Oslovski must have been a lone vixen, I thought. She wasn’t running towards Golgotha, but perhaps she had a den with two exits. One where I was now, the other in the dilapidated house in Hörum. Perhaps she hid there when her fear of whatever it might be became too much for her?
Oslovski had lived close to us for many years, yet she had remained a stranger. Had she ever wanted to develop a closer relationship with us? Perhaps her fear, wherever it came from, was so great that she preferred to live alone in her den, with more than one exit and entrance?
She really had taken almost everything with her, I thought. She had left only a made-up bed in a house that was falling down, and a partially restored DeSoto in a garage. And a mystery no one will ever be able to solve: the mystery of loneliness.
I was sure it was Oslovski who had used that bed in Hörum, although I would never know why.
She had disappeared without a sound, leaving a cold, inaccessible trail.
The stale, musty smell was making me feel sick. I went out onto the veranda and called Jansson.
‘It’s me.’
I knew he always recognised my voice.
‘Where are you?’
‘I’m fine, thank you for asking. I’m down by the harbour. Oslovski is dead.’
There was a pause before Jansson responded; he sounded completely taken aback. ‘Oslovski is dead too?’
‘What do you mean, too?’
‘I was thinking about Nordin.’
‘Yes, Oslovski is dead. I found her in the garage. Either a massive stroke or a haemorrhage, I suspect.’
When Jansson spoke again, after another pause, he was on the verge of tears.
‘She was so lonely.’
‘We all are. We die alone. At least when we’re born we have company.’
Jansson’s lachrymose mood suddenly switched to anger. ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’
‘It means exactly what I said: at least we have our mother with us when we’re born. Even if she’s half-crazy with pain.’
Silence once more. This time I didn’t bother waiting.
‘I want you to pick me up,’ I said. ‘In two hours. I need to sort out this business with Oslovski first.’
‘What were you doing in her garage?’
‘I usually stop by to say hello. She never let anyone into the house, but I used to pop into the garage when she was working on her old car.’
‘A Cadillac, wasn’t it?’
‘A DeSoto.’
‘And she died, just like that?’
‘We can talk about it when you pick me up. In two hours. I need to call the police now.’
Jansson reluctantly let me go. I went back into the garage and replaced the keys in Oslovski’s pocket. To be on the safe side, I checked her pulse one more time.
Oslovski was and remained dead.
I called the emergency number, gave my name and location, explained that I was a doctor and that I had found a dead woman in a garage. When I was asked if a crime could have been committed, I said no.
The unnatural life Oslovski had lived had ended with her death from natural causes.
I went out onto the road and waited. When it got too cold I went and sat in the car. In my mind my fingertips were caressing Lisa Modin’s shoulders.
It was forty-five minutes before a police car and an ambulance arrived. When I saw them coming down the hill towards the harbour, I went out into the road to meet them. I didn’t recognise the two police officers. One of them reminded me of my daughter: the same determined look, which could be interpreted as stand-offishness by those who didn’t know her.
We went up to the garage with the paramedics, two older, stronger men. I told them about Oslovski and the fact that I had her permission to park my car on her property. We stopped outside the door.
‘She’s in there,’ I said. ‘I’m a doctor, and I’m sure she’s dead.’
I waited outside. I was finding the thought that Oslovski was gone more and more depressing. I had never really known her, but we had lived at the same time. She was one of the people with whom I had shared my life, and now she was gone. A part of my world had disappeared.
The paramedics came out.
‘We’re not allowed to transport dead bodies in the ambulance,’ one of them said.
‘We’ve sent for the body wagon,’ the other one said. ‘Looks like a stroke to me.’
I went in to join the two police officers, who were gazing down at Oslovski.
‘There’s a wound on her head,’ the female officer said.
‘She would have sustained that when she fell,’ I said. ‘If you have a massive stroke you go down like a bird that’s been shot.’
‘We’d better take a look in the house,’ the other officer said.
‘She usually carries her keys in her pocket,’ I said.
I waited on the veranda. They rummaged around in the house for a while and came out when they had found her ID card.
‘The way some people live,’ the woman said.
I didn’t reply. I gave them my details, locked my car and walked down to the quayside. Another doctor would come to certify the death. While I was waiting for Jansson I did some food shopping and bought a newspaper. The cafe was open, so I decided to have breakfast.
As soon as I saw Veronika, I realised she didn’t know about Oslovski. She hadn’t seen or heard the ambulance or the police car.
‘You’re early,’ she said with a smile. ‘Coffee? I can’t honestly recommend the Mazarins!’
‘Come and sit down,’ I said, pointing to a table by the window.
She looked puzzled.
‘Rut is dead,’ I explained. ‘Rut Oslovski. I found her in the garage, where she’d been working on her old car. They’ll be taking her body away shortly.’
Veronika recoiled, as people do when something unexpected has occurred. Her eyes filled with tears. I knew she was one of the few people Oslovski used to talk to. They might only have chatted about the weather, but at least they had a conversation.
‘But what on earth has happened?’
‘She was lying on the floor with a spanner in her hand. I’m guessing she had a stroke or a haemorrhage. She hadn’t been attacked, anyway.’
We sat there talking quietly, neither of us really able to process the morning’s events. Veronika brought coffee, along with sandwiches defrosted from the previous day.
‘She was lonely,’ Veronika said.
‘Lately I had a feeling she was frightened,’ I said.
Veronika frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I thought she’d changed.’
‘She was always frightened, all the years I knew her.’
‘Do you know why? Did she ever say anything?’
‘No.’
‘But what do you think?’
‘I don’t know. I suppose you can be scared without knowing why.’
‘Where did she come from?’
‘I’ve no idea. There was always something...inaccessible about her.’
‘She repaired jetties and worked on her car. Who was she really?’
‘I don’t know.’
Jansson would be here soon. I wanted to distract Veronika before I left.
‘How’s the woman who won twenty-five thousand kronor a month for twenty-five years getting on?’
‘Just because you have an arsehole it doesn’t mean you have to be one,’ Veronika said pensively. ‘But that’s exactly what she is. She’s boasting about the fact that she’s going to spend the winters in Thailand.’
I’d never heard Veronika talk that way before. As far as I was concerned, she had always been the quiet owner of the cafe, but now she was suddenly something different. Something more. I was embarrassed.
I saw Jansson’s boat approaching and got up to leave. Veronika was lost in thought.