The Quarry

56

A bitterly cold wind was blowing in off the Baltic as Per got out of his car in front of the Honolulu restaurant. The air felt icy cold tonight, as if the winter had suddenly changed its mind and come back.

The restaurant was right by the water just outside the centre of Karlskrona, but it didn’t look as though it boasted many Michelin stars. Two of the neon letters weren’t working, so the sign above the entrance said HON LULU RE TAURANT.

He went into the warmth and took off his jacket. There were about thirty tables, only eight of which were occupied, but then it was Monday, after all. No doubt there would be plenty more customers in three days’ time, on May Day.

He sat down at a table in a quiet spot by the window and picked up the menu; the choice was limited almost exclusively to pizza and hamburgers. When the waiter appeared, Per ordered a glass of water and a Honolulu burger with cheese.

He glanced covertly at the waiter as he took Per’s order through to the kitchen. He was dark-haired and broad-shouldered like one of Jerry’s models, but he looked about twenty-five, and was hardly likely to have been employed by Jerry ten years ago.

When he came back with the food fifteen minutes later, Per asked, ‘Do you know Tobias Jesslin?’

The waiter put the plate of food down on the table. ‘Tobias? Tobias the chef?’

‘That’s right, the chef,’ Per said quickly. ‘I’d really like to speak to him.’

The waiter looked dubious. ‘Is it to do with the food?’

‘No, it’s nothing to do with the food.’

‘Tobias is rushed off his feet at the moment.’

‘But he’ll be free later, won’t he? Could you give him a note?’

The waiter hesitated, then nodded.

Per took an old receipt out of his wallet and quickly jotted down a message, similar to the one he had left at the Moulin Noir.

The waiter took the note and disappeared without a word. Per started to eat his burger, which was greasy and somewhat rubbery. He gazed out at the blackness of the sea as he chewed. The old cargo ships carrying limestone from Öland had sailed past out there, heading for Denmark and Norway.

When the plate was empty he sat there staring at the kitchen door. It remained closed.

The thought that Markus Lukas might be behind that door was making him nervous. After waiting for ten minutes he just had to do something. He got up, went into the empty foyer and called a mobile number he had rung earlier that day. It was answered immediately.

‘Fall?’

‘This is Per Mörner from Öland. I rang you this morning... about Hans Bremer?’

‘Yes, I remember.’

Thomas Fall sounded tired, but Per went on anyway. ‘I just wanted to check if you’d found that briefcase yet... Bremer’s briefcase?’

‘Yes... it was in the loft.’

‘Great. Have you looked inside?’

Fall seemed hesitant, as if he were embarrassed. ‘Yes... I did take a look, just a quick look. It’s full of old magazines, and some kind of book manuscript.’

‘Like a diary?’

‘Maybe. I haven’t read it.’

‘Could I have a look at it?’

‘Of course,’ said Fall. He paused. ‘Actually, you can have it. It’s no use to me.’

‘That would be great, although it’s going to be a bit difficult for me to come and pick it up...’

Per was just working out how he could drop everything and drive all the way back down to Malmö again — he couldn’t go so far away from Nilla right now — but Thomas Fall solved the problem.

‘I’m driving up to Stockholm for the May Day celebrations, so I could take a detour to Öland and drop it off, if I can have your address.’

Per gave it to him and explained how to get to Stenvik. ‘It’s the third house along by the quarry,’ he said. ‘The smallest one.’

He switched off his mobile and went back to the table. The waiter removed his plate.

At half past nine the kitchen door opened and a man in chef’s whites emerged. He came over to Per’s table and held up the note. He didn’t look put out or annoyed, just curious. ‘Did you write this?’ He spoke with a Skåne accent.

Per nodded, and the next question came:

‘So you’re Jerry Morner’s son?’

‘That’s right. And you’re Tobias?’

‘Yep. I did a bit of work for your father before I became a chef.’

Tobias’s face was sweaty, perhaps from the heat of cooking. But he looked Per in the eye, and didn’t seem bothered in the least.

‘I know,’ said Per. ‘Jerry called you Markus Lukas.’

Jesslin didn’t say anything for a few seconds.

‘Yes. But that’s all finished now. There’s hardly any Swedish porn these days... Practically all the films are made in the USA now, in California.’

‘Could we have a chat anyway? I’m just curious about a few things to do with my father’s activities.’

‘Sure... We can go to the staff room.’

Jesslin turned back to the kitchen. Per put the money for his meal on the table and followed him.

The smell of cooking hung in the air around the stoves, but the tiled floor looked clean. Tobias Jesslin led the way to the back of the kitchen and into a small room with closed metal cupboards, a shower, and a chair with several tables. A window framed a view of the sea.

‘Ulrica Ternman wanted me to say hello,’ said Per when Jesslin had closed the door.

‘Who?’

Jesslin sat down and took out a packet of cigarettes.

‘One of the girls you filmed with,’ said Per. ‘She was the one who gave me your name.’

‘Oh? I don’t remember.’ Jesslin lit a cigarette and blew the smoke up towards the ceiling. ‘I don’t even remember how many girls I filmed with... A hundred and twenty, maybe, or a hundred and fifty.’

Per realized he was supposed to look impressed, man to man. But all he said was, ‘How does that feel?’

‘How do you think?’ Jesslin gave a little smile. ‘A bit odd, like standing next to a conveyor belt as the girls came rolling along... But that was years ago; I’ve settled down now.’ He took a drag of his cigarette. ‘So how’s your dad these days?’

‘Not too well.’

‘No?’

‘No. He’s dead.’

‘Really? What happened?’

‘A car accident.’

Per was watching Jesslin closely, but his surprise seemed genuine.

‘That’s a shame,’ he said. ‘I liked Jerry, he was always himself. He was never ashamed of what he was doing.’

‘How long were you employed by him?’

‘Well, you say “employed”...’ Jesslin said, blowing out a stream of smoke. ‘I stood in front of the camera from time to time and got paid in cash.’

‘Did you work at the Moulin Noir as well?’

Jesslin nodded. ‘That was where Jerry found me. He saw me dancing, and said he could find me some work. Why not, I said. So he took me to a really good restaurant in Malmö, we had something to eat and drink and we chatted... and when we got to the coffee, this young, pretty girl turned up at our table and kissed Jerry on the cheek. Jerry asked for the bill and said, “OK kids, shall we get to work?” It was only then that I realized I was supposed to have sex that same afternoon with this girl, whose name I didn’t even know.’ He gave a brief laugh and added, ‘Things moved fast in the porn industry — but you got used to it after a while.’

Per was listening, but he wasn’t smiling. ‘So how many other men called Markus Lukas were there?’

‘A few that I know of... maybe two or three. There aren’t that many guys who can manage it.’

‘Manage what?’ said Per.

Jesslin nodded towards his trousers. ‘You know... getting it up to order, when the camera’s rolling.’

‘Did you know any of the others?’

‘Only one. He came from the Moulin Noir too... his name was Daniel.’

‘Daniel what?’

‘Daniel Wellman.’

‘How do you spell that?’

Jesslin spelled out the name and Per wrote it down. He hoped he was on the way to finding Markus Lukas the troll now.

‘And you did a lot of filming together?’

‘Sure, we went up to Jerry’s studio in Småland every weekend.’

‘It’s gone now,’ said Per.

‘Gone?’

‘The whole place burnt down a few weeks ago.’

‘How come?’

‘It was deliberate — arson,’ said Per. ‘Somebody had set some kind of timed incendiary devices in the house.’

Jesslin thought for a moment.

‘That sounds like Bremer, he was fond of pyrotechnics... sometimes in the summer we filmed scenes in a clearing in the forest where he’d rigged up a whole load of petrol containers... we were supposed to lie there naked among all the smoke and flames. Bremer had a couple of buckets of water behind the camera just in case anything went wrong, but I was still scared shitless, lying there on a mattress stark bollock naked, surrounded by flames.’ He smiled again. ‘Have you met Bremer?’

‘No,’ said Per. ‘And he’s dead too. He died in the fire.’

‘Oh?’ said Jesslin, still smoking.

‘Didn’t you like Bremer?’

‘Not particularly.’

‘Why not?’

Jesslin looked over at the dark window, as if he were recalling difficult memories. ‘I don’t know... personal chemistry, I suppose. Bremer worked fast, and he was really hard on the girls. If they were in pain during filming and wanted to stop, he didn’t give a damn. They just had to turn their faces away so the tears didn’t show, and we’d carry on filming. Finishing the film was all that mattered to him.’

‘To you too, I presume,’ said Per. He thought again how little Ingrid knew about her brother. Hans was too kind...

‘Of course, I was just as unfeeling as Bremer and Jerry after a while,’ said Jesslin. ‘I just wanted to get the filming done and go home. That job really did dull your perceptions.’

‘And what about the girls who died?’

Jesslin looked at him. ‘You mean Jessika Björk?’

‘Jessika Björk?’

‘She used to work at the Moulin Noir with me and Daniel,’ said Jesslin. ‘She was in several films with us — she called herself Gabrielle or something... but I heard from a friend that she died in a house fire a few weeks ago. Very sad — she was a lovely girl. And she wasn’t very old — only about thirty.’

‘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.