The engines make the deck vibrate. They swerve around a cluster of rocky outcrops and find themselves rolling as the waves hit the side of the boat. Water breaks over the deck.
The captain points towards a greyish-black island, barely visible in the darkness.
‘Buller?n isn’t just another island … it used to be owned by Bruno Liljefors, the painter, but he sold it to newspaper magnate Torsten Kreuger, and during his time guests like Zarah Leander, Errol Flynn and Charlie Chaplin all came out here, to this little island, which is pretty much nothing but rock. You can walk across it in half an hour – makes you wonder what on earth they did out here, doesn’t it?’ Jack says.
As they approach the island the captain slows their speed.
There are no lights on the island. The waves crash on the steep rocks as gnarled trees bow in the wind.
‘Are we allowed to know what you’re expecting to find out here?’ the captain asks.
‘I’m looking for someone I need to question,’ Joona replies.
They enter the public marina. The captain puts the boat in reverse, but it still hits the pier with a scraping sound before they come to rest.
‘This person – is he dangerous?’ Jack asks.
‘He’s probably scared,’ Joona replies.
‘Should I come with you?’
‘Bring your pistol.’
The two men jump ashore and Jack fastens his holster around his hips as they head across the rocks. It’s much darker on the island than it was on the open water. The waves crash regularly against the rocks, as the gulls make their plaintive cries.
The house, once a simple fisherman’s cottage, lies in a south-facing inlet some distance from the other buildings.
Against the night sky the fa?ade looks black at first, like dried blood, but as they get closer they can see that it’s actually a traditional red wooden house extended to link up with a raised boathouse.
The wind tugs at Joona’s clothes as he stops to check his weapon.
The house looks boarded up, as if preparing for a hurricane. The doors and windows have been barred from the outside.
Joona and the captain walk down towards the house. There’s grass growing from the gutters, and the gooseberry bushes are blowing in the strong wind.
There are some red buoys and floats by the side of the building. At the back of the house is an old frame with rusty hooks that looks like a football goalpost.
‘No one here,’ Jack says.
‘We’ll see,’ Joona replies in a low voice.
He wonders if Oscar and his girlfriend arrived by private boat, and whether they drove it into the boathouse like a garage.
The boathouse’s water entrance could be the only one that isn’t barred.
Joona slides down the rocks beside the boathouse, puts his face against the lowest planks in the wall and tries to see between the cracks.
When his eyes get used to the darkness, he sees swaying water.
‘There’s no boat in there,’ Joona declares, and starts to walk back up.
He passes a woodshed containing stacks of birch, sees the axe embedded in the block, and some large splinters of wood on the ground beside it.
He stops next to an ornately carved tool-shed. There’s sawdust in the cracks. Joona gestures to Jack to stand still, cautiously approaches the shed and goes inside.
Rows of tools hang neatly from the walls, and in the middle of the floor, next to a folded sawhorse, is a workbench with a handsaw on it.
‘I think they’re here,’ Joona says, pulling a crowbar from the wall.
‘Where?’ Jack asks.
‘In the house,’ Joona replies.
‘Doesn’t look like it.’
‘He nailed the doors and windows shut recently.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘Because the wind has been blowing from the west for a couple of days … Oscar sawed the timbers in here, then carried them to the house … Most of the sawdust has blown away, but not the pieces that were sheltered from the westerly wind, here in these cracks.’
‘OK,’ Jack says. ‘You’re right, there wouldn’t be any sawdust there if the wind had turned … but all the entrances are nailed shut from the outside. No one could be inside unless they’d been helped by someone standing out here.’
They go back to the house for another look. There’s some sawdust in a spider’s web below one of the barred windows. Joona tugs at the plank, then moves on around the corner. He stops in front of the kitchen door and sees that it opens inwards.
The plank nailed across it is purely for show.
He pushes the handle and tries to open the door.
It’s been nailed shut from the inside.
Oscar and Caroline put the plank across the door to make it look like the house was shut up, then went inside and sealed it from within.
Joona returns to the front of the house, picks up a crowbar in the tool-shed and walks down to the main entrance.
76
The four-inch nails shriek as Joona tries to break his way in through the front door. He pushes the end of the crowbar in close to the lock and shoves, and the frame splinters as the door latch comes loose.
Joona pushes the door open and peers into the dark hallway.
‘Police!’ he shouts loudly. ‘We’re entering the house!’
His words are soaked up by darkness and silence. Wind blows across the roof, making the weathervane creak.
Jack’s breathing speeds up, and he glances around anxiously, whispering to himself. Joona draws his pistol and moves cautiously into the hallway. On the rug there’s a small doll whose legs are spread oddly. Someone’s scribbled on her face with a pen.
Raincoats hang on hooks above a shoe-rack full of wellington boots and wooden clogs.
Joona opens the fuse-box inside the front door and sees that the main power supply has been switched off.
‘There’s no one here,’ Jack whispers again.
They walk into a small living room with a television and a battered leather sofa. The air is perfectly still, and smells like dry wood and dust.
‘Police!’ Joona calls again. ‘We need to speak to you, Oscar!’
He goes into a bedroom. The top bunk bed is made up. The wide floorboards creak beneath his weight. A screen is leaning up against the wall, the plug to the standard lamp has been pulled out, and there’s a water-damaged child’s drawing of a cheerful girl holding a skeleton by the hand on the bottom bunk.
Jack goes into the second bedroom and hears something rustle briefly. There’s barely any light in here at all. The curtains are drawn, and the gap between them has been closed with three clothes pegs.
Someone’s been lying in the double bed. The covers are pulled back and there are signs of dried blood on one pillow.
When Jack opens the wardrobe, it wobbles because of the uneven floor. All it has in it are a couple of pale T-shirts and a blue bikini.
There’s a creaking sound behind him to one side, and he spins around, trying to pull his pistol from its holster.
He takes a step to the side, but can’t see anything in the dark corner behind the bed. With his hands trembling he draws the pistol and creeps closer – he can make out a shape, the size of a child’s head, beneath the bed.
He hears the noise again, and realises it must be coming from the roof, probably a gull sliding down the tiles.
He keeps walking towards the dark corner, and bends over. His plait falls over his shoulder as he discovers that it’s a deflated plastic ball with a yellow Pokémon logo.
Joona peers into the bathroom. On top of the washing machine is a damp packet of laundry detergent and a basket of clothes pegs. Joona marches in and pulls open the limescale-streaked door to the shower. All he finds are a bucket and a red-handled mop.
Leaving the bathroom, Joona meets Jack in the passageway that leads to the kitchen, the last room in the house.
They look at each other and nod.
Jack reaches for the closed door, pushes it open and takes a step back as Joona goes in with his pistol drawn.
There’s no one there.
Joona moves quickly around the tall breakfast counter with its four bar-stools, aims the pistol at the fridge, then lowers it.
The window is covered with cardboard on the inside, but in the faint light that manages to get in he can see rows of tins on the worktop.
Joona stops in front of the kitchen door.