The Quarry töq-3

by Johan Theorin

  ‘In a house fire?’ Per leaned forward on his chair. ‘And you say her name was Gabrielle … Could it have been Danielle?’

  ‘Sure. Gabrielle or Danielle, I don’t remember.’

  ‘When did you last see her?’

  ‘Oh, a long time ago … ten years maybe. We haven’t spoken often either, we just rang each other now and again. I think Jessika and Daniel Wellman had more contact with one another.’

  Per looked at him. Was it Jessika Björk’s phone number that had been on Bremer’s Post-it note? Maybe, but if so, what did it mean? He felt tired and devoid of any ideas, as if he had a tumour somewhere that was sucking all the nourishment out of his body.

  ‘I didn’t know about Jessika,’ he said quietly, ‘but Ulrica Ternman had two friends who used to do some work with Jerry and Bremer. They’re both dead as well.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Jesslin. ‘So there were more?’

  Per leaned forward again. ‘Tobias,’ he said. ‘I have to find more people who worked with Jerry. Have you got an address for this other Markus Lukas?’

  Jesslin stubbed out his cigarette and shook his head. ‘We were never close friends,’ he said. ‘His name was Daniel Wellman and he lived in Malmö – that’s all I know.’

  ‘Have you got any pictures of him?’

  ‘Pictures? There are plenty of pictures in the magazines.’

  ‘Not of his face.’

  Jesslin laughed and stood up. ‘No, the face wasn’t the important thing when it came to the guys … The girls had to look good, not us.’

  Per got up too. He had been expecting the vague answers he had received about Markus Lukas, but he still felt disappointed.

  Jesslin stopped in the doorway. ‘But if you were to ask me if anyone wanted to get rid of Bremer,’ he said, ‘I’d probably say it was a knight in shining armour.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A boyfriend who’s recently found out that Bremer filmed his girlfriend years ago. Someone who wants to play the knight in shining armour and protect her reputation.’

  Per looked at him and thought about the cheerful voice that had answered on Jesslin’s home number.

  ‘So what about your reputation, now you’re a father?’

  ‘No problem,’ Jesslin said quickly. ‘It’s always worse for the girls. They have more to lose if the past catches up with them.’

  ‘And is that fair?’

  ‘No,’ said Jesslin, shrugging his shoulders. ‘But it’s the men who hold all the power in the porn industry. They’re the clients, it’s their money, their values. That’s life.’

  As Per left the Honolulu and got in the car he was thinking about reputations and values, and how Jerry had stood by the quarry the week before he died, pointing at Marie Kurdin and hinting that he knew her.

  He started the car and set off on the long journey home.

  57

  Vendela was standing tall in front of the elf stone; she could feel evil gathering in the air above her. It was almost midnight, and there were only two days left until Walpurgis Night, when dark powers gathered together. They were at their strongest now.

  She had switched on her small torch and placed it in front of her on the stone, the only light in the great darkness.

  The spirits and demons, the dark kin of the elves, had woken from their long winter sleep. They had emerged from the deepest caves in the old lands surrounding the Baltic Sea, flown across the wide waters and circled over the solid granite of Blå Jungfrun out in the sound before swooping in across the island, chasing the spring birds from the sky. They were looking down on this flat, narrow island, where the waves surged up over the long shores, and smiled at all the little creatures crawling around below them.

  High above the alvar the spirits met to bring down more misery and death on mankind for another year.

  Vendela closed her eyes.

  And what could mankind do about it? Nothing, apart from lighting a few fires on Walpurgis Night, the eve of May Day. But the light of the fires soon died away, and after that all you could do was lock yourself in your house and hope that the windows would hold, and that the demons would choose some other family. But they never did. They always took those who were weakest, those who were most afraid, those who had the most locks on their doors and who prayed most fervently that they would be safe, that they would be left in peace.

  Vendela raised her left hand and held it over the stone.

  Her wedding ring glinted in the light of the torch. Max had bought it for her in Paris. It was difficult to remove; after ten years it had almost grown into her finger, but she managed it in the end. She held the ring up to the sky in her right hand for a few moments, then placed it carefully in one of the hollows in the stone. She looked at the ring, and knew that she would never touch it again.

  Do what you like with him, she thought, but promise me that he will disappear for ever.

  She closed her eyes.

  More heart problems, that’s a good idea. Give him a massive heart attack, far away from any doctors.

  When she opened her eyes and turned away from the elf stone she could feel the hunger and tiredness gnawing away at her stomach. She had simply rushed blindly out of the house in the middle of the night. She had to lean on the stone for support, and she stood motionless, staring at the horizon until the dizziness passed. Then she picked up the torch, pointed it at the ground ahead of her, and set off across the grass. Once she had passed the juniper bushes she lengthened her stride.

  She was feeling better now. She couldn’t run in her boots, but she walked faster and faster, her footsteps drumming on the ground and the wind whistling past her ears.

  Some nights I’m even more crazy than usual, she thought.

  Above her she could hear the sound of huge wings.

  She slunk back across the alvar and down towards the coast like a cat. The grass and the bushes didn’t even touch her.

  A few hundred metres from the quarry she switched off the torch; the batteries were almost spent.

  Suddenly she saw another glow along the road. Car headlights. They slid slowly past her own house and stopped outside the Mörners’ cottage. When the car’s interior light came on she could see that Per was driving, and hurried over.

  He got out of the car, his movements stiff, and as Vendela approached he turned; he looked anxious at first, but relaxed when he saw who it was.

  ‘Vendela.’

  She nodded. Without thinking about it, without the slightest hesitation, she held out her arms and went to him.

  The night was suddenly warm.

  Per put his arms around her, but only for a long hug.

  Vendela let go of him eventually, with a deep sigh. ‘Come with me,’ she said quietly.

  Per let out a long breath. ‘I can’t,’ he said.

  Vendela took his hand. ‘It’s fine.’

  She pulled him gently towards the door, as if the cottage were hers and not his.

  58

  Per opened his eyes; it was morning. He was lying in his bed, and someone was lying next to him, fast asleep. It wasn’t a dream.

  But it was still a strange, dreamlike feeling to have Vendela Larsson beside him; since Marika left him he had slept alone every night.

  When Vendela’s breathing had finally grown calm and even in the darkness, he had lain there beside her with his eyes open. He had felt good, but he had still expected a visit.

  A visit from Jerry.

  That’s what had always happened on the few occasions in the past when Per had slept next to a woman. He would gradually become aware of the heavy aroma of cigars in his nostrils, or he would sense that his father was standing in the shadows by the bed, grinning scornfully at his son.

  But Jerry’s spirit stayed away tonight.

  They got up at about nine o’clock, and Per made coffee and toast. This morning there was suddenly a whole range of topics they just couldn’t discuss, but the silence at the kitchen table was neither tense nor embarrassing. Per
felt as he if knew Vendela well.

  Then he had to go and visit Nilla at the hospital.

  ‘Can I stay here for a while?’ Vendela asked.

  ‘Don’t you want to go home?’

  She looked down at the floor. ‘I don’t want to be there … I can’t cope with seeing Max at the moment.’

  ‘But we didn’t do anything wrong,’ said Per.

  ‘We slept together,’ said Vendela.

  ‘We kept each other warm.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what we did … not to Max.’

  ‘See you soon,’ she said a little while later as they stood in the hallway.

  ‘Will you?’ said Per.

  She gave him a fleeting smile as he closed the front door.

  He walked to the car and breathed out slowly.

  What had happened? And was it so bad, whatever it might have been? It was Vendela’s decision, and they had spent most of the time talking and sleeping, after all.

  But Per’s life had become messier, and he felt as if this would influence Nilla’s chances in some way. Lengthen the odds.

  Finding Markus Lukas would shorten them.

  He took out his mobile and rang Directory Enquiries. A young woman asked how she could help.

  ‘Daniel Wellman,’ said Per, and spelled out the surname.

  ‘Which area?’

  ‘Malmö, I think.’

  There was silence for a few seconds before she responded. ‘There’s no one there by that name.’

  ‘What about the rest of the country, then?’

  ‘No. There are a number of Wellmans, but no Daniel.’

  Per thought about Vendela all the way to Kalmar.

  As he stepped out of the lift by Nilla’s ward, he met a couple about the same age as him, a man and a woman walking slowly along the corridor. They looked exhausted, their eyes downcast.

  The man was carrying a small blue rucksack, and Per suddenly realized that the couple were the parents of Nilla’s friend Emil. Presumably they had been to collect his things, and now they would be going home to an empty house.

  Per’s warm memories of Vendela melted away. He slowed down as he approached Emil’s parents, but didn’t speak to them – he couldn’t say anything. When they passed him on their way to the lift, he just wanted to turn his face to the wall and close his eyes.

  ‘Hi Nilla. How are you?’

  ‘Terrible.’

  Two days before her operation Nilla was in a foul mood; she wouldn’t even smile at her father as he sat down beside her.

  ‘You only come and see me because you have to.’

  ‘No …’

  ‘Because that’s what you’re supposed to do.’

  ‘No,’ said Per. ‘There are lots of people I never go and see, all the time. But I want to see you.’

  ‘Nobody wants to see a person who’s ill,’ said Nilla.

  ‘That’s not true,’ said Per.

  They sat in silence for a little while.

  ‘Don’t you feel well today?’ he asked.

  ‘I threw up last night, twice.’

  ‘But you’re a bit better today?’

  ‘A bit,’ said Nilla. ‘But the nurses wake me up too early. They always wake us up at seven, even though nothing ever happens then. We get breakfast and our tablets at half past.’

  ‘But seven’s not that early, is it?’ said Per. ‘I mean, that’s just the same as when you’re going to school … when I was at secondary school I used to get up at quarter past six every morning to catch the bus.’

  Nilla didn’t appear to be listening.

  ‘Mum’s auntie was here this morning.’

  ‘Auntie Ulla?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Nilla, ‘and she said she was going to pray for me.’ She looked past Per, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. ‘I want you to play Nirvana’s “All Apologies”,’ she said. ‘The acoustic version.’

  ‘Play? What do you mean, play?’

  ‘In the church,’ she said quietly.

  Eventually he understood, and shook his head. ‘We won’t be playing anything.’ He added, ‘Because … because it won’t be necessary.’

  ‘But at the burial,’ said Nilla. ‘Will you play it then?’

  He nodded.

  ‘When your heart stops on the dance-floor in eighty years’ time, I promise to play Nirvana.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Mum will be here soon, we’ve got a meeting with your surgeon. Have you met him?’

  Nilla folded her arms over her chest. ‘Mm. He was here last night … He smelled of smoke.’

  Fifteen minutes later, Per and Marika were sitting in silence next to each other in front of a desk. There was a faint smell of tobacco.

  Tomas Frisch, the vascular surgeon, came from Lund and was about the same age as Per. Frisch meant ‘healthy’ in German – that had to be a good sign, didn’t it? He had tired eyes, but he was tanned and in spite of everything he seemed relaxed about the operation. He shook hands with both of them.

  ‘It’s not a routine procedure, not by any means,’ he said, ‘but you can trust us. We’re all very experienced – it’s an excellent team.’

  Dr Frisch opened up a laptop and switched it on. He started to click through a series of images on the screen as he explained what would happen during the operation.

  Per looked and listened, but didn’t know what to say. He would have preferred to sit there leaning forward with his head in his hands.

  Tomas Frisch was the pilot who was going to bring them all down safely. But he wasn’t part of the plan – Dr Frisch was risking only his reputation if Nilla didn’t make it. In that way, Per thought, a surgeon was less like a pilot and more like God.

  ‘We know you’ll do your best,’ said Marika when the surgeon had finished.

  ‘That’s what we do every single day,’ said Frisch.

  He smiled and shook hands with them again. But as they left the room, Per was wondering what words of solace Emil’s parents had heard from the doctors.

  * * *

  Per stayed with Nilla during lunch, but neither of them ate more than a couple of mouthfuls. When he had said goodbye to her, Marika walked with him to the lift – something she had never done before. Perhaps all this desperate waiting had brought them a little closer to one another, he thought, even if there was still a long way to go.

  ‘You’ll be here in plenty of time?’ said Marika.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘So when will you get here?’

  ‘As early as necessary.’

  Marika looked at him. ‘You don’t want to come at all, do you?’

  ‘No, who would?’ Per met her gaze. ‘But I will.’

  The lift doors opened behind him. He leaned forward to give his ex-wife a friendly hug, and she accepted it in silence.

  She had changed her perfume, he noticed. Marika’s body felt tired and fragile, and after a few seconds it began to shake. Per held her until she stopped crying, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. There was no love there any longer. There was only tenderness.

  He held Marika and thought of Vendela.

  As he was walking through the hospital foyer, his vision blurred, he saw a boy wearing a black jacket and carrying a black rucksack coming towards him from the bus stop, his head bowed. He looked tired and fed up.

  As the boy came closer he recognized his own son.

  ‘Hi Jesper.’ Per cleared his throat, fighting back the tears. ‘Has school finished?’

  Jesper nodded. ‘I’ve come to see Nilla.’

  ‘Good … she’ll be pleased. Her operation is the day after tomorrow; we’ve just had a meeting with the doctor who’s going to make her better. He’s very good.’

  Jesper nodded without speaking. He took a couple of steps past Per, then stopped and asked, ‘Did you and Granddad carry on with the steps?’

  ‘The steps?’ said Per. Then he remembered their building project in the quarry. ‘We did – they’re almost finished.’

  ‘Good,’ said Jesper. He hes
itated, then added, ‘It was me that wrecked them.’

  ‘You mean … when they fell down?’

  Jesper stared at the ground. ‘I was trying to carry on with them by myself and finish them when you went to fetch Granddad … but the whole thing collapsed.’

  ‘I see. It doesn’t matter … but you’re lucky the stones didn’t fall on top of you.’ He laughed and went on, ‘I thought it was the trolls who had knocked the steps down. After all, they do live in the quarry, according to our neighbour Gerlof.’

  Jesper was looking at him as if he was crazy.

  ‘It was a joke,’ said Per. He went on quickly as if Jerry were still alive, ‘But next time you come to Öland we’ll finish them off. Nilla will be able to help too, when she gets home.’

  He stressed the word when, and looked into his son’s eyes to try to share the hope he still felt.

  ‘OK.’

  Jesper allowed his father to hug him without giving any indication of whether he believed Nilla would get better or not. Then he adjusted his rucksack and went into the hospital.

  Per’s mobile rang as he was getting into the car. A bright, friendly female voice announced, ‘Hello, this is Rebecka from the funeral director’s office. We’ve got two possible dates for the ceremony.’

  ‘Ceremony? What ceremony?’

  ‘The funeral of Gerhard Mörner,’ said the woman. ‘Tuesday, May twelfth or Thursday, May fourteenth – a spring funeral. Two o’clock in the afternoon on both days. Which would suit you best?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Per made an effort to pull himself together. ‘Thursday, maybe.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said the woman. ‘In that case I’ll book the fourteenth. Have a nice weekend.’

  59

  Vendela had been unfaithful. Physically and mentally. Both were just as bad.

  When she got home after spending the night with Per Mörner, she went out to do some work in the garden, creating order on the new plot.

  She thought constantly about what had happened. What had she done? She had spent the night with Per, lying close beside him as they touched one another and whispered secrets.