However, the man eventually walked up to the lawn in front of the house. He carried on staring around him in a slightly odd way, before suffering a violent coughing fit and stubbing the cigarette out on the grass. Then he stared straight at Gerlof and said, ‘Jerry Morner.’
His voice was hoarse and rough, and he had a Skåne accent. It sounded hardened and experienced.
‘I see,’ said Gerlof.
The man took two steps closer and sat down heavily on the other chair.
‘Jerry,’ he repeated.
‘In that case, we have similar names. I’m Gerlof.’
Jerry took out a fresh cigarette, but merely held it in his hand, staring at it. Gerlof noticed that oddly enough the man had two watches on his left wrist, one gold and one stainless steel. Only one of them was showing Swedish time.
‘Is everything all right?’ asked Gerlof.
The man looked at him open-mouthed, as if the question was too complicated.
‘Jerry,’ he said eventually.
‘I understand.’
Gerlof realized that the man in front of him was lost in more ways than one, and asked no more questions. Silence fell in the garden, but Jerry seemed happy in his chair.
‘Do you have a job?’ asked Gerlof.
There was no reply, so he went on: ‘I’m a pensioner myself. I’ve done my bit.’
‘Jerry and Bremer,’ said Jerry.
Gerlof had no idea what he was talking about, but Jerry smiled contentedly and lit his cigarette with a lighter adorned with the American flag.
‘Jerry and Bremer?’ said Gerlof.
The man coughed again, without answering Gerlof’s question. ‘Pelle,’ he said.
‘Pelle?’
Jerry nodded.
‘I see,’ said Gerlof.
Silence.
‘Jerry!’
They heard a shout from the road. A youngish man was standing there; he owned one of the houses over by the quarry.
Was this the son? He opened Gerlof’s garden gate and walked in. ‘Jerry... I’ve been looking for you.’
Jerry didn’t move at first, as if he didn’t recognize the man who had shouted to him. Then he straightened his back. ‘Pelle,’ he said again.
‘You need to tell me where you’re going, Jerry,’ said the younger man.
‘Bremer,’ said Jerry, getting to his feet. He looked anxious. ‘Bremer and Markus Lukas...’
He set off towards the gate. The younger man lingered and nodded to Gerlof, who suddenly realized he had met him before, many years ago.
‘You’re related to Ernst Adolfsson, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘Per...?’
‘Per Mörner.’
‘That’s it, I remember now,’ said Gerlof. ‘You used to stay with Ernst sometimes when you were little.’
‘Me and my mother,’ said the man. ‘We stayed with him quite often. Were you and he friends?’
‘We certainly were. My name is Gerlof.’ He nodded towards Jerry. ‘Is that your father?’
‘Jerry? That’s right.’
‘He doesn’t talk much.’
‘No, he finds speech difficult. He had a stroke last year.’
‘I see. And why does he wear two watches on one arm?’
‘You might well ask,’ said Per, looking away. ‘One shows American time... Jerry’s always been fond of the USA.’
‘So who are Bremer and Markus Lukas, then?’
‘Has he been talking about them?’ Per glanced over at his father and went on, ‘Hans Bremer was his work partner. And Markus Lukas... I don’t really know.’ He stopped. ‘I’d better get him home.’
He set off, but stopped when Gerlof asked, ‘So will you be living here now?’
Per nodded. ‘Well, I will anyway... along with my children. I inherited Ernst’s cottage last year.’
‘Good. Look after it.’
Per nodded again and caught up with his father, who had stopped by the gate. ‘Come on, Jerry.’
Gerlof watched them disappear behind the stone wall, a father and his son who were definitely a little bit tired of each other.
It was strange, this business of people and their children. They were close to each other, but the relationship was often strained.
The older man reminded Gerlof of some of the more senile residents in the home at Marnäs; it was just as impossible to conduct a conversation with them over coffee as it would be with someone who was roaring drunk. They lived mostly within their own memories, making only brief visits to the real world. But from time to time they came out with unexpected things. Ideas, stories, sometimes shameless confessions.
Two expensive watches on one arm... He wondered how Jerry Morner had made his money.
19
When Per was little he had enjoyed watching the sun go down over Kalmar Sound, and on Tuesday evening he stood by the window for a while. He had settled Jerry in front of the TV, and shortly he would ring Nilla to arrange a time to pick her up, but first he wanted to see the sunset.
It was just after eight. The sun had lost its heat much earlier in the evening, but it was still dazzling as it hovered just above the water line in the west, bright and golden. It was only when it had slipped halfway below the horizon that it lost its glow, staining the clouds dotted over the mainland dark red, like blood-filled arteries.
Then all of a sudden it was gone. The sky in the west continued to glow, as if a fierce fire were burning beneath it, but the darkness quickly moved in across the shore and the quarry.
Per leaned closer to the window and studied the compact shadows down there. He thought about the steps that had been destroyed. Perhaps it was his imagination, but he thought some of the shadows might be creeping and crawling around the piles of reject stone.
The police had not been in touch since the initial interview, and Per hadn’t called them. On Wednesday morning he drove into Kalmar to collect Nilla. In the hospital cafeteria he came across an evening paper from the previous day. He flicked through it quickly, and found a short news item:
A man is missing after a devastating fire which started on Sunday evening in a large house in the forest outside the village of Ryd, sixty kilometres south of Växjö.
When the police and fire brigade were called to the scene at approximately 18.00, the wooden house was already burning fiercely, and the fire-fighters concentrated on ensuring that the fire did not spread. The damping-down operation continued until midnight.
The house was completely destroyed, and as we went to press it was unclear whether anyone had lost their life in the blaze. The owner of the property managed to escape and has been questioned by the police, but was unable to shed any light on the cause of the fire.
A witness has stated that at least one person was seen inside the burning house. An employee of the owner, who used the house as an office and for overnight accommodation, is still missing, and the police fear that he could have perished in the blaze.
Forensic technicians will be examining the remains of the property as soon as possible in order to clarify whether anyone could have been inside, and to establish the cause of the fire.
Per closed the paper. ‘The owner of the property’, that was his father, and ‘the missing employee’ must have been Hans Bremer. Per himself was only ‘a witness’, which made him feel better. If and when the press found out that it was Jerry Morner who owned the house, they might well write more.
There were no answers yet, but they would no doubt come in time.
He headed for the lift.
Nilla had put on her outdoor clothes and was waiting for him in the day room. She had brushed her hair and was smiling at him, but she looked even thinner than before. Her shoulders felt narrow and bony when he gave her a hug.
‘Did it go OK?’
She nodded. ‘They said they’ve finished now. Mum went to talk to the doctor this morning, before she left.’
‘Good, I’ll give her a ring. Shall we make a move, then? Jesper is waiting for you at the cottage, and Jerry’s there too.’
‘Jerry?’
‘Yes, Jerry... your grandfather.’
Nilla blinked. ‘Why?’
‘He’s going to celebrate Easter with us.’
Nilla nodded, and didn’t ask any more questions. ‘I need to bring that with me,’ she said. ‘Have we got room?’ A folded wheelchair was leaning against the wall further down the corridor.
Per looked at it. The wheelchair made him go cold — why did Nilla need it right now? He wanted to ask someone, but there was no sign of a doctor.
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I’m sure we can fit it in the boot.’