The Voices Beyond: (Oland Quartet Series 4)

by Johan Theorin

  No, there were some items of clothing hanging up to dry below the ceiling, and he was not alone. A small figure was fast asleep under several blankets on the other camp bed. The boy – Jonas Kloss.

  When Gerlof blew out the candles, his breathing had slowly calmed down and, at last, all was quiet.

  Gerlof had been too agitated and taken aback to settle down properly. He had nodded off after a while, in a half-sitting position on his bed, the ridiculous stone cudgel by his side, determined to keep a vigil in case of unknown dangers. Dead seamen and hungry monsters. But they had failed to materialize.

  Now he placed his feet on the cold floor and opened the blind to look at the world outside.

  The shore was just as grey as the water; the sun had yet to reach its summer strength. There wasn’t a soul in sight along the coastline, and no sign of a shipwreck out in the Sound. The sea was as calm as a mirror – but, suddenly, he saw something moving down there, a little coal-black head swimming along by the shore.

  Behind him, Jonas stirred.

  ‘Good morning,’ Gerlof said.

  ‘Is he there?’ The boy’s voice was full of anxiety.

  ‘No, there’s no one out there at all,’ Gerlof said quietly. ‘All I can see is a mink; he’s probably searching for birds’ eggs.’

  A few gulls were circling above the shore, uttering shrill warning cries. They had also spotted the mink, and soon the first bird came swooping down towards the water, using its sharp beak as a weapon. The mink quickly disappeared beneath the waves as the gull attacked, but popped up again a short distance away and headed towards the shore, where the rocks provided some protection. It emerged from the water, shook itself with a certain elegance, then slunk away like a wriggling black eel.

  Gerlof smiled at the boy. ‘How are you feeling this morning? Better?’

  Jonas nodded, but his expression was strained and frightened. ‘Can you see anybody?’

  ‘No,’ Gerlof said again. ‘And there’s no ship either.’

  He noticed an old drawing pad on the little bookcase. One of the grandchildren must have left their paper and crayons. The pad gave him an idea.

  ‘Shall we try to work out what the boat looked like?’ he said. ‘You can describe it to me, and I’ll draw it.’

  ‘OK,’ Jonas said.

  Gerlof picked up a black crayon and drew the outline of an Öland fishing boat. He added a small wheelhouse and a short mast in the prow. ‘Was it a fishing boat? One like this?’

  ‘No. I could smell fish on the deck, but it was longer.’

  Gerlof drew a tugboat, with a reinforced prow and stern. ‘Like this?’

  ‘No … even longer than that,’ the boy said.

  Gerlof screwed up the piece of paper and made a third attempt. This time he drew a bigger ship, with several cargo hatches. ‘How about this?’

  Jonas nodded silently, and Gerlof felt quite pleased with himself.

  ‘And what was it made of? Wood or metal? Did you notice any rivets in the hull when you climbed aboard?’

  Jonas thought for a moment, then nodded again.

  ‘Good, so it was metal … What could you see on deck? Any kind of structure?’

  Jonas pointed. ‘There was a little kind of hut here at the front … and a bigger one at the back.’

  Gerlof started drawing and asked another question. ‘Did you notice any Plimsoll lines on the freeboard?’

  The boy looked at him blankly, so Gerlof went on: ‘It doesn’t matter … Were there any masts on the ship?’

  Jonas closed his eyes. ‘I can’t remember. There might have been a little one right at the front. And there was a big hatch in the middle.’

  Gerlof drew a thick line to mark the position of the hatch, then asked, ‘And where were these men who were dying?’

  ‘They were lying there. And there. And there.’

  ‘And the others?’

  ‘The man with the axe was standing here.’ Jonas pointed. ‘And there was an old man with white hair up in the wheelhouse … there.’

  Gerlof marked each spot with a black cross.

  ‘Did the ship have a name? Did you notice a name on the bow?’

  Jonas nodded. ‘It said “Elia”.’

  ‘Elia? As in the man who raised the dead in Zarephath?’

  The boy stared at him, and Gerlof realized that Jonas had yet to be confirmed. Then again, children probably didn’t read the Bible when they were preparing for their confirmation these days; they probably gave each other massages and sang happy songs.

  He wrote the name Elia on the bow of the ship. Good. Then he rolled up the drawing and nodded. ‘Well done, Jonas. Shall we go and have some breakfast? It’s on me.’

  He didn’t get a smile in return, but the boy nodded and got to his feet.

  Lisa

  The day after her second stint as a DJ, Lisa was woken by a noise outside the caravan. Someone was hammering metal. She sat up in bed and looked at the clock. Ten past ten. Her grandmother had always slept until at least ten o’clock in her old age. If I get up any earlier, the day is much too long, she used to say, making it clear how tedious she found life after the death of Lisa’s grandfather.

  Lisa’s life was far from tedious.

  The night before, Lady Summertime had almost got caught. Almost. A rich kid who had had far too much to drink and had been throwing his money around all night had placed his sweaty hand on hers just as she was about to remove his wallet from his jacket pocket.

  Fuck! she had thought.

  But a second later she had let go of the wallet (which was very fat, unfortunately) and allowed it to slip back into his pocket. The boy had stuck his tongue in her ear, then turned back to the bar, as drunk as a skunk. He hadn’t noticed a thing.

  Lisa got up and peered through the window at the glorious morning. The sky was bright blue and she could hear the rushing of the waves. The only slightly depressing note was struck by the maypole, abandoned over on the festival site and adorned with flowers that had wilted in the sunshine.

  She noticed an old man with white hair over by a caravan that was listing to one side. He was bent over a jack, trying to right it. That explained the noise. She turned away from the window and decided it was time for breakfast.

  When she had eaten, she picked up her mobile and called the apartment in Huddinge. It rang out twelve times before a hoarse, weary voice replied, ‘Hello?’

  Silas. It was quarter to eleven – early in the morning for him.

  ‘Hi, it’s me.’

  Silas sighed. Lisa could tell from his breathing that he was clean today. Tired, but clean.

  ‘Hi.’

  Then there was silence, apart from the sound of breathing.

  ‘How are you?’ Lisa asked.

  ‘OK. Thirsty.’

  ‘Well, have a drink then.’

  ‘There’s nothing in.’

  ‘Drink tap water.’

  ‘I don’t want to … There’s arsenic in tap water.’

  Silence.

  ‘I’ve sent you a letter,’ Lisa said.

  ‘With papers?’

  ‘Yes. Lots of papers.’

  ‘Good … Will you be sending more letters this summer?’

  ‘I think so,’ Lisa replied. ‘It looks that way.’

  ‘Great.’

  Silas didn’t say thank you, but he sounded pleased.

  The conversation didn’t last much longer, because Silas was on his way out. He didn’t say where he was going. As usual.

  Lisa switched off her mobile and sat motionless in the caravan for a little while. Eventually, she picked up an empty plastic container and went out into the sunshine to fetch some water. As she was standing by the taps, the door of one of the neighbouring caravans among the dog roses opened. Lisa recognized the young woman who stepped out; she was the girl who had been at the midsummer dance with the Kloss family.

  Paulina, wasn’t that her name? They nodded at one another.

  ‘Morning,’ Lisa said
. ‘So you live here, too?’

  Paulina nodded again.

  ‘Have you been here long?’

  ‘Two weeks … Summer job.’

  ‘Same as me,’ Lisa said. ‘I’m working here through July. Will you be going back to Poland after that?’

  Paulina shook her head. ‘Not Poland. I come from Lietuva.’

  ‘Lietuva?’ Lisa thought for a moment. ‘That’s Lithuania, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes … Lithuania.’

  Paulina didn’t say anything else. Lisa gazed at Paulina’s caravan; it was smaller and even older than hers, and much shabbier. It resembled a cracked egg more than anything. She suddenly felt privileged, and slightly embarrassed.

  ‘Right,’ she said, picking up the container, ‘I’d better go and get ready for work … Are you working today?’

  Another nod.

  ‘For the Kloss family?’

  ‘Not family. I only work for him.’

  ‘Him?’

  ‘Yes,’ Paulina said, her expression serious. ‘Only for Kent Kloss.’ She looked away and didn’t say any more. But Lisa got the feeling that Paulina didn’t much like what she had to do for Kent Kloss.

  Gerlof

  Jonas was recognized when they walked into the cottage; apparently, eleven-year-old Kristoffer, Julia’s bonus child following the loss of her son, Jens, had attended swimming classes with him. They said a slightly shy ‘hi’ to one another.

  Good. An established friendship would make everything easier, Gerlof thought. He led Jonas over to the telephone.

  ‘Ring your parents. They must be worried – tell them you’re fine.’

  The boy seemed hesitant. ‘There’s only my dad here … We’re staying with Auntie Veronica and Uncle Kent.’

  Gerlof nodded; he knew about the owners of the Ölandic Resort.

  ‘Well, call the house then. Tell them you’re over at the Davidssons’. Do you want them to come and pick you up?’

  Jonas shook his head, then slowly picked up the phone. His expression was so troubled Gerlof thought it best to leave the room. He heard the boy talking quietly to someone.

  Afterwards, they had breakfast. Gerlof was expecting his three grandsons to ask where he had found Jonas, but they didn’t, and after a little while Jonas started to join in with the conversation, smiling when the other boys smiled.

  Gerlof wasn’t smiling. He glanced over at the coffee table, where he had left the drawing of the ship. Elia. He looked at the black crosses by the cargo hatch, and pondered.

  After breakfast, he picked up the drawing and his straw hat and asked Jonas to come outside with him for a little while. They sat side by side on deckchairs on the lawn, with the sun starting to burn down on Gerlof’s shoulders and legs. Jonas kept his eyes fixed on the grass.

  ‘Are you thinking about what happened yesterday?’ Gerlof asked.

  The boy looked at him and nodded, and Gerlof knew that the fear had come back.

  ‘Everything you told me about the ship … Are you still saying it’s all true?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You saw dead seamen on the ship, and two people who were still alive. An older man up in the wheelhouse, and a younger man with an axe … and you think he comes from Africa. Is that right?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ Jonas said quietly. ‘But I didn’t say he was from Africa. You asked me what came into my mind when I saw him – I thought about African animals and jungle drums.’

  Gerlof was puzzled. ‘Have you ever been to Africa?’

  Jonas shook his head.

  Gerlof didn’t think he was going to get any further with this; he picked up his stick and slowly got to his feet. ‘I think we’d better call the police,’ he said.

  Jonas looked frightened, but Gerlof held up his hand.

  ‘It’ll be fine … We’re family.’

  Tilda Davidsson was the only serving police officer Gerlof knew, and she was also the granddaughter of his late older brother. Gerlof managed to get hold of her at home on the eastern side of the island and briefly explained what had happened.

  ‘So I was wondering whether the coastguard had seen any ships adrift in the Sound last night?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ Tilda replied. ‘I’m not with the coastguard. And it’s my day off.’

  Gerlof could hear children laughing in the background, but went on anyway. ‘Could you ask them to check?’

  ‘No, that will be up to the central communications office, if we decide the boy’s story is credible.’

  Gerlof sighed; so much hassle. ‘Well, could you come over and see what you think?’

  And she did, without any of her colleagues, and out of uniform. She was wearing a loose-fitting denim dress, and Gerlof wondered if she might be pregnant. However, he didn’t dare ask.

  Tilda said hello to Gerlof and the grandchildren, then shook hands with Jonas Kloss, who was playing a video game.

  ‘Tilda is a police officer from Kalmar,’ Gerlof explained. ‘I think it would be a good idea if you two had a little chat.’

  Jonas got up slowly, looking far from thrilled at the prospect. Tilda spoke quietly to Gerlof. ‘You can sit in.’

  ‘Can I?’

  ‘You can be a witness; the police sometimes bring in an independent observer to make sure an interview is carried out correctly.’

  Gerlof agreed, and followed Jonas and Tilda out into the shimmering heat.

  ‘Do you come here every summer, Jonas?’ Tilda asked when they were settled under the parasol.

  ‘No. Last summer we stayed at home with Mum. Because Dad …’ He fell silent and looked at Gerlof.

  ‘And where does your mum live?’ Tilda went on.

  ‘Huskvarna.’

  Gerlof sat quietly and let Tilda do the talking. First of all, they chatted about video games and football stickers, which it seemed Tilda knew quite a lot about. After a few moments, she leaned forward. ‘I believe you saw something terrible last night …’

  Jonas nodded.

  ‘Would you like to tell me about it?’

  ‘OK.’

  They sat there listening for twenty minutes. Gerlof heard the same story from Jonas Kloss all over again – the same dark ship in the Sound, the same dead seamen, the same man with the axe and the elderly man called Aron – and because it matched his first account so perfectly, Gerlof became more and more convinced that it was true.

  Afterwards, Tilda and Gerlof stayed in the garden and let Jonas go back indoors.

  ‘Your interrogation produced the same result as mine,’ Gerlof said.

  ‘That wasn’t an interrogation,’ Tilda quickly corrected him. ‘You have to be very careful when you question minors – we have specially trained officers for that. We were just having a chat.’

  ‘So are you going to look into this?’

  ‘Look into what, Gerlof? If the county police are going to send out officers to start knocking on doors and questioning witnesses, there has to be a crime scene. And as far as we know, there isn’t one.’

  Gerlof unfolded the drawing he had brought from the boathouse.

  ‘There’s this. I drew it this morning, with Jonas’s help. He says this is the ship he was on. It’s not from Öland.’

  Tilda looked at the sketch.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘It’s too big. It looks like a smallish cargo ship, probably around ninety feet, from the period between the wars. It could be an old cement ship from Degerhamn, but none of them is called Elia.’

  ‘OK, but in that case, where is it? I drove a little way along the coast road before I came here, and there were no ships in the Sound.’

  ‘It’s moved on. The boy said it had engines … I heard a ship last night, heading north, and I saw the backwash. It could have left the Sound and carried on into the Baltic.’ Gerlof paused for a moment, then added, ‘Unless it’s sunk. Or been scuttled.’

  ‘All right, you win.’ Tilda gave him back the drawing. ‘I can ask the coastguard to keep an eye open, but if no
ship turns up we don’t have much to work on. Just a little boy.’

  ‘A frightened boy. His whole body was shaking when he stumbled into my boathouse. He’d seen something truly horrific.’

  ‘Ghosts on a ghost ship,’ Tilda said.

  ‘Seeing ghosts isn’t the same as saying they exist,’ Gerlof insisted. ‘But I could tell you a story …’

  Tilda smiled wearily. ‘One of your ghost stories?’

  Gerlof wagged a finger at her. ‘Just you listen to me. This is true. It’s something that happened to me back in the fifties, when we were carrying stone to Stockholm. We sailed along the coast virtually every week – it was pure routine. But one hot summer’s day we stopped in Oskarshamn to unload a cargo of machine oil. There was a fishing boat moored beside us at the quayside; she looked completely seaworthy but seemed to be deserted. There was no sign of anyone on board. But at sea it’s a tradition to call on your neighbours, so when we’d finished unloading I went over to see where the crew were, thinking they might be asleep or something.’

  He glanced over to the west, where the water was just visible through the trees.

  ‘So I knocked on the wheelhouse door, but there was no response. No one was there. I could have gone back to my own ship, but I had a strange feeling. So I walked around the deck and saw that the cargo hatch was partly open. I looked down into the darkness, and they were just lying there. Two fishermen side by side in the hold.’

  ‘Murdered?’

  ‘That’s what I thought at first, so I climbed down. They were dead, but there wasn’t a mark on them – just a kind of blue tinge to their faces. That was when I guessed what had happened, and I tried to turn around to climb back up out of the hold. That’s the last thing I remember before I woke up on deck, with John yelling at me. Somehow I had managed to crawl up the ladder before I passed out. I felt terrible … you could say I was one of the living dead by that stage.’

  ‘So there was poison gas in the hold of this fishing boat?’

  Gerlof shook his head. ‘No, just fish … but it was the fish that had killed them. The fishermen had been cleaning their catch below deck, and the guts had started to rot in the summer heat, producing hydrogen sulphide. It had consumed all the oxygen, suffocating them.’