on the last day of July, Gerlof pushed open the door and peered in. ‘Hello?’ he said quietly.
At first there was silence, followed by a brief response: ‘What do you mean?’
This question was rather difficult to answer, so Gerlof said nothing. He stepped into the hallway; the room was familiar because it was decorated and furnished exactly the same as his own, but it didn’t smell quite as good. There was no movement in the air in here.
There was no movement in Ulf Wall either. He was wearing a grey cardigan, sitting in an armchair next to the window, which was covered by a roller blind.
Gerlof made his way slowly along the hall. ‘Gerlof Davidsson,’ he said.
The man in the armchair stared at him, and nodded. ‘Yes. I know who you are, Davidsson.’
‘Good.’
‘You were in the paper a while ago.’
‘That’s right. And I heard about your son,’ Gerlof said. ‘That was a little while ago, too. My condolences. Einar was your son, wasn’t he?’
Wall continued to stare at him, not moving a muscle, but after a moment he nodded again. ‘But I’ve got two more,’ he said. ‘They’re better behaved than Einar... they don’t drink and they don’t go poaching.’
There was nowhere for a guest to sit, so Gerlof remained standing, swaying slightly on his weak legs. ‘I heard about your neighbour, too,’ he said. ‘Greta Fredh.’
‘That’s right — Aron’s sister. She died last summer.’
Gerlof swayed even more. Aron’s sister.
‘So you know Aron Fredh?’
‘We got into conversation,’ Wall said. ‘He was here a few times.’
‘When was that?’
‘Early summer... He came and had a look at his sister’s room. Took one or two things with him.’
‘And what did you talk about?’
‘Greta, mainly... he wanted to know what had happened.’
‘I heard she had a fall.’
Ulf Wall nodded once more. ‘He wanted to know if any of the Kloss family had been around at the time.’