End of Summer

by Anders de la Motte

  When she goes down to the kitchen her dad has already made breakfast for her. Bacon, scrambled eggs, toast. Even freshly squeezed orange juice. She considers telling him about the person she saw in the rose garden the night before last. Asking him why he didn’t answer when she knocked on the door of the study, and why he’s started locking all the doors. And what he and Sailor talked about then they used to drink beer together in the pizzeria. But her dad’s still in a good mood from the dinner the previous evening, talking about his grandchildren, smiling and stroking her hair. So she decides it can wait until later. After she’s spoken to Mattias.

  ‘Are you staying till the weekend?’ he says, apparently assuming she’s on holiday even though she hasn’t said anything. ‘There’s a harvest supper on Saturday down in the park. I wasn’t planning to go, but if you’re here . . .’

  She says something diplomatic without making any promises. Then hurries out before she has time to see his disappointment.

  *

  The village police station smells of bureaucracy and disinfectant. She’s never been here before, so she has no memories to compare it with, but the reception area where Mattias comes to fetch her looks much as she expected.

  The walls of his office are covered with pennants, framed badges and police souvenirs from around the world. She wonders where he got them from, if he inherited them from his predecessor or has actually visited the various places represented. Greater Manchester Police, Miami-Dade Police Department, Polizei Rheinland-Pfalz. There’s a bulky computer screen on the desk, and a police radio that crackles from time to time, then emits clipped sentences that can only be understood with difficulty.

  She gets straight to the point and tells him what happened in the rose garden. Then about her encounters with Berit, Lidija and her father, then Sailor in the care home. She hurries on before he has time to interrupt with questions and doubts, and tells him about the shack and the tin box she found inside the concealed chest.

  She leaves out the bit about falling into the mine, and doesn’t tell him that Uncle Harald seems to have told Patrik Brink to keep an eye on her. There’s already more than enough for Mattias to take in. He pulls on a pair of plastic gloves, then inspects the tin box from all sides before examining the fold of paper and the strands of hair with the help of a magnifying glass. He almost looks like an old-fashioned detective, which makes her smile.

  ‘A corner,’ he murmurs, as much to himself as her.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The paper. It’s the corner of an envelope.’

  ‘Oh.’ She leans forward and looks at the paper, which he’s carefully holding up with a pair of tweezers. She realises he’s right. Silly of her not to have noticed. ‘What do you think that could mean?’

  He puts the piece of paper down gently. ‘Well, we don’t know for certain if this is Billy’s hair. We need to send away for analysis. Until we know that . . .’

  ‘But if we skip that bit for now,’ she interrupts. ‘If we assume it’s Billy’s hair?’

  Mattias shrugs his shoulders. He doesn’t look anything like as interested or excited as she’d expected.

  ‘OK, if we assume that this really is Billy’s hair.’ He leans back in his chair. ‘The police were working on the theory that Tommy Rooth kidnapped Billy to blackmail Uncle Harald. If that’s right, then this corner could have come from a blackmail letter.’

  ‘But there wasn’t a letter, was there?’

  ‘No, not as far as we know. Maybe Rooth cut off some of Billy’s hair and put it in an envelope anyway. And wrote a note demanding money. But for some reason the letter never got sent. Maybe things went wrong and Billy died soon after he was taken, so Rooth got rid of the letter, leaving just this corner that somehow got caught in the tin.’

  ‘Unless something completely different happened.’ She pulls out the photofit picture, unfolds it and smooths it out on the desk in front of him. She sees the set of his mouth harden. ‘A man looking like this has been to see Sailor up at Ekhagen. He told the nurses his name was Isak, and that he’s the old man’s nephew. They remember him very clearly. And when I showed this picture to Sailor, it was obvious that he recognised him.’

  Mattias looks at the picture, then at her. He looks more interested now. He’s about to say something when there’s a knock on the door. A woman of around thirty looks in. The expression on her face before she realises that Mattias isn’t alone makes it very clear to Veronica who she is.

  ‘Oh, sorry. I didn’t know you had a visitor.’ The woman stops in the doorway. She’s beautiful, with dark eyes, and skin that’s almost the same bronze tone as Leon’s.

  ‘This is my sister.’ Mattias sounds rattled.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ the woman says, smiling, but doesn’t give her own name. Mattias doesn’t introduce her either.

  ‘Did you want anything particular?’

  ‘Nothing that can’t wait. Nice to meet you.’ The woman nods to Veronica and closes the door behind her.

  Mattias evades her gaze. Veronica doesn’t quite know what to say to break the sudden silence. Clearly Mattias is at just as much of a loss, because he suddenly gets to his feet.

  ‘Come with me, there’s something I want to show you.’

  *

  She follows him down a flight of stairs, past a row of lockers, two changing rooms and an open door leading to a small gym. They carry along the corridor until they reach a fire door bearing a sign saying ARCHIVE.

  The room is a rectangular, windowless box, and even though it’s big it puts her in mind of the old milking parlour. She shuts her eyes and swallows.

  The air in there is dry, and smells of printer ink, dust and paper. A central aisle runs between rows of shelves full of folders, files and boxes. She reads the years on the edges of the shelves: 1998, 1995, 1993. Mattias keeps walking, goes round a corner marked 1983, and stops. He points to the shelf by the wall. Blue folders, maybe twenty or so, all with the same case number on their labels.

  ‘This is the Billy investigation. Nineteen full box files that Månsson left behind him. I must have been through the whole lot at least ten times. I’ve scrutinised every interview transcript, every memo, every note.’ He runs his finger across the files. ‘Whatever people say, Månsson really did do his best. He carried on looking for Billy long after the prosecutor had dropped the investigation. He kept receiving and investigating tip-offs, almost regardless of how far-fetched they were. I suppose he was hoping that Rooth would make his way home at some point.’

  ‘And did he?’ She guesses the answer before Mattias shakes his head.

  ‘The last sign of life was a postcard with no message, postmarked in Rotterdam, sent to Nilla Rooth. That was a month or so after Rooth vanished. Sven Postie spotted it and gave it to the police. I think Månsson went to show it to Nilla. It’s here somewhere, I’ve seen it for myself.’

  He gestured towards the files.

  ‘The postcard is of a ship, which could suggest that Tommy Rooth really did go to sea. There are notes showing that Månsson called various sailors’ churches and missions in Rotterdam and other ports. Rooth was their only suspect, after all, the only person with a motive, so I can understand why Månsson was unwilling to let go of him. That he wanted to know where Rooth was, in case Billy’s body was ever found and there was more evidence. But he never found anything.’

  ‘What about the car? Rooth’s old Volvo Amazon. What happened to that?’

  ‘It was never found. Scrap by now, presumably.’

  ‘And Månsson? What happened to him?’

  ‘He moved back to Östergötland. To Mjölby, I think it was. Probably just as well. Most people blamed him for Rooth’s release, although I don’t agree with them. I’m not sure I’d have done any better.’

  Mattias shrugs his shoulders.

  ‘Is he still alive?’

  ‘I think so. Someone said he’s been ill. Stomach cancer, something like that. You remember Månsson, don’t you?’

&nbs
p; She nods. ‘He always looked a bit pained, and he had an odd way of talking. An Östergötland accent, but using Skåne words. I remember thinking he had kind eyes.’

  And that I lied to him about us getting home at the same time, she thinks. So you didn’t get into trouble. Because back then it was you and me against the world.

  ‘What are you trying to tell me by showing me all this?’

  Mattias turns to look at her. ‘Have you been in Billy’s room since that summer? Or Mum’s, come to that?’

  She shakes her head. ‘They’re locked.’

  ‘Do you know why?’

  She has an idea of the answer, but decides to play along. ‘No.’

  ‘I’ve tried to persuade Dad to move into the village, where he can be closer to his grandchildren. Get a ground-floor flat, maybe. Uncle Harald has offered to buy Backagården for a good price.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘Dad refuses to move. He won’t even talk about it. And that’s also why he’s refusing to give his permission for Uncle Harald to build those turbines.’ He stops and looks like he’s thinking. ‘What I’m trying to say is that sooner or later we have to let go of the past. Or else we risk getting stuck there.’

  *

  They go back up to Mattias’s office and he stops off in the kitchen to fill two chipped mugs with coffee. The police station is almost silent, the only sounds are the occasional crackle of the police radio and the clatter of a keyboard further along the corridor.

  ‘I’ll send the sample to the National Forensics Lab today,’ he says when they’re sitting down with their coffee. ‘Even if those strands of hair do turn out to be Billy’s, I’d be surprised if they get us anywhere.’

  She nods, she’s already figured that out for herself.

  ‘And I’ll talk the manager at Ekhagen and ask her to call me if that Isak character shows up again,’ Mattias goes on. ‘As for Dad and that person you say you chased through the garden . . .’

  ‘What do you mean, say? I’m sure. There was someone there!’

  Mattias puts his cup down and holds his hands up. ‘Sorry, wrong choice of words. But if I understand correctly, you didn’t actually see anyone. Like in Stockholm.’

  ‘I’m absolutely certain.’ She’s trying not to snap at him, to not let her anger get the better of her. Sadly it’s all too easy to get angry at Mattias.

  ‘And it couldn’t have been a deer?’

  ‘A deer that latches the gate to the rose garden?’

  He holds his hands up again. ‘I’m only asking.’

  They stare at each other for several seconds, then he capitulates.

  ‘We had some break-ins at isolated farms at the start of the summer. Maybe the thieves have shown up again. I’ll get the night shift to go past Dad’s every once in a while.’

  ‘Good,’ she says. Then adds a ‘thanks’ in a slightly friendlier voice.

  More silence.

  ‘Are you staying until the weekend? There’s a harvest supper in the park. Uncle Harald usually provides food and drink for everyone. Live music too, apparently.’

  ‘What’s happened to him? Since when did he get so generous?’

  Mattias grins. ‘The whole business with the wind turbines has made him pretty unpopular. So I guess he’s trying to buy people off by throwing a party.’

  ‘That would explain it.’

  She tentatively returns his smile, and feels the atmosphere in the room relax.

  ‘How are you getting on with . . .’ She nods towards the door. ‘Family therapy?’

  His smile turns to a grimace. ‘Not too well, to be honest. I’m doing my best, but it’s complicated. Cecilia and I have known each other since school. We’ve got kids, a house together. I can’t just give up.’

  She thinks about Leon, and comes very close to telling Mattias what happened, seeing as he’s confiding in her again.

  ‘Do you love her?’ she asks instead. And only realises the ambiguity in the question once she’s said it.

  Mattias shrugs. ‘There are lots of different types of love.’

  She nods, and scratches the scar on her arm.

  ‘Does Uncle Harald know you’re having problems?’

  Mattias shakes his head. ‘I’ve only told Dad. Cecilia and I are trying to keep it quiet. For the girls’ sake.’

  But also because you know what Uncle Harald will say, she thinks. That he’ll put pressure on you to stay with Cecilia, do what he thinks is right. And because you’ll find it hard to disobey him. Because you’re a good boy. Ebbe and Magdalena’s boy.

  She decides to change the subject and make the most of this moment of closeness to ask something that’s been troubling her for far too long.

  ‘Do you think . . . do you think Mum loved us, Mattias? I mean . . .’ she adds quickly, before he has time to protest, ‘losing a child is the worst thing that can happen to a person. But she still had us. Why wasn’t that enough?’

  Why?

  The word lingers in the air, and they drink their coffee in silence.

  ‘Do you ever feel guilty?’ he says after a while, shifting on his chair. ‘Billy could be a fucking nightmare. Like the time he told Mum about the hawks’ eggs. And Mum always treated him differently, as if he was . . .’

  ‘Special.’

  ‘Exactly. It was like the rules were different for him.’ Mattias gives her a wry smile, and something about that smile makes her feel better.

  ‘It was Billy who started to call them Mum and Dad, do you remember? We always said Mother and Father.’

  ‘Yeah, I remember.’ Mattias lets out a laugh. ‘We didn’t start calling them Mum and Dad until after . . .’ He tails off and looks away.

  She takes a deep breath. Decides to challenge the ice in her chest.

  ‘I was angry with Billy, that night. I thought he was hiding in one of our hide-and-seek places and had fallen asleep. That he’d made Mum worried and you’d have to pay because you got home late. That it would be like with the hawks’ eggs all over again. I looked everywhere, in the barn, the cowshed, calling him all the names under the sun, out loud and in my head. Sometimes I still dream about it. Looking for him but never finding him.’

  She stops, and tries to work out if she’s said too much. But Mattias’s face is giving nothing away.

  ‘What about you?’ she says. ‘How do you feel?’

  She thinks about all those files down in the basement. And the fact that Mattias has read them over and over again. Page after page, trying to spot something that no one has noticed before. Something that could put everything right, even though he knows that’s impossible. Something that could explain the inexplicable. Is she the same? Is that what all this is about? She’d like to say no, tell herself that there’s a difference.

  ‘Sometimes . . .’ he begins, then rubs the back of his neck. ‘Sometimes I get the feeling that that summer’s still going on. That we’re somehow still living in it. You, me and Dad. The whole village—’

  He’s interrupted by the telephone. The ringtone is unexpectedly sharp, and makes him jump. The gentle expression in his eyes vanishes.

  ‘Hello? Yes, hi . . .’

  She can tell from his voice that it’s Cecilia, and realises that their conversation is over.

  Chapter 44

  V

  eronica only has a vague memory of Rooth’s farm. A few rundown buildings right on the edge of the Northern Forest, with grey roofs that were visible from the main road. But now, as she drives up and down several times on what should be the right stretch of road, she can’t see any sign of a turning, or any rooftops. There’s a huge green tractor pulling a disc harrow in one of the fields next to the road. Its driver has got out and is fiddling with the hydraulics. She stops the car and walks over to him. He’s in his thirties, but she doesn’t recognise him.

  ‘Do you know where the Rooths’ farm is?’ she asks.

  The man smiles at her and shakes his head.

  ‘Only
speak English.’

  She tries again, in English, but the man’s accent isn’t easy to understand. Eventually he points towards the end of the field where a group of trees are growing a little way in front of the edge of the forest.

  ‘Maybe there!’

  She walks across the stubble. It’s further than she thought, seven or eight hundred metres, and her bruised body protests. What little wind there was this morning has died away, the sun is high in the sky, and by the time she reaches the shade of the trees she’s worked up a sweat.

  Despite the tractor driver’s suggestion there are no ramshackle buildings among the trees. Just a clearing that looks more like an overgrown turning circle. On the far side the field of stubble carries on for a few hundred metres more before the forest proper begins. No hint of any buildings in any direction.

  She curses the tractor driver out loud. But after a while her eyes get used to the low light beneath the trees and she realises that he was right after all. In the middle of the clearing the ground is still so compacted that the grass hasn’t been able to take root. There are signs of stone foundations in a few places, and in one corner there’s a heap of broken bricks. When she expands her search and kicks her way through the nettles she finds a few rusty tools, some chunks of wood and broken tiles. This was where Rooth’s farm once stood. And now it’s gone, razed to the ground, as if someone had tried to wipe it from the face of the Earth.

  Something about the dimly lit clearing makes her feel uneasy, and it takes her a while to realise what. The clearing is silent. There are no birds singing, no leaves rustling. All she can hear is the tractor engine in the distance. She doesn’t really know where the feeling comes from – she isn’t superstitious at all – but suddenly she gets the sense that something happened here. Something that’s still lingering over the place.

  The tractor comes closer, but when she turns round and looks out across the field she sees that the noise is coming from a large green Land Rover that’s driving straight towards her across the stubble.