The Quarry (12 page)

Per moved backwards across the gravel. He bumped into something solid, turned around and saw that it was his own Saab. Flakes of dirty white ash had begun to accumulate on its roof.

A burning bed, a body in the smoke. And the frightened cries of a woman
.

He looked around.

Jerry? Where was Jerry?

Oh yes, he was still sitting in the car.

He looked back at the house. The flames were shooting out of the windows on both floors now.

The fire-fighters were moving around their vehicles, dragging out bulky hoses and starting to connect them up. One of them, dressed in a red jacket, strode over to Per and leaned close to make himself heard through the roar of the fire: ‘What’s your name?’

‘Per Mörner.’

‘Are you the owner of this property, Per?’

He shook his head. He took a deep breath and tried to explain, but his windpipe felt as if it had disintegrated in the dry heat.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes, it’s just …’

‘The ambulance is on its way,’ said the fire-fighter. ‘Do you know where the fire started?’

Per swallowed. ‘Everywhere,’ he whispered. Then he took another deep breath and tried to give a sensible answer: ‘There was fire upstairs and downstairs … and I think someone might still be inside. Perhaps more than one person.’

‘What?’

‘I think I saw a person inside the house. And I heard cries.’

He had raised his voice; it sounded better now. The fire-fighter blinked and looked at him. ‘Where exactly was this, Per?’

‘Upstairs, in the rooms upstairs. It was burning inside the rooms, so I …’

‘OK, we’ll search the place. Are there any LPG bottles in the house?’

Per shook his head. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘It was a … a film studio.’

‘Any hazardous liquids?’

‘No,’ said Per. ‘Not as far as I know.’

The man nodded and went back to the fire engines. Per saw that three of his colleagues were pulling on suits with breathing apparatus on their backs. The specialist search team. Two of the others turned on the water from their tank and directed the stream of water up towards the broken windows.

The search team moved slowly towards the front door, and at the same time a red car with the words EMERGENCY RESCUE TEAM on the side pulled into the drive. A man in a yellow jacket got out, holding a two-way radio in his hand. He switched it on and started reporting to someone.

Per coughed and drew more air into his lungs. Then he went back to the car and opened the door. His father was slumped in the passenger seat, his briefcase on his knee.

Per showed him the mobile phone he had found in the hallway. ‘Is this yours?’

Jerry looked and nodded. Per handed it over. ‘How are you feeling now?’

Jerry’s only response was a cough. Per could see him clearly for the first time that day, and he looked pathetic – tired and grey in his crumpled coat. When Per was little and his father used to come and visit him and Anita, Jerry’s hair had been black and slicked back. He had always worn expensive fur coats in the winter and Italian suits in summer. Jerry had earned a lot of money, and liked to show it off.

When Per was fifteen, his father had suddenly changed his name from Gerhard Mörner to Jerry Morner, possibly in order to appear more international.

‘You stink,’ Jerry said suddenly. ‘Stink, Pelle.’

‘So do you, Jerry … We stink of smoke.’

Per looked over at the burning house. The men with breathing apparatus were making their way up the stone steps now. The one in front opened the door wide and took a step inside, straight into the thick smoke, and disappeared. The other two remained outside.

Half a minute passed, then suddenly the first man reappeared in the doorway and shook his head at the other two. He raised his hand.

They went back down the steps.

Per realized there was no hope for anyone inside the house.

‘Go, Pelle?’ said Jerry behind him.

It was a tempting thought, simply to start the car and set off for Öland – but of course it was impossible.

‘No,’ Per said. ‘We have to wait here.’

Several more sirens could be heard in the distance. An ambulance swung in and parked between the fire engines and the Saab. The siren was switched off and two paramedics climbed out. They stood looking at the burning house with their arms folded; there wasn’t much else they could do.

‘Come with me,’ said Per, helping his father out of the car. They went over to the ambulance, and Per pointed at Jerry. ‘My father’s got an injury to his stomach, and he’s had some kind of blow to the head … Could you take a look at him?’

The paramedics nodded, without asking any questions. They simply opened the back doors of the ambulance and helped Jerry inside.

Per himself was starting to feel a little better; he just needed lots and lots of fresh air. He left Jerry and walked over to the fence running along one side of the house. He stood there for a minute, deep in thought, looking over at the forest. Then he climbed over the fence.

He had stared so much at the burning house that he hadn’t noticed that the sun had gone down. It was almost dark now, and as he crossed the field he glanced at his watch: it was ten to seven.

He thought about Jerry, who always wore two watches when he was working: one stainless steel, one gold.

The forest rose up ahead of him. Per searched for the opening among the fir trees, and found it after a few minutes. It was a forest track, deserted but not overgrown. There was a strip of grass down the middle, with a broad rut along each side. He bent down. The ground was hard and stony, but with patches of wet mud here and there, and in the fading light Per thought he could see fresh tyre marks.

He straightened up and looked along the track, which wound through the trees and disappeared round a bend. Where did it end? Perhaps it led to a road north of Ryd.

A good escape route.

Ten minutes later he was back at the house. He stayed away from the fire-fighters, but stopped by the ambulance.

The paramedics had cleaned up Jerry’s wound. Now the blood had gone, a long, red slash was visible across his pale, fat belly.

‘It looks like a knife wound,’ said one of the paramedics as he applied a dressing. ‘Pretty superficial – I think the knife must have slipped.’

‘Slipped?’ said Per.

‘Slipped across the skin … He’s been lucky, it should heal in a week or so. Then you can go to a clinic and ask them to remove the dressing, or do it yourself.’

Per helped Jerry back to the car. They sat beside each other in the front seats, gazing over at the house.

Eventually Per broke the silence. ‘There was a body in a bed upstairs,’ he said. ‘At least I think it was a body, but I could hardly see anything with all the smoke … and I thought I heard cries.’

He sighed, leaned back in his seat and thought about the open window. Who had opened it?

His father was mumbling something beside him. His brain seemed to have shut down again.

Per made a fresh attempt. ‘What did you and Bremer talk about?’ he asked. ‘What did he say when he called and wanted you to meet him here?’

‘Can’t remember,’ said Jerry.

‘But why did you have a fight?’

Jerry just coughed and leaned back. Per sighed, placed his hands on the steering wheel and gazed at the dark-grey sky. ‘I have to go home soon,’ he said. ‘Nilla, my daughter, she’s in …’

He stopped speaking as a white Volvo turned into the drive. It was moving slowly as it swung around the fire engines then pulled up facing Per’s car. When it had stopped directly in front of him, a man and a woman got out. They were dressed in civilian clothes, but he suspected he knew who they were.

The man went over to the ambulance; the woman came over to Per’s car, and he opened the door.

‘Good evening.’

‘Good evening,’ said the woman, showing him her ID. She was from police headquarters in Växjö. ‘Was it you who called the emergency services?’

‘Yes,’ said Per.

The officer asked for his name and address, and he gave them.

‘And who are you?’ she said to Jerry, who stared sullenly back at her.

Per knew that his father had never been fond of the police. Police officers and traffic wardens were two of his bugbears.

‘This is my father, Jerry Morner,’ said Per. ‘He owns the property.’

‘I see,’ said the police officer, glancing over at the fire. ‘Well, let’s hope you’re insured. Are you, Jerry?’

No response.

‘My father’s had a stroke,’ Per explained. ‘He has some speech problems.’

The officer nodded. ‘So you were both here before the fire started?’

‘Something like that,’ said Per. ‘Jerry was here … I arrived just after.’

‘Can you tell me what you saw?’

Nothing to hide
, Per thought again. Then he began to tell her about going into the house, discovering Jerry and the petrol can, helping his father out and going back inside.

The officer took out a notebook and started to write down what he said. ‘So you saw somebody upstairs? And you heard cries for help?’

‘I think so.’

‘Did you see anyone else in or near the house?’

Per was silent, considering what he had seen. A figure fleeing into the trees? And tyre tracks from a car?

‘I didn’t see anything clearly … But someone had knocked my father down, and slashed him with a knife.’

‘Oh?’

‘Bremer,’ said a voice behind Per.

‘Bremer?’ said the police officer. ‘Who’s that?’

‘Hans Bremer, he’s my father’s associate,’ said Per. ‘He might be the person inside the house.’

All three of them gazed silently at the blaze, which was still defeating the efforts of the fire-fighters. Sparks were shooting up into the sky, and the heat could be felt right across the drive.

‘OK,’ said the police officer, looking around. ‘My colleagues and I will make a start on cordoning off the area.’

‘So you’re treating this as a crime scene?’ said Per.

‘It could be.’ She turned away.

‘Is it all right if we leave?’ Per said to her back. ‘I mean, there’s nothing more we can do, is there?’

She shook her head. ‘We’ll soon be done here,’ she said over her shoulder, ‘and then you can follow us up to Växjö in your car.’

‘What for?’

‘We’d just like to do another interview back at the station. It won’t take long.’

Per sighed. He looked up at the darkening sky, then down at his watch. It was quarter to eight.

He felt very tired. The plan had been to drive Jerry back to his apartment in Kristianstad, but then he wouldn’t have time to get back to Öland tonight. And Jesper would have to spend the night alone in the cottage.

He turned around. ‘Jerry, I won’t have time to drive you home tonight. You’re going to have to come to Öland with me.’

His father looked at him. ‘Öland?’

He looked doubtful, and Per had his doubts too. After all, he had promised himself that he would keep Jerry away from Nilla and Jesper.

‘Yes … well, I mean, you are my father, after all. Part of the family.’

‘Family?’ Jerry didn’t seem to understand the word.

‘My family,’ said Per. ‘So you can come and celebrate Easter with me and Nilla and Jesper in our summer cottage – on one condition.’

Jerry waited, and Per went on: ‘That you keep quiet.’

‘Quiet?’

Per nodded. Asking someone who couldn’t manage a whole sentence to keep quiet was quite funny, of course, but he wasn’t laughing.

‘I want you to keep quiet, Jerry. You are not to tell your grandchildren what you and Bremer used to do here.’

Vendela was wearing a white cap and a windproof red tracksuit as she bent down to the dog basket in the hallway and kissed Aloysius on the top of his head. Then she went to the front door. ‘I’m going for a run!’ she called out. ‘See you in an hour or so!’

There was no reply from Max, just a whimper from Aloysius. He was uneasy; perhaps he sensed there was going to be a party. Since he had lost his sight, Ally always found strange voices around him quite stressful.

It looked as though there were going to be about ten people at Wednesday’s get-together: she and Max, the Kurdins and their baby, Per Mörner and his two teenage children, plus Gerlof Davidsson, the elderly man from across the road, and his friend John. She wouldn’t need to prepare too much food, although of course it was important to work out how much they would need. She would go down to Borgholm tomorrow and fill the car with supplies, including dog food.

Then all she had to do was get everything ready for Wednesday, and she wouldn’t get any help from Max. But she wasn’t going to think about that now, she was going to go for a run.

Vendela had taken up jogging ten years ago. She had actually started when she married Max, who didn’t run and couldn’t understand why she wanted to do it. Last winter she had stayed fit by jogging on a running machine, but she had missed nature and the chance to be out in the open air.