But of course we send letters to each other. I write the most often-several long letters in reply to one of his short ones.

Markus's letters are mostly about military exercises, and they don't come very often. But this just makes me fill letter after letter with my dreams and plans. When can we see each other again? When is he on leave? When does he finish?

He doesn't really know, but promises that we will meet up. Soon.

I begin to realize that I have to get away from Eel Point, take the ferry to the mainland and Markus. But how can I leave Torun? It's impossible.

27

Henrik knew the police were looking for him. Twice during the last week a police officer had left a message on his answering machine, asking him to come to the station for an interview. were looking for him. Twice during the last week a police officer had left a message on his answering machine, asking him to come to the station for an interview.He hadn't bothered going in.Of course, he couldn't keep on playing truant like that, but he needed time to get rid of the evidence of his career as a burglar. The most tangible was certainly the boathouse full of stolen goods."I can't have the stuff here any longer," he said when he called Tommy. "You have to come over and deal with it.""Okay ..." Tommy didn't sound stressed in the slightest. "We'll bring the van over on Monday. At about three.""And you'll bring the money?""Sure," said Tommy. "It's cool."Monday was the day before Christmas Eve. Henrik was working up in Marnas, but finished at two and drove straight down to the boathouse in Enslunda.When he got out onto the coast road, he heard that the weather forecast was predicting persistent snowfall and strong winds over oland and Gotland that evening-and there was a storm warning for the Baltic. But the weather was still fine, the sky dark blue. A bank of gray cloud was approaching the island from the east, but Henrik would soon be back in Borgholm.As usual there was n.o.body down by the boathouse. Henrik swung the car around and reversed the last few yards down to the white boat, standing on its trailer. The previous weekend he had been here with Camilla. She had wanted to look in the boathouse, but he had managed to talk her out of it. Instead they had taken the boat out of the water and removed the outboard motor. They hadn't managed to cover it with a tarpaulin, but he would do that now.As he stepped out onto the gra.s.s and breathed in the smell of seaweed, he thought about his dead grandfather for half a second, then lifted the handle of the trailer to attach it to the tow bar on the back of his car.The idea of hiding some of the stolen goods came to him a little bit later, as he stood inside the boathouse looking at everything they had collected during the fall. There must have been a hundred items, large and small, antique and modern. Henrik had no real idea what was there, and he was sure the brothers hadn't either.His boat wasn't registered anywhere; there was no way the police could know he had it. Once he had taken it to the industrial estate outside Borgholm, he could drive out there and pick up the stolen goods whenever he wanted.Henrik decided to go for it. He picked up one of the old limestone vases, worth maybe five thousand kronor in an antique store, and carried it out to the boat.It was snowing now, feathery flakes floating down toward the ground.He carefully placed the vase on the floor next to the driver's seat. Then he went back to the boathouse and picked up a box of vintage Scotch.Eventually Henrik had carried over a dozen or so items and hidden them between the seats in the boat. The floor was almost full of stolen goods by this stage. He fetched a green tarpaulin from the boathouse, pulled it over the boat from prow to stern, and fastened it with a long nylon rope.Done.The snowflakes had continued to fall at a leisurely pace, forming a thin white covering on the ground.When Henrik went back to lock the boathouse, he heard a dull roar through the soughing of the wind. He turned his head.Through the trees he could see a vehicle approaching, a dark van.The Serelius brothers pulled in next to Henrik's boat.The doors opened and slammed shut."Hi there, Henrik!"The brothers walked toward him through the snow, both smiling. They were dressed for the cold weather, in black padded jackets, boots, and lined hunting caps.Tommy was wearing huge ski shades, as if he were on vacation in the mountains. The old Mauser hung over his shoulder.He was on something, Henrik could see that despite the mirrored shades that hid his pupils. Crystal meth, no doubt. As usual he had red scratch marks on his neck and his chin was trembling. Not good."And so the time has come," said Tommy. "Time to wish each other a Merry Christmas."When Henrik didn't reply, he laughed harshly."No, of course that's not all ... we've come to collect the stuff as well.""Stuff," said Freddy."The loot.""And the money?" said Henrik."Sure. We'll share it like brothers." Tommy was still smiling. "What do you think we are, thieves?"It was an old joke, but Henrik's answering smile was tense; he realized they weren't really talking about the division of the stolen goods.He saw Freddy walk over to the boathouse and open the door wide. Then he disappeared into the darkness, but came straight back out with a television set in his arms."That's what we said," said Henrik. "Like brothers."Tommy went past him and walked over to the boat."I'm taking the boat home afterward," said Henrik. "So you're moving on now?""Yup ... back to Copenhagen. We're just going up to that place by the lighthouses first." Tommy waved his hand in a northerly direction. "To look for those paintings. Are you coming?"Henrik shook his head. He saw that Freddy had placed the television in the van and gone back into the boathouse."No, I haven't got time," he replied. "Like I said, I have to get the boat home.""Yes, yes," said Tommy, studying the trailer. "Where do you keep it over the winter?""Down in Borgholm ... behind a factory."Tommy pulled at the rope securing the tarpaulin and asked, "Is it safe there?""It's in a fenced yard."Henrik's pulse rate increased. He should have gotten more ropes and knotted them tightly over the tarpaulin. In order to distract Tommy, he started talking again:"Do you know what I saw out here back in the fall?""No." Tommy shook his head, but didn't take his eyes off the boat."It was in October," said Henrik, "when I was here emptying the boat ... I saw a motor cruiser, it must have come from the north. It put in up by the lighthouses at Eel Point, there was a guy standing in the prow ... and that evening they found her drowned, in just the same place. I've thought about it a lot."He was talking too much, and too quickly. But now at last Tommy turned his head."Who are you talking about?""The woman from the manor house up there," said Henrik. "Katrine Westin, I did some work for her last summer.""Eel Point," said Tommy. "That's where we're going. ... So you saw a murder there?""No, I saw a motorboat," said Henrik. "But it wasn't that easy to see ... it was just that they found her dead afterward.""f.u.c.k," said Tommy, not sounding particularly impressed. "Did you tell anyone?""Tell who? The cops?""No," said Tommy, "they would just have started asking you what you were doing out here. They might even have checked inside the boathouse and arrested you.""Us," said Henrik. said Henrik.Tommy looked at the boat again."Freddy told me a story on the way here," he said. "It was pretty cool.""Oh yes?""It's about a girl and a guy ... they're on holiday in the USA, driving around, and at a picnic area by the road they come across a skunk. They've never seen a skunk before, and they think it's really cute. The girl wants to take it home to Sweden, but the guy doesn't think customs will let wild animals through. So the girl suggests that she should smuggle the skunk through in her briefs. 'That's an idea,' says the guy. 'But what about the smell?'"Tommy scratched his neck and paused before the punch line:"'What's the problem?' says the girl. 'I mean, the skunk stinks as well.'"He laughed to himself. Then he turned around and grabbed hold of the tarpaulin."'The skunk stinks as well,'" he said again."Just a minute ..." Henrik began.But Tommy didn't wait, he pulled the tarpaulin hard, over to one side. He only managed to loosen a small section from the rope, but it was enough to reveal most of the stolen goods."Aha," said Tommy, looking down at the objects in the boat. Then he pointed at the ground. "You should have swept away the tracks in the snow, Henke ... you've been shuttling back and forth between the boathouse and the boat."Henrik shook his head. "I took a few things ...""A few?" said Tommy, beginning to walk toward him.Henrik took a step backwards. "So what?" he said. "I've worked hard for this. I've planned every trip, and all you've done-""Henke," said Tommy, "you talk too much.""Me? You can-" You can-"But Tommy wasn't listening; he struck out, fetching Henrik a hard blow in the stomach and making him stagger backward. There was a rock behind him; he slumped down on it and looked at the ground.His jacket was ripped. A narrow tear ran from the bottom of the material up toward his navel.Tommy quickly went through Henrik's pockets and fished out the car keys."Sit still ... I'll punch you again if you move."Henrik didn't move. His stomach started throbbing.The pain came in waves, and during one of them Henrik leaned forward and vomited between his legs.Tommy took a couple of steps away from him, adjusted the gun on his shoulder, and pushed the sharp screwdriver into his back pocket.Henrik coughed laboriously and looked up at him."Tommy ..."But Tommy just shook his head. "Do you think that's what we're really called ...Tommy and Freddy? Those are our stage names."Henrik had run out of words. And strength. He sat there on the rock in silence.Over by the road Freddy was still carrying stolen goods out to the van. Eventually he closed the door."Finished!""Good." Tommy straightened up, scratched his cheek, and glanced at Henrik. "You'll have to get the bus back ... or whatever it is they have out here. A horse and cart?"Henrik didn't reply. He just sat there on the rock, watching the Serelius brothers. Freddy climbed unhurriedly in behind the wheel of the van. Tommy settled himself in Henrik's Saab.The brothers were stealing both his car and his boat, and all Henrik could do was watch.He saw both vehicles disappear slowly toward the coast road.Eventually he took his hand away from his stomach and looked. The tear in his gray padded jacket was colored red now.And yet it wasn't bleeding that much, actually, just a little trickle. Henrik had given blood in Borgholm once, and they had taken a whole pint. This little drop was nothing.A little bit of stomachache, a slight shock, and one bout of vomiting. No problem.After a while he managed to get up from the rock. The blood throbbed in the wound with approximately the same rhythm as the waves rolling in toward the sh.o.r.e, but he was actually able to walk. His intestines and his liver must be okay.Colder air had started to blow in off the sea. Henrik thought about how his grandfather had died alone out here one winter's day, but pushed the thought aside.With his hand pressed against his belly, he started to walk toward his boathouse. The door was ajar, and he stopped on the threshold.All the stolen goods were gone. The only consolation was that Tommy and Freddy had taken the old stable lantern as well. Perhaps it was their turn to hear the knocking now.Henrik stepped inside with difficulty, and made his way over to his grandfather's workbench.Algot's old wood ax was laying there, a small but st.u.r.dy item. And the long, slender scythe was standing in one corner. He took the ax and the scythe and went slowly back outside into the snow.The padlock had fallen off into the snow. Henrik couldn't find it. All he could do was close the door behind him, which cost him considerable effort.Then he set off into the snow, away from the road and the boathouses and out onto the meadow by the sh.o.r.e.He carried on northward along the coast, his head bowed, walking diagonally into the strengthening wind. He was protected against the gusts of wind by his woolen hat and padded jacket, but it made his eyes and nose smart.Henrik ignored the cold, he just kept on walking.The Serelius brothers, or whatever their name was, had struck him down and stolen his boat. And they had talked about going up to Eel Point.In which case Henrik intended to meet them there.

28

Tilda rang the doorbell of Henrik Jansson's apartment in Borgholm, keeping her finger there for a long time. She waited in silence along with Mats Torstensson, one of her colleagues in the town. of Henrik Jansson's apartment in Borgholm, keeping her finger there for a long time. She waited in silence along with Mats Torstensson, one of her colleagues in the town.It was the day before Christmas Eve, and this should all have been sorted out much earlier, but Henrik hadn't turned up at the police station despite the fact that he had been called in for questioning about the wave of break-ins in northern oland. If he wasn't prepared to come in voluntarily, he would have to be brought in.There wasn't a sound. Tilda rang again, but no one opened the door and she couldn't hear anything when she pressed her ear against it. She tried the handle-it was locked."Maybe he's gone away," suggested Torstensson. "To his mother's or father's, for Christmas.""His boss said he was supposed to be working today," said Tilda. "Only half a day, but ..."She rang the bell again, and at the same time the outside door of the apartment block slammed and they heard the sound of boots clomping up the stairs. Tilda and Torstensson turned their heads at the same time-but it was a teenage girl who was coming up the stairs, a red woolen scarf covering half her face and a bag of Christmas presents in her hand. She glanced briefly at the uniformed police officers, but when she had unlocked the door opposite Henrik's, Tilda took a step toward her and said, "We're looking for your neighbor ...Henrik. Do you know where he is?"The girl looked at the nameplate on Henrik's door. "At work?""We've checked there."The girl thought about it. "He could be at the boathouse.""Where's that?""On the east coast ... somewhere. He wanted to take me out there to go swimming last summer, but I said no.""Good," said Tilda. "Have a great Christmas."The girl nodded, but glared at her bag of presents as if she were already pretty tired of the whole Christmas thing."That's it then," said Torstensson. "We'll have to bring him in after the holiday." said Torstensson. "We'll have to bring him in after the holiday.""Unless we b.u.mp into him on the way back," said Tilda.It was half past two. It was cold and gray out in the street, almost minus ten, and twilight was already falling."I finish in a quarter of an hour," said Torstensson as he opened the car door. "Then I have to go shopping ... I'm a little behind with the Christmas presents!"He looked at his watch. In his mind he was probably already at home with a gla.s.s of Christmas beer in front of the TV."I'll just call ..." said Tilda.Her five days of leave were also approaching, but she still didn't want to let go of Henrik Jansson.She got in the car and called Henrik Jansson's boss for the second time that day. He told her that Henrik's boathouse was at Enslunda.That was south of Marnas, quite close to Eel Point."I'll drive you back to the station," she said. "Then I can call in at Enslunda on the way up. I'm sure he won't be there, but at least I can check.""I'll come with you, if you want."Torstensson was a nice guy and his offer was no doubt serious despite the Christmas stress, but she shook her head."Thanks, but I'll call on the way home," she said. "If Jansson's there, I'll bring him back here and ruin his Christmas. Otherwise I'll go home and wrap presents.""Drive carefully," said Torstensson. "There's a snowstorm coming, you do know that?""Yup," said Tilda. "But I've got snow tires."They drove back to the station. When Torstensson had gone inside, Tilda swung the car around and was just on her way out of the parking lot when the door opened again.Mats Torstensson was waving at her. Tilda wound down the window and stuck her head out."What is it?""You've got a visitor," he said."Who is it?""Your tutor from the academy.""Tutor?"Tilda didn't understand, but she parked the car and went into the station with Torstensson. Reception wasn't manned. The Advent candles flickered in the windows, and most of the police officers on the island had already started their Christmas leave."I caught her," said Torstensson.He was speaking to a broad-shouldered man who was sitting in one of the armchairs in the waiting room. The man was dressed in a jacket and a pale gray police sweater, and smiled with satisfaction when Tilda walked in."I was in the area," he said, getting up. He held out a big present wrapped in red paper. "I just wanted to wish you a merry Christmas."It was Martin Ahlquist, of course.Tilda kept the mask in place and tried to smile."Hi, Martin ... same to you."Her lips quickly stiffened, but Martin's smile grew even broader."Would you like to go for a coffee?""Thanks," she said, "but I'm afraid I'm rather busy."She did accept the present, however (it felt like a box of chocolates), nodded to Mats Torstensson, then went out into the parking lot.Martin followed her. She turned around; now she no longer had to pretend to look pleased."What do you think you're doing?""What do you mean?" said Martin."You keep on calling me ... and now you turn up here with a present. Why?""Well ...I wanted to see how you were.""I'm fine," said Tilda. "So you can go home ... home to your wife and children. It's almost Christmas Eve."He just kept on smiling at her."It's all arranged," he said. "I told Karin I was staying over in Kalmar, and I'd be home early in the morning."For Martin everything seemed to be about practical problems-keeping the lies in some sort of order."You do that, then," said Tilda. "Take yourself off to Kalmar.""Why would I do that? I can just as easily stay over here, on oland."She sighed and walked over to her car. Opened the door and threw Martin's present on the back seat."I haven't got time to talk now. There's a guy I have to bring in."She closed the door before he had time to reply. Then she started the engine and pulled out of the station's parking lot.Soon she saw a blue Mazda pull out behind her.Martin's car. He was following her.On the way north from Borgholm she wondered why she hadn't been more determined in her efforts to get rid of him. She could have spat and yelled-perhaps he would have understood those signals.By the time Tilda reached the eastern side of the island, it was half past three. The daylight was almost completely gone; the sky was dark gray and the silently falling snow had changed and become more intrusive. The snow had become aggressive, she thought. The flakes had stopped whirling around aimlessly in the air and were grouping for attack. They hit the front of the police car in dense flurries, clinging to the windows. eastern side of the island, it was half past three. The daylight was almost completely gone; the sky was dark gray and the silently falling snow had changed and become more intrusive. The snow had become aggressive, she thought. The flakes had stopped whirling around aimlessly in the air and were grouping for attack. They hit the front of the police car in dense flurries, clinging to the windows.She turned off onto the narrow track down toward Enslunda. Martin's Mazda was still a little way behind her.In the glow of the headlights, Tilda could see that there were several tire tracks in the snow ahead of her, and when the track ran out fifty yards or so from the sea she expected to see at least a couple of parked cars.But the little turning area was completely deserted.There was nothing there but a ma.s.s of fresh tracks in the snow-tracks left by heavy shoes or boots, running back and forth between the tire tracks and one of the boathouses. The snowflakes were already beginning to cover them.The Mazda had pulled in and stopped behind her.Tilda put on her police cap and pushed open the driver's door against the wind.It was bitterly cold and desolate here at the edge of the Baltic. The cold and the emptiness made the entire coast feel menacing. The waves were rolling in, and had begun to break up the covering of ice offsh.o.r.e.Martin got out of his car and walked over to Tilda."This guy you're going to bring in ... is he supposed to be out here?"She just nodded. She would have preferred not to speak to him.Martin started to walk purposefully over to the boathouses. He appeared to have forgotten that he was a tutor and no longer a police officer.Tilda said nothing, she just followed him.A rhythmic thudding could be heard as they drew closer-the door of one of the boathouses was banging to and fro in the wind. Almost all the footprints in the snow seemed to lead to this particular building.Martin opened the door and peered in. "Is this one his?""I don't know ...I suppose so."Thieves are always afraid of other thieves, Tilda thought. They want good locks on their own houses. If Henrik Jansson had forgotten to lock up here, then something unforeseen must have happened.She went over to Martin and peered into the darkness. There was a workbench, some old nets and other fishing tackle and tools along the walls, but not much else."He's not home," said Martin.Tilda didn't reply. She went inside and bent down. Small shiny droplets could be seen on the wooden floor."Martin!" she shouted.He turned his head and she pointed at the floor."What do you make of this?"He bent down. "Fresh blood," he said.Tilda went outside and looked around. Someone had been injured, possibly shot or stabbed, but they had still been able to leave the area.She walked down to the meadow by the sea, where the wind was even stronger. There were indistinct tracks in the snow-a long line of footprints leading north.Tilda considered following the trail along the sh.o.r.e, facing straight into the wind and the raw chill from the sea, but the impressions would soon disappear in the falling snow.There were only two inhabited houses within reasonable walking distance, as far as Tilda knew: the Carlsson family's farm and, to the northeast, the manor house at Eel Point. Henrik Jansson, or whoever had made these footprints, seemed to be heading for one of them.A fierce gust of wind gave Tilda a push, and she turned around and headed back toward the car, away from the sh.o.r.e."Where are you going?" shouted Martin behind her."It's confidential," she replied, and continued on to the police car.She got in without checking whether he was following her or not. Then she switched on her police radio and called central control in Borgholm. She wanted to report the suspected altercation by the boathouses and to let them know that she was heading north.There was no reply.The snow was falling even more thickly now. Tilda started the car, turned the heat full on, and switched on the windshield wipers before slowly setting off.In her side mirror she saw the interior light of the Mazda come on as Martin opened the door. Then he switched on the headlights and started to follow her car along the gravel track.Tilda increased her speed-before she looked to the east and saw that the horizon had disappeared. A gray-white wall of snow hung over the sea. It was dropping rapidly toward the coast.

29

Joakim was standing in the kitchen in the twilight, watching the thickening snowfall between the buildings. It was going to be a white Christmas at Eel Point. in the kitchen in the twilight, watching the thickening snowfall between the buildings. It was going to be a white Christmas at Eel Point.Then he looked over at the barn door. It was closed now, and no footprints led toward it through the snow. He hadn't been back inside the barn since the previous evening, but couldn't stop thinking about the hidden room.A room for the dead, with its own church benches.Ethel's jacket had been lying there neatly folded on one of the benches, among all the other old mementos. He had left it there.It was Katrine who had put it there. She must have found the room during the fall and placed the denim jacket on the bench, without telling Joakim. He hadn't even known that Katrine had the jacket.His wife had kept secrets from him.It was only when he called his mother that he found out she had sent the jacket to Eel Point. Until then he had a.s.sumed that Ingrid had simply placed Ethel's clothes in a box and put it in the attic."No, I got it down and wrapped it in brown paper," said Ingrid. "Then I mailed it to Katrine. ... It was sometime in August.""But why?" Joakim had asked."Well ... she asked me to send it. Katrine called me last summer, wanting to borrow the jacket. She wanted to check on something, she said, and so I sent it to her." Ingrid paused. "Didn't she tell you?""No.""Didn't you talk to each other?"Joakim didn't reply. He wanted to say that of course he and Katrine had talked to each other, trusted each other completely-but he remembered the strange look she had given him the night they found out Ethel was dead.Katrine had hugged Livia and looked at Joakim with shining eyes, as if something wonderful had happened.When darkness fell outside the kitchen window, Joakim began to prepare dinner. Serving up Christmas fare on the twenty-third of December was perhaps a little early, but he wanted to get the celebrations under way as quickly as possible. outside the kitchen window, Joakim began to prepare dinner. Serving up Christmas fare on the twenty-third of December was perhaps a little early, but he wanted to get the celebrations under way as quickly as possible.It had been the same last year. His sister had drowned at the beginning of December, and her name had not been mentioned at all over Christmas-instead Katrine and Joakim had bought more presents and even more food than usual. They had filled the Apple House with candles and decorations.But of course it had still felt as if Ethel were there. Joakim had thought about her every time Katrine raised her gla.s.s of alcohol-free cider to him.He blinked away the tears, continued flicking through the recipes in Delicious Christmas Fare Delicious Christmas Fare, and did the best he could in the kitchen as the shadows grew outside the window.He fried sliced sausage and meatb.a.l.l.s. He cut the cheese into strips, shredded the cabbage, and warmed the spare ribs. He grilled the oven-baked ham, peeled the potatoes, and brushed the freshly baked spiced bread with syrup and water. He dished up eel and herring and salmon, and cooked the children's specially requested meal: grilled chicken with fries.Joakim placed dish after dish on the kitchen table, and underneath the table Rasputin got a bowl of fresh tuna.At half past four he called Livia and Gabriel."Time to eat."They came in and stood by the table."Lot of food," said Gabriel."It's called the Christmas table," said Joakim. "You take a plate and fill it up with a little bit of everything."Livia and Gabriel did as he said, up to a point. They took some chicken and fries, and potatoes and a little sauce, but the fish and the cabbage remained untouched.Joakim led the way into the drawing room and the family sat down at the big table beneath the chandelier. He poured cider and wished his children a happy start to the Christmas festivities. He waited for them to ask why he had set a fourth place at the table, but they said nothing.Not that he really believed Katrine would come back during the evening, but at least he could look at her empty place and fantasize that she was actually sitting there.The way it should have been.His mother had set an extra place last Christmas. But of course Ethel never turned up either."Can I get down now, Daddy?" asked Livia after ten minutes."No," said Joakim quickly.He could see that her plate was empty."But I've eaten everything up.""Stay there anyway.""But I want to watch TV.""Me too," said Gabriel, who still had a lot of food left on his plate."There's horse riding on TV," said Livia, as if this were a weighty argument."Just stay where you are," said Joakim, his tone harsher than he had intended. "This is important. We're celebrating Christmas together.""You're stupid," said Livia, glaring at him.Joakim sighed. "We're celebrating together," he repeated, with no conviction.The children kept quiet after that, but at least they stayed put. Eventually Livia went off to the kitchen with her plate, followed by Gabriel. Both came back with a helping of meatb.a.l.l.s."It's snowing really hard, Daddy," said Livia.Joakim looked out of the window and saw thick flakes whirling by."Good. We'll be able to go sledding."Livia's bad mood disappeared just as quickly as it had arrived, and soon she and Gabriel were chatting about the Christmas presents under the tree. Neither of them seemed concerned about the fourth chair at the table, while Joakim kept glancing toward it all the time.What had he been expecting? That the front door would open and Katrine would walk into the drawing room?The old Mora clock by the wall struck just once-it was already half past five, and almost all the light had vanished outside the window. by the wall struck just once-it was already half past five, and almost all the light had vanished outside the window.As Joakim popped the last meatball in his mouth and looked over at Gabriel, he could see that his son was already falling asleep. He had eaten twice as much food as usual this evening, and now he was sitting there motionless, gazing down at his empty plate with his eyelids drooping."Gabriel, how about a little sleep?" he said. "So you'll be able to stay awake longer tonight?"At first Gabriel just nodded, then he said, "Then we can play. You and me. And Livia.""We sure can."Joakim suddenly realized that his son had probably forgotten Katrine. What did he himself remember from when he was three years old? Nothing.He blew out the candles, cleared the table, and placed the food in the refrigerator. Then he turned down Gabriel's bed and tucked him in.Livia didn't want to go to sleep at such an early hour. She wanted to watch horses, so Joakim moved the small television into her room."Is that okay?" he said. "I was just going to go out for a little while.""Where?" asked Livia. "Don't you want to see the horse riding?"Joakim shook his head. "I won't be long," he said.Then he went and picked up Katrine's Christmas present from under the tree. He took the present and a flashlight into the hallway and pulled on a thick sweater and a pair of boots.He was ready.He stopped in front of the mirror and looked at himself. In the darkness of the corridor he was hardly visible in the gla.s.s, and got the idea that he could see the contours of the room through his own body.Joakim felt like a ghost, one of the apparitions haunting the manor house. He looked at the white English wallpaper around the mirror and the old straw hat hanging on the wall like some kind of symbol of life in the country.Suddenly everything seemed completely meaningless-why had he and Katrine actually carried on renovating and decorating year after year? The places where they lived had just gotten bigger and bigger; as soon as one project was finished they had started the next one and made every effort to get rid of any trace of the people who had lived there before. Why?A low yowling interrupted his thoughts. Joakim turned and saw a small four-legged creature crouching on the rag rug."Do you want to go out, Rasputin?"He went over to the gla.s.sed-in veranda, but the cat didn't follow him. It just looked at him, then slunk into the kitchen.The wind whirled around the house, rattling the small windowpanes in the veranda.Joakim opened the outside door and felt the wind seize hold of it; it was coming in strong gusts now and seemed to be growing stronger all the time, transforming the snowflakes into needle-sharp shards whirling across the courtyard.He went carefully down the steps, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up his eyes against the snow.The sky over the sea looked darker than ever, as if the sun had disappeared for good into the Baltic. The cloud cover above the water was a threatening shadow-play of gray and black patches-huge snow clouds in the northeast had begun to descend, moving closer to the coast.A storm was on its way.Joakim went along the stone pathway between the buildings, out into the wind and the snow. He remembered Gerlof's warning, that you could get lost if you went out in a blizzard-but there was only a thin covering of snow on the ground so far, and a short walk over to the barn didn't seem to pose many risks.He went over to the broad door and pulled it open.Nothing moved inside.A flash of light in the corner of his eye made him stop and turn his head. It was the light from the lighthouses. The barn obscured the northern tower, but the southern lamp was flashing at him with its red glow.Joakim walked into the barn and it felt as if the wind were pushing at his back, as if it wanted to come with him. But he slammed the door shut.After a few seconds he switched on the lights.The lightbulbs hung there like feeble yellow suns in the dark s.p.a.ce of the barn. They couldn't chase away the shadows along the stone walls.Through the roof he could hear the howling wind, but the framework of solid beams didn't move. This building had survived many storms.In the loft was the wall with Katrine's name and the names of all the others who had died, but Joakim didn't go up the steps this evening either. Instead he moved on past the stalls where the cattle had stood every winter.The stone floor in the furthest stall was still free of dust and hay.Joakim sank down to his knees and got down on his stomach. Then he slowly wriggled in through the narrow opening under the wooden planks, the flashlight in one hand and Katrine's present in the other.Inside the false wall he stood up and switched on the flashlight. Its beam was weak and it would soon need new batteries, but at least he could see the ladder leading up into the darkness.Joakim listened, but everything was still silent in the barn.He could stand here or start climbing. He hesitated. Just for a moment he considered the fact that a storm was coming, and Livia and Gabriel were alone in the house.Then he lifted his right foot and placed it on the bottom rung.Joakim's mouth was dry and his heart was pounding, but he was more expectant than afraid. Step by step he was getting closer to the black opening in the ceiling. He didn't want to be anywhere else but where he was now.Katrine was close, he could feel it.

Markus came back to the island and wanted to see me, but not at Eel Point. I had to go down to Borgholm to meet him in a cafe.

Torun, who could hardly see the difference between light and darkness now, asked me to buy potatoes and some flour. Flour and root vegetables, that was what we lived on.

It turned out to be a final meeting in a gray town still waiting for winter, despite the fact that it was the beginning of December.

-MIRJA RAMBE

WINTER 1962.

The thermometer is showing zero, but there is no snow in Borgholm. I am wearing my old winter coat and feel like the country cousin I am as I walk along the straight streets of the town. zero, but there is no snow in Borgholm. I am wearing my old winter coat and feel like the country cousin I am as I walk along the straight streets of the town.

Markus is back on the island to visit his parents in Borgholm, and to see me. He is on leave from the barracks in Eksjo and is wearing his gray soldier's uniform with stylish creases pressed in his pants.

The cafe where we have arranged to meet is full of decent, upstanding ladies who study me as I come in from the cold-cafes in small towns in Sweden are not the territory of young people, not yet.

"Hi, Mirja."

Markus stands up politely as I walk over to the table.

"Hi there," I reply.

He gives me an awkward little hug and I notice he has started using aftershave.

We haven't seen each other for several months and the atmosphere is tense at first, but slowly we begin to talk. I haven't got much to tell him from Eel Point-I mean, nothing has happened there since he went away. But I ask him about life as a soldier and whether he lives in a tent like the one we built in the loft, and he says he does when he is out on exercises. His company has been in Norrland, he tells me, and it was minus thirty degrees. To keep warm, they had to pack so much snow all over the tent that it looked like an igloo.

Silence falls between us at the table.

"I thought we could carry on until spring," I say eventually. "If you want. I could move closer to you, to Kalmar or something, then when you come out we could live in the same town ..."

These are vague plans, but Markus smiles at me.

"Until the spring," he says, brushing my cheek with his hand. His smile broadens, and he adds quietly: "Would you like to see my parents' apartment, Mirja? It's just around the corner. They're not home today, but I've still got my old room ..."

I nod and get up from my chair.

We make love for the first and last time in the bedroom Markus had when he was a boy. His bed is too small, so we drag the mattress onto the floor and lie there. The apartment is silent around us, but we fill it with the sound of our breathing. At first I am terrified that his parents will come in, but after a while I forget about them. for the first and last time in the bedroom Markus had when he was a boy. His bed is too small, so we drag the mattress onto the floor and lie there. The apartment is silent around us, but we fill it with the sound of our breathing. At first I am terrified that his parents will come in, but after a while I forget about them.

Markus is eager, yet careful. I think this is the first time for him too, but I dare not ask.

Am I careful enough? Hardly. I have no protection-this was something I could never have imagined would happen. And that's exactly why it's so wonderful.

Half an hour later hour later we go our separate ways out on the street. It is a short farewell in the bitter wind, with a last clumsy embrace through the layers of clothes. we go our separate ways out on the street. It is a short farewell in the bitter wind, with a last clumsy embrace through the layers of clothes.

Markus goes back up to the apartment to pack before he catches the ferry across the sound, and I go off to the bus station to head back northward.

I am alone, but I can still feel his warmth against my body.

I would have liked to catch the train, but the trains have stopped running. All I can do is climb aboard the bus.

The atmosphere is gloomy among the small number of pa.s.sengers, but it suits me. I feel like a lighthouse keeper on my way to a six-month tour of duty at the end of the world.

It is twilight when I get off to the south of Marnas, and the wind is bitterly cold. In the grocery store in Rorby I buy food for myself and Torun, then walk home along the coast road.

I can see slate-gray clouds out at sea when I drop down onto the road to Eel Point. Strong winds are on their way to the island, and I quicken my pace. When the blizzard comes, you must be indoors, otherwise things could turn out as they did for Torun on the peat bog. Or even worse.

There are no lights in most of the windows when I reach the house, but in our little room there is a warm yellow glow.

Just as I am about to go in to Torun, I see out of the corner of my eye that something is flashing down by the water.

I turn my head and see that the lighthouses have been switched on before the night comes.

The northern lighthouse is also lit, glowing with a steady white light.

I put the bag of food down on the steps and walk across the courtyard, down toward the sh.o.r.e. The northern lighthouse continues to shine out.

As I stare at the tower something suddenly blows past me on the ground, something pale and rectangular.

Even before I catch up with it and pick it up, I know what it is.

A canvas. One of Torun's blizzard paintings.

"So you're back, are you, Mirja?" says a man's voice. "Where have you been?"

I turn around. It's Ragnar Davidsson, the eel fisherman, walking toward me from the house. He is wearing his shiny oilskins, and he is not empty-handed.

In his arms he is carrying a great bundle of Torun's paintings-fifteen or twenty of them.

I remember what he said about them in the outbuilding: It's all just black and gray. Just a lot of dark colors ... looks like c.r.a.p It's all just black and gray. Just a lot of dark colors ... looks like c.r.a.p.

"Ragnar ..." I say. "What are you doing? Where are you going with my mother's pictures?"

He walks past me, without stopping, and replies, "Down to the sea."

"What did you say?"

"There's no room for them," he shouts back. "I've taken over the storeroom in the outbuilding. I'll be keeping the eel nets there."

I look at him in horror, then at the ghostly white light of the northern lighthouse. Then I turn my back on the sea and the wind and hurry back to the house and Torun.

30

The wind along the coast had increased to storm force. The gusts shook the car, and Tilda clutched the wheel tightly. had increased to storm force. The gusts shook the car, and Tilda clutched the wheel tightly.Blizzard, she thought.The falling snow whirled across the road like a black-and-white film, spinning in the beam of the headlights. She slowed right down and leaned closer to the windshield so that she could make out the road ahead.The snowfall looked more and more like thick white smoke swirling in across the coast. Drifts were beginning to form everywhere that the snow was able to stick, and they quickly turned into banks.Tilda knew how quickly it could happen. The blizzard transformed the alvar into a white, ice-cold desert and made it impossible to travel by car anywhere on the island. Even the snowmobiles would sink and get stuck in the drifts.She was on her way north now, with Martin still following her. He wouldn't give up-but she had to forget him and concentrate on looking ahead.Snowdrifts covered the road, and it was difficult for the wheels to grip the surface properly. It felt like driving through cotton wool.Tilda was looking out for the headlights of approaching cars, but everything was gray beyond the falling snow.When she was somewhere in the region of the peat bog, the road in front of the car disappeared completely in the driving snow, and she looked in vain for markers showing where the edge of the roadbed was. Either they had already blown away, or n.o.body had put them out.She noticed in her rearview mirror that Martin's car was getting closer-and that was partly what caused her to make a mistake. She looked into the mirror for a second too long, and didn't notice the bend ahead in the darkness. Not until it was too late.Tilda turned the wheel as the road curved to the right, but not enough. Suddenly the front wheels sank down into the snow.The police car stopped with a violent bang. A second later she felt an even bigger bang and heard the sound of breaking gla.s.s. The car was pushed forward and stopped, stuck in the ditch by the peat bog.Martin's car had driven into hers.Tilda slowly straightened her back behind the wheel. Her ribs and the back of her neck seemed okay.She floored the accelerator to try and pull back up onto the road again, but the back wheel spun around in the snow, unable to find a grip."s.h.i.t."Tilda switched off the engine and tried to calm down.In the rearview mirror she saw Martin open the car door and step out into the snow. The wind made him stagger slightly.Tilda opened her door as well.The storm came roaring across the road, and the gray-black landscape made Tilda think of the picture of the blizzard she had seen at Eel Point. When she stepped away from the car, the wind grabbed hold of her and seemed to want to drag her out onto the peat bog, but she fought against it and felt her way along the side of the police car.The front of the car was pushed right down into the ditch. The car was at such an angle that one of the back wheels, the right-hand one, was actually in the air.The whirling snow had begun to pile up against the doors and was already covering the tires.Tilda fought her way back along the side of the car, with her hand on her police cap to keep it in place, and made her way over to Martin.She had finally decided how she was going to treat him: not like her former tutor at the police academy, not like her former lover, but like an ordinary mortal. A civilian."You were too close!" she said through the wind."You slammed the brakes on!" he shouted back.She shook her head. "n.o.body asked you to follow me, Martin.""Well, you've got a radio car," he said. "Call the breakdown truck.""Don't tell me what to do."She turned her back on him, but knew he was right. She would call-although presumably every breakdown truck would be working flat out tonight.Martin got back in the Mazda and Tilda struggled back to the warmth and quiet of the police car. Once inside she used the radio to call Borgholm for the second time-and this time a rasping voice actually came back over the loudspeaker."Central control?" she said. "1217 here, over.""1217, received."She recognized the voice. Hans Majner was manning the radio, and he was speaking more quickly than usual."What's the situation?" asked Tilda."Chaos ... more or less complete chaos," said Majner. "They're wondering whether to close the bridge completely.""Close it?""Overnight, yes."In that case the winds over the island had already reached storm force, Tilda realized-it was only in extremely bad weather that the oland bridge was closed to traffic."And where are you, 1217?" asked Majner."By Offermossen on the eastern road," said Tilda. "I'm stuck.""Understood, 1217 ...Do you need help?" Majner actually sounded as if he cared as he went on: "We'll send somebody out, but it's going to take a while. There's a truck jammed across the road on the hill by the castle ruins, so all our cars are down there right now.""And the snowplows?""They're only working on the main roads ... the drifts keep on coming back.""Understood. It's the same here.""But you're okay for a while, 1217?"Tilda hesitated. She didn't want to mention the fact that Martin was with her."I haven't got any coffee, but it'll be fine," she said. "If it gets colder, I'll just make my way to the nearest house.""Understood, 1217, I'll make a note of that," said Majner. "Good luck, Tilda. Over and out."Tilda replaced the radio microphone and stayed where she was behind the wheel. She couldn't decide what to do and looked in the rearview mirror, but a thick blanket of snow had already covered the rear windshield.In the end she picked up her cell phone and called a number in Marnas. She got an answer after three rings, but the wind was howling so loudly outside the car that she couldn't make out the words. She raised her voice."Gerlof?""Speaking." His voice sounded quiet and distant."It's Tilda!" she shouted.There was a sc.r.a.ping noise in her ear. The reception was dire out here, but she heard his question:"Surely you're not out driving in the blizzard?""Yes, I'm in the car ... on the coast road. Near Eel Point."Gerlof said something inaudible."What?" Tilda yelled into her cell phone."I said that's not so good.""No ...""How are you feeling?""I'm fine. I've just-""But do you really feel fine, Tilda?" Gerlof interrupted her, speaking more loudly. "In your heart and soul, I mean?""In what? What did you say?""Well, I'm just wondering if you might be unhappy ... there was a letter in the bag along with the tape recorder.""A letter?"But suddenly Tilda realized what Gerlof was talking about. She had thought about nothing but work and Henrik Jansson over the past few days, and had completely forgotten her private life. Now it all came back."That letter was not addressed to you, Gerlof," she said."No, but ..." His voice disappeared in a hiss of static, then came back: "... wasn't sealed.""Right," she said. "So you read it?""I read the first few sentences ... and then I read a little bit at the end."Tilda closed her eyes. She was too tired and anxious to be angry with Gerlof for rummaging in her bag."You can tear it up," was all she said."You want me to destroy it?""Yes. Throw it away.""Okay, I will," said Gerlof. "But are you feeling okay?""I feel the way I deserve to feel."Gerlof said something quietly, but she couldn't make it out.Tilda wanted to tell him everything, but she couldn't. She couldn't tell him that Martin's wife had gotten pregnant while he was still seeing Tilda. She had just been happy and contented that Martin was with her-even on the night when Karin's pains started. At midnight he had gone off to the hospital, full of excuses for missing the birth of his son.Tilda sighed and said, "I should have stopped it long ago.""Yes, yes," said Gerlof. "But you've stopped it now, I presume."She looked in the rearview mirror."Yes."Then she looked out through the windshield. The snow had continued to rise, and she could hardly see out now. The car was turning into a snowdrift."I think I'd better get out of here," she said to Gerlof."Can you drive through the snow?""No ... the car's stuck.""Then you need to get to Eel Point," said Gerlof. "But be careful of your eyes as you're walking ... the blizzard blows up sand and earth along with the snow.""Okay.""And never, ever sit down to rest, Tilda, no matter how tired you are.""No, of course not. Talk to you soon," said Tilda, switching off the cell phone.Then she breathed in the warm air inside the car one last time, opened the door, and stepped out into the snow.The wind pressed itself against her, screamed in her ears, and pulled and tore at her. She locked the car and started to move along the road, as laboriously as a diver wearing lead boots on the seabed.Martin wound down the window as she reached his car. He blinked in the wind and raised his voice: "Is someone coming?"She shook her head and shouted back, "We can't stay here!""What?"Tilda pointed eastward. "There's a house down there!"He nodded and wound up the window. A few seconds later he got out of the car, locked it, and followed Tilda.She walked through the swirling powdery snow blowing across the blacktop. She continued on down into the ditch and climbed over a stone wall.Tilda led the way toward Eel Point, with Martin a few steps behind her. Progress was slow. Every time she looked up into the wind, it was like being lashed with ice-cold birch twigs. She had to walk carefully, almost crouching to avoid being pushed over.Tilda was wearing only a pair of low boots on her feet, but wished she had been wearing skis. Or snowshoes.Eventually she turned away from the wind and stretched her arms out to the dark figure behind her."Come on!" she shouted.Martin had already begun to shiver and shake in the cold. He was dressed in a thin leather jacket, and had nothing on his head.The inadequate clothes were his own fault, but she reached out her hand anyway.He took it without a word. They clung together and carried on toward the house at Eel Point.

31

Henrik Jansson was fighting his way through the blinding snow. He tucked his head down toward his chest in the roaring wind, and had only the vaguest idea of where he was. his way through the blinding snow. He tucked his head down toward his chest in the roaring wind, and had only the vaguest idea of where he was.He guessed that he had reached the meadows by the sh.o.r.e to the south of the lighthouses at Eel Point, but he couldn't see them. The snow scratched at his eyes.Idiot. He should have stayed inside. He had always stayed indoors when the blizzard came.One January weekend when he was seven years old and staying in his grandparents' cottage, he had had a nightmare: a pride of roaring lions had been stalking around in his room during the night.When he woke up in the morning, the lions were gone. Everything was silent in the house, but when he got up and looked out, the ground between the buildings was sparkling white."There was a blizzard overnight," his grandfather Algot had explained.The undulating snow was almost as high as the window ledges-Henrik couldn't open the front door."How can you tell, Grandfather ... that it's a blizzard?""You don't know when the blizzard is coming," Algot had said. "But you know when it arrives."And Henrik knew, there on the Baltic sh.o.r.e. This was the blizzard. The gales before it started had been nothing more than a premonition.Algot's scythe swung in the wind, weighing him down. He was forced to drop it in the snow, but hung onto the ax. He took three steps over the solid, frozen ground, hunkered down, and rested. Then three more steps.After a while he had to rest after every other step.The thin ice cover out at sea was smashed to pieces by the strengthening waves. Henrik heard the long drawn-out rumbling, but could no longer see the sea-he could see nothing in any direction.The pains in his stomach had abated. It might have been the effects of the icy wind, reducing the bleeding, but at the same time he felt as if his entire body were slowly becoming numb.His consciousness began to drift away-sometimes it was so far away that it felt as if he were hovering next to his body.Henrik thought about Katrine, the woman who had drowned at Eel Point. He had enjoyed sanding and replacing the floors with her. She had been small and blonde, just like Camilla.Camilla.He remembered her warmth as they lay in bed. But that thought quickly disappeared in the wind.It was too late to turn back toward to the boathouses at Enslunda, and he didn't even know where they were any longer. And where were the f.u.c.king lighthouses? Henrik peered up into the wind and caught a brief glimpse of a faint flashing light in the distance-so he was heading in the right direction.Breathe in, move forward, breathe out.Then came a hard shove from the direction of the sea that stopped him in the middle of a step. The wind had increased in strength yet again, although Henrik had thought that was impossible.He sank to his knees. At the same time he dropped the ax in the snow, but managed to pick it up again with enormous difficulty, and tucked the shaft inside his jacket. The ax was meant for the Serelius brothers, and he mustn't lose it.He crept north, or at least in the direction he thought was north. There was nothing else he could do; if he stopped to rest in the storm, he would soon freeze to death.Thieves deserve to be thrashed, he could hear his grandfather saying. They're good for nothing but fertilizer and fish food They're good for nothing but fertilizer and fish food.Henrik shook his head.No, his grandfather had always been able to trust him. The only people he had ever deceived were his teachers, some of his friends, his parents, and John, his boss at the flooring company. And the people who owned the houses. And Camilla, of course; he had sometimes lied to her when they were together, and in the end she had grown tired of him.A screwdriver in the stomach, perhaps that was what he deserved.Suddenly someone was clawing at him. Henrik panicked before he realized it was just long leaves from the reeds, whirling around in the wind.He stopped, closed his eyes, and curled up in the icy blast. If he just relaxed and stopped struggling, he would soon go completely numb, in his stomach and right through the rest of his body.Was death warm or cold? Or somewhere in between?Somewhere in his head were the Serelius brothers with their broad smiles. That got him moving again.

32

Joakim stood in the barn listening to the wind roaring over the huge roof. He could feel its power through the beams and the sheets of asbestos, but at least he was out of its reach. listening to the wind roaring over the huge roof. He could feel its power through the beams and the sheets of asbestos, but at least he was out of its reach.He had climbed the ladder a few minutes earlier and was back in the room behind the hayloft.Everything was silent here. The angular roof high above gave him the feeling of having stepped into a church.The batteries in his flashlight were almost done, but he could still make out the old church benches in the darkness. And all the old objects lying on them.This was the prayer room for those who had died at Eel Point; this was where they gathered every Christmas.Joakim was sure of it. Would they come tonight or tomorrow? It didn't matter, he would stay here and wait for Katrine.Slowly Joakim moved forward along the narrow aisle between the benches, looking at the possessions of the dead.He stopped by the front bench and shone the flashlight on the denim jacket lying there, neatly folded.He had left it exactly where he found it-he had hardly dared touch it that night. He had taken the book Mirja Rambe had written into his bedroom and started to read it, but he didn't want Ethel's jacket in the house. He was afraid that Livia would start dreaming about her aunt again.Joakim reached out and felt at the worn fabric, as if touching it could provide answers to all his questions.When he got hold of one sleeve, something rustled and fell on the floor.It was a small piece of paper.He bent down and picked it up, and saw a single sentence written in ink. In the faint beam of the flashlight Joakim read the words, which had been pressed hard into the paper:MAKE SURE THAT JUNKIE Wh.o.r.e.

DISAPPEARSSlowly he moved backwards, the note in his hand.That junkie wh.o.r.e.Joakim read the six words on the note several times, and realized this was not a message to Ethel. This had been written to him and Katrine.Make sure that junkie wh.o.r.e disappears.But he had never seen it before.The paper had not been damaged by damp and the ink was black and clear, so the note couldn't have been in the pocket the night Ethel fell in the water.The note had been placed there later, he realized. Presumably by Katrine, after she had got hold of the jacket from Joakim's mother.Joakim thought back to the nights when Ethel would stand and scream out in the street at the Apple House. Sometimes he had seen the neighbors' curtains being pulled aside. Pale, terrified faces had peered out at Ethel.A note with an exhortation from the neighbors. Katrine must have found it in the mailbox one day when she was home alone, and she had read it and realized that this couldn't go on. The neighbors had had enough of the yelling, night after night.Everybody had had enough of Ethel. Something had to be done.Joakim was very tired now, and sank down on the bench next to Ethel's jacket. He kept on staring at the note in his hand, until he heard a faint sc.r.a.ping noise through the wind.It was coming from the opening in the floor behind him.Someone was inside the barn.

When the northern lighthouse is lit, someone is going to die at Eel Point. I have heard that story, but that evening when I got home from Borgholm and saw the white light from the northern tower, I didn't think about it. I was too shocked at seeing Ragnar Davidsson carrying Torun's paintings down to the water, without taking the slightest notice of my cries.

He had dropped a few rolled-up canvases in the snow, and I tried to gather them up, but they scudded away in the wind. All I had in my arms were two paintings when I got back to the house.

-MIRJA RAMBE

WINTER 1962.

With the wind at my back, I race into the outbuilding's porch and on into the middle room, despite the fact that I know what I will see there. my back, I race into the outbuilding's porch and on into the middle room, despite the fact that I know what I will see there.

Empty white walls.

Almost all of Torun's blizzard paintings have gone from the storeroom-there are just a few rolled up on the floor, but there are several piles of fishing nets.

The door to our end of the house is closed, but I know that Torun is sitting in there. I can't go in to her, can't tell her what has happened, so I sink down onto the floor.

Over on the table are a half-full gla.s.s and a bottle. They weren't there before.

I quickly go over to them, stick my nose in the gla.s.s, and sniff at the clear liquid. It's schnapps-presumably Davidsson's ration to keep him warm.

Here and there around the house are similar bottles with different contents, and when I think about them I know what I am going to do.

There is no sign of Davidsson as I hurry across the inner courtyard, open the barn door, and slip into the darkness. I can find my way around in there among the shadows without a light, and go further inside to the garbage and the hidden treasures. In a corner stands a special metal container-a container on which someone has drawn a black cross. I take it back to the outbuilding with me.

In the storeroom I empty out most of Davidsson's schnapps onto one of his piles of nets that stinks of tar, then top it up with the same amount of the equally clear and almost odor-free liquid from the can. I empty out most of Davidsson's schnapps onto one of his piles of nets that stinks of tar, then top it up with the same amount of the equally clear and almost odor-free liquid from the can.

There is a wooden cupboard in the corner; I hide the can in there.

Then I sit down on the floor again and wait.

Five or ten minutes later there is a rattling at the door. The howling of the wind increases in volume, before the noise is cut off with a bang.

A pair of heavy boots step into the porch and stamp up and down to shake off the snow; I recognize the smell of sweat and tar.

Ragnar Davidsson comes into the room and looks at me.

"So where have you been?" he asks. "You just took off this morning."

I don't reply. The only thing I can think of is what I'm going to say to Torun about the paintings. She can't find out what has happened.