Sail of Stone

18

They heard Sigge Lindsten’s voice before the car stopped. They heard his steps on the gravel. Aneta Djanali thought she saw the curtain move again. Fredrik had said it was the wind, that the window was drafty.

“Well, no one’s here right now,” said Lindsten.

That was a strange comment, thought Aneta.

“I thought you all would be here when we came,” she said.

“I had to run an errand.” He gestured with his hand. “The veterinarian had to look at Zack.”

“Anything serious?”

“They didn’t know. They admitted the dog, anyway. I guess we’ll see.”

“Is Anette home?” asked Halders.

“No.”

“No?”

“No. She and her mother went to the coast.”

“To the coast?”

“We have a little cottage down in Vallda,” said Lindsten.

“When did they leave?” asked Halders.

“Does it matter?” Lindsten looked from one officer to the other. “They’d had enough, quite simply. Anette couldn’t handle… how he was calling.”

Running away to yet another place, thought Aneta.

“Does Forsblad know about this cottage?” asked Halders.

“Yes, I suppose he does.”

“Is it so smart to go there, then?”

“There’s no telephone there. And Anette has the sense to turn off her cell.”

“But he doesn’t need to call. He can go there himself,” said Halders.

“I don’t think so,” said Lindsten. “I don’t think he would dare to.”

“What kind of car does Forsblad have?” asked Halders, but at that moment his telephone rang. He answered and listened and hung up.

“The car belongs to a Bengt Marke,” he said to Aneta, and looked at Lindsten. “A car drove past here a few times when we got here. A Volvo V Forty, a few years under the hood. Black, but they all are. Bengt Marke. Is that someone you know?”

“Never heard of him.”

“We’ll have to check him out,” said Aneta to Halders.

“I’ll call down to… Anette and my wife and say that you were here,” said Lindsten.

“How can you do that?” asked Halders. “There’s no telephone in the cottage.”

“I’ll leave a message on her voice mail.”

“Didn’t you just say that she never checks it?”

“I never said that,” said Lindsten.

“Okay,” said Halders.

“What are you going to do about this?” asked Lindsten.

“We’re going to talk with Forsblad,” said Halders.

“Can you do that?”

“We can do everything,” said Halders.

In the car, Halders wore an expression that Aneta recognized. He was staring straight ahead. Aneta was driving.

“Have you become interested in this too?” she asked.

“Curious,” said Halders. “About that Herr Hauptsturmführer Hans Forzblatt. But also about the rest of them.”

“Good.”

“Not least about the girl who was hiding behind the curtain while we were standing outside that place.”

“Are you guessing now, Fredrik?”

“No sir.”

“You really saw her?”

“Yes sir.”

“How well documented are the events surrounding shipwrecks?” said Ringmar.

“Is it called a shipwreck?” said Winter.

“Answer the question,” said Ringmar.

“I don’t know,” said Winter. “The boat, the Marino, sank on their way home from south of Iceland.”

“Where did it happen?”

“I don’t know.”

“But two men survived?”

“Apparently. John Osvald’s brother and another crew member.”

“Were they on board at the time?”

“I don’t know.”

“Or were they in harbor?”

“I don’t know.”

“Has anything been recovered from the wreck? Wreckage?”

“I don’t know.”

“It must have gotten some attention at the time. Something, at least. In the paper over there.”

“I don’t know.”

“Were there any dives for the wreckage?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you know, Erik?”

“I really don’t know, Bertil.”

Hans Forsblad lived as a “boarder” with someone on the northern riverside; that was his expression. It means that he has to go over a bridge from Hisingen to get to Anette, thought Aneta. Always something.

“Look at that,” said Halders as they studied the nameplates at the door. “Someone else from the Marke family resides here.”

Aneta read: Susanne Marke. Fourth floor. She looked up. Could be that balcony. Or that one. Must be a nice view over the river. You would see several churches. The sea was so close you could dive. You would probably kill yourself, but you could consider giving it a try.

“Does he live with her?” said Halders.

“I don’t know.”

Winter was alone in the room. He was playing Haden and Metheny, Beyond the Missouri Sky, Haden’s bass ambling around the walls, Metheny’s guitars layered above it, doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo. Spiritual, beautiful like the dawn in September, like a streak of smoke across the horizon, like his daughter’s smile, like the beach grove where their house-

The phone rang, doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo; he answered without lowering the volume, heard the Realtor’s voice, It’s about time for a decision, isn’t it? Do you know what you-

I know.