look at him?’
The paramedics nodded, without asking any questions. They simply opened the back doors of the ambulance and helped Jerry inside.
Per himself was starting to feel a little better; he just needed lots and lots of fresh air. He left Jerry and walked over to the fence running along one side of the house. He stood there for a minute, deep in thought, looking over at the forest. Then he climbed over the fence.
He had stared so much at the burning house that he hadn’t noticed that the sun had gone down. It was almost dark now, and as he crossed the field he glanced at his watch: it was ten to seven.
He thought about Jerry, who always wore two watches when he was working: one stainless steel, one gold.
The forest rose up ahead of him. Per searched for the opening among the fir trees, and found it after a few minutes. It was a forest track, deserted but not overgrown. There was a strip of grass down the middle, with a broad rut along each side. He bent down. The ground was hard and stony, but with patches of wet mud here and there, and in the fading light Per thought he could see fresh tyre marks.
He straightened up and looked along the track, which wound through the trees and disappeared round a bend. Where did it end? Perhaps it led to a road north of Ryd.
A good escape route.
Ten minutes later he was back at the house. He stayed away from the fire-fighters, but stopped by the ambulance.
The paramedics had cleaned up Jerry’s wound. Now the blood had gone, a long, red slash was visible across his pale, fat belly.
‘It looks like a knife wound,’ said one of the paramedics as he applied a dressing. ‘Pretty superficial – I think the knife must have slipped.’
‘Slipped?’ said Per.
‘Slipped across the skin … He’s been lucky, it should heal in a week or so. Then you can go to a clinic and ask them to remove the dressing, or do it yourself.’
Per helped Jerry back to the car. They sat beside each other in the front seats, gazing over at the house.
Eventually Per broke the silence. ‘There was a body in a bed upstairs,’ he said. ‘At least I think it was a body, but I could hardly see anything with all the smoke … and I thought I heard cries.’
He sighed, leaned back in his seat and thought about the open window. Who had opened it?
His father was mumbling something beside him. His brain seemed to have shut down again.
Per made a fresh attempt. ‘What did you and Bremer talk about?’ he asked. ‘What did he say when he called and wanted you to meet him here?’
‘Can’t remember,’ said Jerry.
‘But why did you have a fight?’
Jerry just coughed and leaned back. Per sighed, placed his hands on the steering wheel and gazed at the dark-grey sky. ‘I have to go home soon,’ he said. ‘Nilla, my daughter, she’s in …’
He stopped speaking as a white Volvo turned into the drive. It was moving slowly as it swung around the fire engines then pulled up facing Per’s car. When it had stopped directly in front of him, a man and a woman got out. They were dressed in civilian clothes, but he suspected he knew who they were.
The man went over to the ambulance; the woman came over to Per’s car, and he opened the door.
‘Good evening.’
‘Good evening,’ said the woman, showing him her ID. She was from police headquarters in Vaxjo. ‘Was it you who called the emergency services?’
‘Yes,’ said Per.
The officer asked for his name and address, and he gave them.
‘And who are you?’ she said to Jerry, who stared sullenly back at her.
Per knew that his father had never been fond of the police. Police officers and traffic wardens were two of his bugbears.
‘This is my father, Jerry Morner,’ said Per. ‘He owns the property.’
‘I see,’ said the police officer, glancing over at the fire. ‘Well, let’s hope you’re insured. Are you, Jerry?’
No response.
‘My father’s had a stroke,’ Per explained. ‘He has some speech problems.’
The officer nodded. ‘So you were both here before the fire started?’
‘Something like that,’ said Per. ‘Jerry was here … I arrived just after.’
‘Can you tell me what you saw?’
The officer took out a notebook and started to write down what he said. ‘So you saw somebody upstairs? And you heard cries for help?’
‘I think so.’
‘Did you see anyone else in or near the house?’
Per was silent, considering what he had seen. A figure fleeing into the trees? And tyre tracks from a car?
‘I didn’t see anything clearly … But someone had knocked my father down, and slashed him with a knife.’
‘Oh?’
‘Bremer,’ said a voice behind Per.
‘Bremer?’ said the police officer. ‘Who’s that?’
‘Hans Bremer, he’s my father’s associate,’ said Per. ‘He might be the person inside the house.’
All three of them gazed silently at the blaze, which was still defeating the efforts of the fire-fighters. Sparks were shooting up into the sky, and the heat could be felt right across the drive.
‘OK,’ said the police officer, looking around. ‘My colleagues and I will make a start on cordoning off the area.’
‘So you’re treating this as a crime scene?’ said Per.
‘It could be.’ She turned away.
‘Is it all right if we leave?’ Per said to her back. ‘I mean, there’s nothing more we can do, is there?’
She shook her head. ‘We’ll soon be done here,’ she said over her shoulder, ‘and then you can follow us up to Vaxjo in your car.’
‘What for?’
‘We’d just like to do another interview back at the station. It won’t take long.’
Per sighed. He looked up at the darkening sky, then down at his watch. It was quarter to eight.
He felt very tired. The plan had been to drive Jerry back to his apartment in Kristianstad, but then he wouldn’t have time to get back to Oland tonight. And Jesper would have to spend the night alone in the cottage.
He turned around. ‘Jerry, I won’t have time to drive you home tonight. You’re going to have to come to Oland with me.’
His father looked at him. ‘Oland?’
He looked doubtful, and Per had his doubts too. After all, he had promised himself that he would keep Jerry away from Nilla and Jesper.
‘Yes … well, I mean, you are my father, after all. Part of the family.’
‘Family?’ Jerry didn’t seem to understand the word.
‘My family,’ said Per. ‘So you can come and celebrate Easter with me and Nilla and Jesper in our summer cottage – on one condition.’
Jerry waited, and Per went on: ‘That you keep quiet.’
‘Quiet?’
Per nodded. Asking someone who couldn’t manage a whole sentence to keep quiet was quite funny, of course, but he wasn’t laughing.
