get in here whenever they want?”
“I see that you’re here,” said Aneta.
“And before?” said Susanne. “Who was it before? It wasn’t me.” She suddenly pointed at the shell that shone dully in the light from the naked fixture in the hall. “I brought that back. My dear brother had it. Do you believe me now?”
“I… I don’t know what that explains,” said Aneta. “I don’t understand the logic of what you’re saying.”
Susanne continued to look at the shell. As though it would say something to them. It had a sound. Sometimes Aneta put the shell to her ear. It was the rush of the sea.
Aneta asked about Kontome.
“There was a mask hanging here,” she said. “A mask of a spirit from Africa.”
She saw that Susanne didn’t understand, didn’t know.
“I got his special tools,” said Susanne. “You can get in anywhere.” She looked straight at Aneta. “Do you know who Hans got them from?”
“I can guess,” said Aneta.
“They’re down there now,” said Susanne. She looked at Aneta. “It’s wrong.”
“Wrong? Wrong? What’s wrong?”
“He shouldn’t have gone down. And she shouldn’t have gone down.” She continued to speak in a small voice, like someone else. “Something could happen.”
Aneta walked quickly through the hall, past Susanne. In the bedroom she first called the Lindstens’ house in Fredriksdal but didn’t get an answer. She called the house by the sea but didn’t get an answer. She called Anette Lindsten’s cell phone but didn’t get an answer.
She had to make a decision.
Susanne was truly afraid out there; it wasn’t just a disguise. They could solve the puzzle of everything that led up to this later, but right now Aneta felt that she had to act, act quickly.
She went back out into the hall.
“Are you really sure they’re down there at the cabin?” she asked.
“They’re there.”
“Who exactly is there?”
“Hans and Anette.”
Aneta took her jacket from the coatrack. Susanne was still standing completely still.
“Are you coming along?” asked Aneta.
“Coming along? Coming along where?”
“There,” said Aneta, pulling on her short boots.
Susanne looked at her feet. She walked into the kitchen and came back with a pair of gray sneakers.
“I’m coming along,” she said.
They walked quickly through the front door.
In the car, Aneta called Halders and explained.
“Stay home,” he said.
“I believe Susanne,” Aneta said.
“Doesn’t matter. You could end up in danger.”
“She’s coming with me down there,” said Aneta.
“Is she supposed to protect you?”
“I won’t do anything stupid,” said Aneta. “And I’m armed.”
She heard him mumble something.
“What did you say, Fredrik?”
“Where are you now, Aneta?”
“On the highway. I can see the skyline of Frolunda.”
“Exactly where is this damned place?”
Damned. Yes.
She told him.
“I’m on my way,” said Halders.
52
Winter and Macdonald drove back, Portessie, Findochty, Portnockie. The day was still brilliant, larger than life. Cullen Bay was empty. Two months earlier, the dolphins had been there.
They drove under the viaducts, which cast long shadows over the city, like the arms or legs of a giant. Or like the cathedrals that cast their shadows over all of Moray and Aberdeenshire.
There was no movement in Seatown. The sun fell in such a way that the small houses seemed to lean oddly.
Macdonald had parked west of Seatown, next to Cullen Sands.
They could see the beach, wide open toward the sea. Winter saw a sign: water never failed EU tests.
There was a figure far away on the beach, only a silhouette.
They walked on the nameless street that cut through Seatown, past the Methodist church. Children’s clothes were hung to dry in the yard of the house across from the church.
They couldn’t see the harbor from there.
The telephone booth was still red and still there. The sun shone in the cracks of the red wood. The door was halfway open.
Winter and Macdonald looked in through the door. The telephone wasn’t missing its cord. Macdonald lifted it and got a signal. There was a phone book. There was no graffiti. No telephone numbers of prostitutes. No smell of urine. No empty beer bottles. No broken glass.
“This booth is unique,” said Macdonald.
“We’re all unique,” said Winter.
“What do you mean by that?” said Macdonald.
Winter didn’t answer. He turned around.
“He lives down here,” he said. “Here in Seatown.”
“Mmhmm,” said Macdonald.
“You could live a whole life here, being invisible,” said Winter.
Macdonald nodded. It was completely true.
“Should we go door to door?” he asked.
Winter looked at Macdonald.
“He could be standing there with a Luger. Left over from smuggling.”
Macdonald didn’t smile. He didn’t take it as a joke.
“Why would he do that?” was all he said.
“These are his secrets,” said Winter. “We’re a threat.”
“Yes.”
Winter looked at the phone booth again. It lay half in shadow. He could see half of his reflection in the glass. He turned around and looked south, up over the houses at the slope toward Castle Terrace and the viaduct and the plateau behind it. On the other side of the road there was a street. He remembered the pub at the crossing.
“The man who didn’t move when we were in the pub up there,” he said to Macdonald, gesturing. “Just a back. It was an older man. I remember he was completely motionless while we were there,” Winter said. “Not a movement.”
“Maybe he was sleeping,” said Macdonald. “That’s not unusual in Scottish pubs.”
“No,” said Winter. “I could tell he was listening, listening carefully.”
Macdonald thought about what Winter had said.
“There was something about the woman behind the bar,” Macdonald said after a little while.
“She snuck a look at that back one time too many,” said Winter.
