The Quarry

by Johan Theorin

  The car shot backwards in the darkness, and he heard a door slam shut.

  Footsteps crunched towards him over the gravel. Thomas Fall stopped and lifted something in the air. When Per looked up he could see it was a can of petrol.

  The surprise is that it isn’t a surprise at all.

  He couldn’t move. He was on his knees, his ribs were broken and he was surprised at the tepid warmth of the petrol being poured over him. Compared with the cold evening air the liquid could almost be called hot, and it made his skin burn and smart as it ran down over the cuts in his face.

  There was a calm, rhythmic glugging sound as the plastic container was emptied. Then the sound stopped and the empty container was thrown to one side.

  He was in the middle of a large puddle, his clothes sodden. He was dizzy from the blow to his head, and the petrol fumes were making the world blurred and unclear.

  Supporting himself on his hands, he tried to lift his knees from the ground. But it was difficult to focus, and Thomas Fall was no more than a shadow against the dark-red evening sky.

  Like a troll, thought Per. His half-brother looked exactly like a troll.

  ‘Walpurgis Night,’ said Fall. ‘People will be lighting fires all over the island tonight.’

  Then he took something out of his jacket pocket, something small that made a faint rattling noise.

  It was a box of matches.

  Per suddenly thought of something he could do – he could beg for mercy. Brother to brother.

  And for Nilla’s sake, too. How many hours to go now?

  He opened his mouth. ‘I’ll keep your secret,’ he whispered.

  His half-brother didn’t reply. He opened the box and took out a match. Then he closed the box, held the match between his fingers and struck it.

  There was a faint crackle and the match was burning just a metre or so in front of Per’s eyes, and in the darkness of the quarry the glow was so bright that everything else disappeared.

  He closed his eyes and waited.

  68

  How far was it to Per Mörner’s cottage over by the quarry? Seven hundred and fifty metres perhaps, or even eight hundred. Gerlof remembered that his friend Ernst had put up a beautifully polished sign by the road: CRAFT WORK IN STONE 1 KILOMETRE, but it wasn’t quite that far. He consoled himself with that thought once he had managed to get across the road safely.

  It wasn’t far at all.

  Gerlof knew every centimetre of this narrow, bumpy track; he had walked up and down it countless times on his visits to Ernst, but it was six or seven years since he had last walked over to the cottage. He had been about seventy-five then, more or less healthy and almost young.

  With his aching legs and hips he was able to take only small, cautious steps, which made the journey seem endless. The track curved around the quarry, and way ahead in the distance Gerlof could see the gravelled area in front of Ernst’s cottage.

  Could he really walk that far? He had managed the first hundred metres, but his body was aching and his legs were trembling. His only consolation was that he had put on his winter coat before setting off; it was buttoned up to the top, and kept his back and shoulders warm.

  He didn’t know what time it was, but the sun was low over the sound now. It would soon be gone. The wind had got up and was making his eyes smart. He blinked away the tears and battled on.

  After a few minutes he passed the first of the luxury homes. Kurdin, that was the name of the family. He couldn’t see anyone, but there were lights showing in a couple of the tall windows. He considered turning off and ringing their doorbell, but gritted his teeth and kept on going.

  He was still managing to keep his balance with the aid of his stick, although his knees had started to stiffen up.

  He was too far away from the quarry to be able to look over the edge and check if the car he had seen had pulled in at the bottom. But he strongly suspected that the driver had been on his way there to meet Per Mörner.

  What could Gerlof do when he got there? Wave his stick at the car and try to frighten the man away?

  He didn’t know. Perhaps he should have called the police instead of setting off to find Per – but then all he had to go on was a bad feeling, and that was hardly likely to get the police to send a car out to northern Öland.

  Now he was passing the second new house, where Vendela Larsson had organized a get-together for the neighbours at Easter. There were no lights on anywhere.

  He stopped at the end of the Larssons’ drive to catch his breath, longing for his wheelchair. Still three hundred metres to go to Per’s cottage, or maybe four hundred.

  One step at a time.

  He still couldn’t see anyone around the quarry, but the old Saab was parked outside the cottage. So Per was home, unless he’d gone out for a walk.

  A sturdy wooden bench would have been useful at this point, but there wasn’t even a rock to sit on here by the track. He just had to keep battling on. He could hear the wind in his ears, and perhaps something else – the sound of a car engine idling?

  When he was two hundred metres from Per Mörner’s cottage, the sun began to slip down into the sound. The fiery glow was silently consumed by the horizon, leaving a burning sky in the west that was gradually beginning to darken.

  As soon as the sun had disappeared, the night began to creep in across the coast. The quarry was filled with a grey gloom.

  Gerlof wanted to hurry on, but his strength was almost gone.

  After a hundred metres he had to stop and lean on his stick once again, and that was when he heard a dull roar.

  It came from the quarry. He took a couple more steps, and saw a bright glow down below.

  A new sun flared up briefly in the darkness down at the bottom of the quarry, yellowish-white and much brighter than the first, and a rumbling echo rolled up over the rock face. Something had exploded among the piles of stone.

  He breathed in the cold air and started to move towards the edge as quickly as he could. A car engine revved. He heard someone shouting down below, and a few seconds later came the acrid smell of burning petrol.

  69

  Per blinked, waiting for Thomas Fall to toss the match into the shining pool of petrol. He could simply flick it away with his thumb and forefinger, then take a step back to watch the conflagration.

  But Fall was much more cautious than that. He leaned forward slowly, lowering the match towards the pool.

  Per saw the flame twirl and grow – and then, at the last moment, a slightly stronger puff of wind from the sea blew it out. A glowing point lingered for a second, then disappeared.

  I ought to get up and make a run for it, thought Per. Or knock him down. After all, I can do a bit of judo, I ought to knock him down.

  But he couldn’t get up, he was too badly hurt. He had severe burns on his arm, and the rest of his body just felt numb. He was not aware of any pain in his broken ribs; he felt nothing.

  Fall didn’t seem annoyed that the flame had gone out; he quickly dropped the match and took out a new one. No, in fact he’d taken out three, Per realized – he put them together and struck them.

  He heard the crackling noise again, louder this time. The flame that sprang to life was three times stronger than the last one, and burnt more brightly. Per sat on the ground with his head pounding, still thinking about judo. He had sat in this position in the training centre in Kalmar, his knees resting on a thin, soft mat, and he remembered how he had learned to relax and focus on moving through the space. A fluid movement – throwing himself forwards, rolling to one side, falling backwards.

  Backwards. He could try to fall backwards.

  Now Fall was bending down towards the edge of the pool of petrol, and at the same moment Per gathered all his strength and threw himself backwards in a somersault. He relaxed as he fell, arched his back, turned his head to one side and tried to make his body into a soft arc, rolling away from the flame and the petrol.

  Fall had dropped the match. The fumes da
ncing just above the ground ignited first, then the entire pool began to burn with a dull puff! and a glow that lit up the rock face all around.

  For a brief moment Per found himself on his back at the edge of the pool of fire with his shoes pointing up at the sky, then he completed the backward somersault as his legs hit the ground and he felt a stab of pain bury itself in his ribs.

  But he was away from the fire. He had rolled backwards away from the pool of fire, and his petrol-sodden clothes were still only wet, not burning.

  Good, keep going, he thought. Get out of the way.

  His ribcage was throbbing and aching, but still he tried to get up. He put his right hand down on the gravel and managed to push himself up.

  Behind him the flames continued to dance.

  He had to try to get away, but where could he go? He was trapped in a giant punchbowl, with walls of rock several metres high all around him; between him and the track leading out of the quarry were Thomas Fall and his car.

  A wide, jagged shadow loomed before him in the darkness beyond the fire, forty or fifty metres away. Per realized it was the nearest heap of reject stone, where he and Jesper had found the oblong blocks for the steps. It was perhaps two metres high, like a little round fortress on the bottom of the quarry – he could hide there.

  He began to drag himself towards it. When he had gone some twenty metres, Per glanced behind him, but he could no longer see Thomas Fall in the glow of the fire. The burning petrol had begun to die down, but was still glowing and smouldering on the ground. The wind was spreading the billowing smoke, forming a grey curtain in the centre of the quarry – and somewhere behind it he heard the sound of a car engine starting up. The headlights swung around as if the car were searching for him.

  Per increased his speed, and seconds before the lights found him he hurled himself down behind the heap of stone.

  He clung to the dry blocks of limestone and tried to keep his head down.

  The headlights swept past; the car seemed to be driving around in circles in an attempt to find Per. The engine was revving in a low gear, reverberating between the rock faces like a growling prehistoric monster.

  Per took a deep breath of cold air and saw a faint glow down towards the coast in the south; he didn’t know what it was at first, but realized it must be a bonfire. They were burning all over the island this Walpurgis Night, and anyone who happened to see flames shooting up in the quarry wouldn’t give them a second thought. He couldn’t count on any help.

  Thomas Fall was still driving around in ever increasing circles. Sooner or later, Per would be discovered.

  Where was the axe? It had disappeared in the darkness.

  Per looked over at the rock face and the steps leading up to his cottage, to a telephone and to all of Ernst’s tools. A hundred metres away, perhaps. It wasn’t far, but there was nothing to hide behind on the way there.

  The beam of the headlights suddenly swept over him, and stopped. The engine roared and Per realized he had been spotted.

  The car waited a few seconds, then shot forward. It ought to brake soon, but instead it was speeding straight towards the pile. Per clung on tightly and tried to scramble higher up, but his hands slipped on the blocks of stone. His ribs banged into something hard, and he gritted his teeth.

  Fall braked at the last minute, but the bumper crashed into the stones just below Per’s legs. The impact made the entire pile wobble, and Per was surrounded by clattering and rattling as lumps of stone came loose and tumbled down the sides.

  The car reversed about ten metres, and he knew it would soon shoot forward at full speed again.

  He had no intention of waiting; he jumped down and began to run. Straight out into the open, heading for the stone steps. He just had to ignore the pain in his ribcage if he wanted to survive. He limped along as quickly as he could, but the car headlights picked him out. He could see his own shadow growing and dancing along across the ground.

  The engine started revving behind him.

  The steps were still fifty metres away, and Per wasn’t going to make it. He veered off towards the nearest rock face. The sheer wall was three or four metres high here; there was no way he could climb up it, but if he stayed put he would at least have a certain amount of protection – Fall was hardly likely to crash the car straight into the rock face.

  In the beam of the headlights he saw the clumps of red in the rock. The place of blood.

  He reached the rock face, pressed himself against it and tried to catch his breath. The car was still revving behind him, but Fall seemed to be hesitating. Then he swung the car around in a semicircle, pulled in as close to the rock face as he could some twenty metres away, and headed straight for Per.

  Per’s protection was gone, and all he could do was run towards the stone steps.

  He heard a shout above the roar of the engine, and looked up as he ran.

  Someone was standing at the top of the quarry – a tall, stooping figure leaning on a stick. It was old Gerlof. He was standing right on the edge, and Per saw him raise the stick.

  Per kept on going. The car behind him had picked up speed; he didn’t know how near it was, but it was sticking close to the rock face, and Per had no means of escape. All he could do was keep on running. He was aware of some kind of movement in the air above him, Gerlof seemed to be waving, but Per didn’t have time to look. His heart was pounding, his chest was aching, he was on the point of collapse.

  The car roared behind him and he reached desperately for the steps just ten metres away, but when he realized he wasn’t going to get there he took two long strides and hurled himself sideways, into the darkness. He rolled over and tried to tuck his legs beneath him.

  A second later the car swept past him close to the rock face; the left-hand wheels missed his feet by just a few centimetres.

  Per closed his eyes and heard the car brake violently. The gravel sprayed up around the tyres and the right-hand side scraped along the rock, then he heard a deafening crash and the screech of metal. Stones rained down on the bodywork.

  He opened his eyes.

  Thomas Fall had crashed into the flight of steps. One of the headlights had gone out on impact, but the rear lights were still glowing, like two red eyes in the darkness.

  Per could see that the entire flight of steps was beginning to collapse. The limestone blocks he had so carefully piled up teetered for a few seconds like long bricks, then they began to fall, smashing on to the car and crushing the bonnet and front windscreen.

  The ground beneath him shook as the uppermost blocks crashed down between him and the car. He closed his eyes again and waited until everything was quiet.

  The whining engine coughed and died, and suddenly there was total silence. Per breathed out and opened his eyes. The closest block of stone was just half a metre from his legs.

  Slowly he got to his feet and looked at the mangled car. The roof had been crushed and the side windows were broken; he couldn’t see any sign of movement inside.

  70

  There was a cold wind blowing when Per reached the top of the quarry.

  ‘I could see he wasn’t going to brake,’ said Gerlof. ‘He was going to run over you, so I threw my stick at the car.’

  Per wiped the blood from his split eyebrow and looked at Gerlof in the darkness. They were standing motionless just a metre apart on the edge of the quarry.

  ‘Did you hit it?’ he asked.

  ‘I hit the windscreen, I think, so it might have distracted him … then the car crashed into the steps.’

  Per nodded without speaking, and turned to look down into the quarry. The rear lights and one headlight were still glowing. A chaotic pile of gravel and blocks of stone covered the front of the car and hid the driver’s seat from view.

  The flickering glow of flames could be seen from the shore to the south, and the wind carried the faint sound of singing and music and happy laughter.

  When the steps had collapsed, Per had tried to lift the blocks of
stone off the car, but he didn’t have the strength. His ribs hurt too much. He had made his way slowly up the gravel track leading out of the quarry, then all the way around the edge to where Gerlof stood waiting.

  He looked at Per and asked quietly, ‘How are you feeling?’

  Per tried to work it out, then held up his burnt fingers. ‘OK, except for my hand. I think I’ve probably broken a couple of ribs too, and I’ve got some cuts and bruises. And I might have concussion … Apart from that, I’m fine.’

  ‘It could have been worse.’

  ‘Yes.’ Per looked down at the car; the lights seemed fainter now. ‘He had some kind of home-made fire bomb, just like when he burnt down the studio. He was going to set fire to me at first … then he tried to mow me down with the car.’

  ‘That was Hans Bremer,’ said Gerlof.

  ‘No, it wasn’t Bremer … that was the man who murdered Bremer. His name is Fall, Thomas Fall. He just borrowed Bremer’s name. My father never knew the real Hans Bremer, the man who died in his studio.’

  Per tried to remember whether Thomas Fall had said what he did. Was he in advertising? Whatever it was, he didn’t want to be associated with porn. He wanted the money, but not the reputation that went with it. And eventually, when Jerry was ill and Markus Lukas was dead and Jessika knew too much, and the real Hans Bremer was asking for more money, it was time to lure Jerry, Bremer and Jessika to the studio, burn the place down and get clean away.

  Per looked at Gerlof. ‘And you spotted him.’

  ‘I saw him sitting in his car out on the road,’ said Gerlof. ‘He was pouring some kind of liquid into a bottle … and then there were the watches.’

  ‘Watches?’

  ‘He was wearing two watches on the same wrist, one stainless steel and one gold, just like your father. I thought that was strange … so I wanted to see where he went.’

  Per let out a long breath. ‘I never saw him clearly … Did we look alike, Thomas Fall and I?’