Текст книги "Still Waters"

Автор книги: Viveca Sten

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CHAPTER 73

When Nora regained consciousness she was enveloped in pitch darkness. She wondered how long she had been out; she had no way of telling whether it was minutes or hours.

She sensed where the door was and made an effort to get up. She felt dizzy and nauseous. She got to her knees and managed to crawl to the door. She tried to open it, but it wouldn’t move.

She was locked inside the lighthouse.

Tears came to her eyes, and she bit her lip hard.

Don’t cry, she told herself. Don’t cry. She had to think clearly. How was she going to get out of here?

The nausea made its presence felt again, but she somehow managed to suppress the urge to vomit. Her entire body was shaking, but she couldn’t decide whether it was because of the fall or because her blood sugar was dropping.

The numbness in her lips and tongue suggested the latter, as did the trembling. It was a sure sign of hypoglycemia—dangerously low blood sugar. Desperately she searched her memory: when had she taken her insulin? It must have been around quarter to nine in the evening, and she had taken a higher dose. This was perfectly reasonable if the insulin was then matched by a substantial intake of food. But now the insulin could not be used to break down the sugar in a sudden influx of carbohydrates. Instead, it would consume the sugars already in the body, sugars that had already been used much more quickly than usual in climbing all those steps in the lighthouse. If she didn’t take in more sugar soon, her brain would suffer from an excess of lactic acid. Without sugar, she would quickly fall into a coma.

The next stage was death.

Nora was all too well aware of what would happen. First came the trembling and a sense of weakness, then sweating, racing heart, shaking, and blurred vision. She would have difficulty concentrating. As her body’s blood sugar level dropped, she would feel drowsy, then sleepy, and then she would lose consciousness. She would fall into a coma, which would lead to death. In a short time her body would give up the struggle.

It probably wouldn’t be an unpleasant death, Nora thought. But she didn’t want to die. Not now, not like this. Alone and locked in on Grönskär.

She forced herself not to think about the children; if she did she would just start crying.

She didn’t have much time. If it was after midnight, she only had minutes before she lost consciousness. If only she had something to eat.

She usually had glucose tablets in her pocket, but she hadn’t bothered to bring anything because she was only going to be away for a short time. She could have kicked herself. Had she done anything right this evening?

Where was the flashlight? She crawled around, trying to find it in the darkness. Perhaps she could use it to signal someone? Anyone who had spent a lot of time at sea knew the SOS signal by heart. Three short, three long, three short. With the help of the flashlight she would be able to let someone know where she was.

She ran her hands over the floor. At last. There it was. She pressed the button with trembling fingers.

Nothing happened.

She examined the flashlight as best she could in the darkness. The glass was broken, and she cut her finger. She brought the flashlight up to her ear and shook it to see if she could hear if the bulb was broken. It didn’t sound like it was, but there was still no light.

Tears sprang to her eyes again. There must be a way to let the outside world know where she was. It occurred to her that if she could find her phone, she would be able to call for help. Perhaps she hadn’t searched carefully enough the first time. What if it was somewhere inside the lighthouse after all?

She crawled along, feeling her way. Methodically, a few inches at a time.

Still no phone.

Breathless, she made her way up to the next level and crawled around the walls. Fumbled in the blind passageway, felt her way across every step with her fingers. No phone.

On all fours, she dragged herself up to the landing from which the narrow wrought-iron staircase led up to the lantern room. She opened the door to the walkway to let in some light, but it didn’t help much. She sank down on the floor.

No one knew where she was.

She could no longer stop the tears. She was sobbing now; she couldn’t help thinking about the boys, even though that made her cry even harder.

How could she have been so careless?

Why had she dropped her phone? Why had she let Signe come with her? Why hadn’t she told anyone where she was going?

She curled up in the fetal position on the hard stone floor. She could hear nothing but her own terrified, irregular breathing.

She tried to use her arms and upper body to induce a sense of calm so she could think, but her thoughts simply ran away with her.

She could see herself lying dead on the floor, abandoned and forgotten.

She was so frightened.

The darkness seemed to be even more dense now. The lighthouses at Svängen and Revengegrundet had begun to flash at regular intervals.

Like a heartbeat.

CHAPTER 74

Nora looked at her watch. It was difficult to make out the time in the darkness; it seemed to be after midnight, but it was hard to say.

She tried to calm her breathing to prevent the panic from bubbling up. Forced herself not to give in to her shaking body. She was the only person who could do anything about this situation. She had to pull herself together; there was no other way.

She decided to go up to the lantern room—she would have the best overview from there. Perhaps someone had come back to the island and might be able to help her. She peered out into the darkness, looking for any signs of life in the houses below.

Nothing. Not a soul in sight.

Why was no one at home this evening? It was so unfair.

She tried to judge the distance from the walkway to the ground. Could she jump? It must be at least sixty feet. She would probably kill herself on the rocks if she tried.

It must be possible to signal somehow. There had to be someone out there who would pick up a signal. Nora went through her pockets again. In the first she found only a pair of gloves, in the second a wrapper, a five-kronor piece, lip balm, and a box of matches.

Matches.

Could she set fire to something, then use it as a distress signal?

Her arms and legs were beginning to feel heavy; yet another sign that there was too much insulin in her body. She tried to ignore the feeling and concentrate on the task at hand.

The light from the lamp in the lantern room was a relief. It was ghostly, but somehow it made her feel more secure. It was a reminder of life. The prisms of light shone in the green glow as Nora looked at the piece of material wrapped around the lens.

Linen would burn, and it would burn quickly. She tried to remember what she had seen in the rest of the lighthouse earlier in the day. Hadn’t the doors on the landings been held open with wooden wedges? And hadn’t there been piles of wood shavings next to them?

She climbed back down and felt her way along the bottom of the door. Her fingers found the wedge holding it open. Underneath the iron steps she found several bits of wood and some shavings. She gathered everything into a pile and went down to the next level, where she found another small wedge, along with more sawdust and some sticks. Cautiously, she edged over to the blind passageway opposite her treasure trove. Bingo! She discovered a whole plank about a foot long as far as she could tell in the darkness. That would burn for a decent amount of time.

But it was getting harder to fight the exhaustion, to keep her mind clear, and her limbs were getting heavier and heavier. Cold sweat was trickling down the back of her neck.

She tucked the bits of wood and shavings into her jacket and carried them up to the lantern room. Carefully she arranged them in a pile around the piece of linen, which would be best on the inside. She heaped the shavings on top. The green lamp flashed every ten seconds, giving her just enough light to see what she was doing.

She managed to get the pile in the right place on top of the light prisms. She checked that the small air vent down in the corner was open. The fear of dying from smoke inhalation had already been superseded by the realization that she was on the point of hypoglycemic shock.

She was finding it harder to focus and had to keep blinking to see clearly. She knew she would have to make her way down from the lantern room as soon as her makeshift bonfire began to burn; she had to get as far away from the fire as possible.

With shaking fingers she struck a match. In the glow of its flame she could see her own reflection in the glass wall. Eyes wide open, terrified. Her face was tense and gray.

Was this what you looked like when you were about to die?

She brought the match to the linen, but nothing happened. She struck another match. And another. Still nothing.

In despair she struck three matches at once and held them right up against the fabric. At first it looked as if they too were going to burn out, but suddenly the fabric glowed red and burst into flames.

Nora breathed out. She couldn’t suppress a sob of relief. The fire had really caught hold. One of the pieces of wood began to burn, and the orange flames spread.

Feeling dizzy, she backed away and edged down the steps. Every movement was torture. She felt as if her body were full of lead. She clutched the rail with both hands so she wouldn’t lose her balance.

“Don’t go to sleep,” she said to herself like a mantra. “Don’t go to sleep, for God’s sake. Stay awake.”

She crawled backward down to the last landing, where Signe had locked the door from the other side. The acrid smell of smoke followed her.

She was so tired. All she wanted was to lie down and close her eyes. For a second she thought about the air vent in the lantern room, hoping that it would let in enough oxygen so she wouldn’t be suffocated by the smoke. Then she just didn’t have the strength to think about it anymore.

With one final effort she crawled over to the locked door, as far away from the fire as possible.

SATURDAY, THE FOURTH WEEK

CHAPTER 75

Thomas’s cell phone was ringing. It was 12:43.

“Hello,” he said sleepily.

“It’s Henrik.”

Thomas sat up in bed. His instinct as a police officer kicked in immediately. Henrik would never call him in the middle of the night without a reason. “What’s happened?”

There was a brief pause, then Henrik spoke. “I know it’s late, but I just got back from the twenty-four-hour race. Nora isn’t here. Her bed hasn’t been slept in. There’s no note in the kitchen. She’s just disappeared.”

“Did you have a fight?” The question was automatic, before Thomas could stop himself. He knew that the atmosphere in the Linde family hadn’t been great over the last week or so. Nora hadn’t gone into details, but he had realized that her job prospect in Malmö hadn’t been met with enthusiasm.

“You don’t understand.” There was no mistaking the impatience in Henrik’s voice. “We had a fight before I left for the race, but this isn’t like her. Nora would never just disappear. In view of everything that’s happened lately, I’m not prepared to take any risks. This is serious.”

Thomas didn’t push it. “Have you tried calling her?”

“Of course I’ve tried that, but it just goes to voice mail. It rings several times first, though, so it’s not switched off.”

Thomas could feel a heavy lump in his stomach. Henrik was absolutely right. This wasn’t like Nora. She was a lawyer who liked to keep everything in order; she always kept in touch. “Might she have gone to the bar or the restaurant at the Yacht Club? Have you spoken to her parents?”

“Yes. They were already asleep when I got back. According to Susanne, the boys are staying over with them tonight and going out with their grandfather to lay nets first thing in the morning. Nora said she was tired and going to have an early night with her book.”

“Are you absolutely certain she’s not just having a glass of wine with one of the neighbors?”

“At this time of night? Nora’s useless when it comes to staying up late—you know that. She’s always out of it by midnight. Something must have happened.” The irritation in Henrik’s voice had turned into fear.

Thomas started to pull on a pair of jeans as he talked to Henrik. His entire body was tense. “Is the launch still there?”

“I’ve checked, and she’s still moored at the jetty.”

Thomas was already on his way. “I’ll come right over. I’ll use the Buster; it’ll only take fifteen minutes. Just check the Divers Bar and the club to be on the safe side. If we’re lucky, she might be sitting there with a glass of red wine.”

Thomas grabbed a sweater and ran down to the jetty. He was glad he had decided to buy a decent motorboat last summer. His Buster Magnum was solid and reliable, and she could easily do thirty-five knots when necessary.

Like now.

He quickly cast off and sped away. After just a few minutes he could see the lights of Sandhamn. The gnawing fear in his belly was spreading. As a police officer he had learned to trust his instincts, and this didn’t feel right.

If it had been anyone else, he might have thought it involved a little fling while Henrik was away, but in Nora’s case that was out of the question. She was far too faithful, and of course she knew that Henrik would be back during the night.

The Linde family’s jetty appeared in the darkness. He slowed down and pulled in. With practiced fingers he tied up the boat, then strode up toward the house.

Henrik met him at the gate. “Come in,” he said. “I want to show you something.”

They went into the kitchen. The table was neatly laid for one, with a plate of chicken in the middle. It looked as if it had been there for quite some time.

“Does this look as if she was planning to spend the evening somewhere else?”

Thomas shook his head.

“There’s something else.” Henrik pointed to a used pen needle. “This means she took her insulin. She always takes her insulin just before eating. You have to do that if you’re diabetic. Otherwise, the body can’t process the sugars and carbohydrates ingested during the meal.”

“But she’s taken her insulin.” Thomas didn’t understand what Henrik was getting at.

Henrik picked up the plate. “Yes, but she hasn’t eaten. This hasn’t been touched. And there’s a bar of chocolate here, too. Nora loves dark chocolate. But she hasn’t eaten it.”

Thomas still didn’t get it. “So what?”

Henrik glanced at him impatiently. Slowly, as if he were addressing a child, he explained, “A diabetic who has taken her insulin must also eat. Very soon. Otherwise, she’s at risk of hypoglycemic shock. She could end up in a coma.” He paused and swallowed hard. “If you take too much insulin without eating, you lose consciousness and die. In the best-case scenario you just end up with brain damage. Now do you understand what I’m saying?”

The color drained from Thomas’s face as he realized how serious this was.

Henrik sank down onto a chair and buried his head in his hands. “Where the hell can she be?”

“How long have we got?” Thomas asked, his brain analyzing the situation.

“That depends on when she took the insulin. After a few hours there could be permanent damage, even if she’s found alive.”

Thomas felt the beads of sweat break out on his upper lip. “Go back to her parents’; they might have some idea where she could be. Try the neighbors, and ask if anyone has seen her.”

He suddenly thought about the letter they had found in Krister Berggren’s apartment.

The missing link they had been searching for all along.

He turned to Henrik. “Signe Brand might be mixed up in this. I’ll go over there.”

Thomas ran the short distance to the imposing house next door. The Brand residence looked desolate and lonely. The whole of Kvarnberget was deserted at this time of night. The young people who came to Sandhamn to work for the summer liked to go there on fine evenings on the weekend, but now it was silent and empty.

He banged on the door. There was no movement inside the house. The external lights were switched off. He banged again.

“Signe,” he shouted. “Signe, it’s me, Thomas. Open the door, please.”

No response.

Thomas stared at the dark windows, unsure of what to do. Then he ran around the back of the house, which faced the sea. Sometimes the greenhouse door was open; he might be able to get in that way.

But the door was locked, the glass room in darkness.

He could see a silhouette through the window; it looked as if someone was sitting on the wicker chair. Thomas knocked again. No reaction. He thought he could see Kajsa lying on the floor beside the chair, but she didn’t move.

He hesitated; breaking and entering wasn’t exactly recommended within the police force. But this was an emergency.

He pulled his sleeve down over his fist and smashed a pane of glass, then pushed his hand through and opened the door.

Signe was leaning back in the chair, deeply unconscious. Her face looked peaceful, almost as if she were relieved about something. A well-used blanket lay across her knees.

Thomas had always thought of Signe as constant, timeless. It seemed to him that she looked exactly the same as she had when he was a little boy and got to know her through Nora’s family. But now she seemed thin, transparent.

An old woman.

A lonely woman.

Kajsa lay by her side, her front paws crossed. Her tail had come to rest forming a semicircle. She wasn’t breathing. The black coat was completely still.

Thomas bent down and felt Signe’s neck. A faint pulse, almost imperceptible. Her breathing was shallow.

He grabbed his phone and quickly called Carina.

“It’s Thomas. I know it’s the middle of the night.”

He waved an agitated hand in response to Carina’s sleepy objections.

“Listen carefully. I’ve found Signe Brand unconscious in her house on Sandhamn. I can’t determine the cause. You need to send a helicopter to pick her up and get the team over here. Nora Linde has disappeared. Put out a call right away, and call me as soon as you hear anything.”

He ended the call and ran across to Nora’s parents’. They were standing in the hallway with Henrik.

“Henrik, can you go over to Signe Brand’s house? She’s in the greenhouse, unconscious. I’ve sent for the air ambulance.”

Nora’s mother looked at him. “What’s going on, Thomas?” she asked anxiously. “What’s happened to Nora?”

“I don’t know, Susanne,” he said. “Stay with the boys. We’ll keep looking for her. Don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll find her soon.”

Thomas wished he were as confident as he sounded.

CHAPTER 76

The man in the recently purchased Arcona 36 was whistling as he adjusted the mainsail. For many years he had dreamed of having a decent yacht, and now he relished every second he spent at sea. As he leaned back in the cockpit he had to stop himself from reaching forward and patting the tiller.

He had always preferred a tiller to a wheel in a yacht. It provided a much better sense of the movement of the boat in the water. With a firm grip on the tiller he could cope with both wind and waves while holding a steady course.

Sailing was almost better than sex, he thought.

Well, not far off.

When he had suggested to his wife that they should sail overnight from Horsten to Runmarö, she had thought he was crazy. She had shaken her head at the very idea.

“You must be crazy. Why on earth would anyone want to go sailing at night? What if we hit another boat?”

But after a while she had given in; she had said she didn’t have the strength to argue with him any longer. She was curled up on a cushion in the cockpit clutching a mug of tea as they sailed past skerries and islets.

“This wasn’t such a bad idea, was it?” the man said with a smile.

His wife smiled back. “No. It’s lovely.”

The man adjusted the tiller again.

There was a gentle downwind breeze, just enough to maintain a steady speed. The Arcona was easy to sail, effortlessly cleaving through the surface of the water. The big genoa jib caught the breeze and exploited it to the full.

“Can you pass me the chart?” the man said to his wife. “We should be pretty close to Revengegrundet.”

His wife put down her tea and passed the chart to her husband, who switched on his flashlight and studied the chart for a minute or so before handing it back.

“Just as I thought. We’re exactly where we should be.” He pointed without losing concentration or letting go of the tiller. “If you look over there, you can see the old lighthouse on Grönskär. It was built in the eighteenth century . . . or was it the nineteenth?” He frowned as he pondered.

“You mean the one that’s known as the Queen of the Baltic?”

“That’s it.”

His wife turned her head and looked at the imposing lighthouse, stretching her neck to get a better view. “There’s a very bright light. I thought it wasn’t used anymore.”

“It isn’t. I think it was decommissioned in the sixties.”

The woman left her comfortable seat and pushed back the cabin hatch. She stuck her head in and grabbed a pair of binoculars hanging from a hook just to the left of the steps. She sat down again and took them out of their case. “Actually, it looks like there’s a fire in the lighthouse.”

Her husband laughed. “What? You’re seeing things!”

“You have a look, then!”

She handed over the binoculars. Her husband took them with one hand, keeping the other on the tiller. He brought them up to his eyes and let out a whistle.

“Holy shit, you’re right. It’s on fire!”

“That’s what I said! You never believe anything I say.”

“We need to inform the coast guard,” the man said, looking through the binoculars again just to make sure.

“Can’t we just call the usual emergency number?”

The man gave his wife a haughty look. “We’re at sea, darling. When you’re at sea, you contact the coast guard.”

His wife glared at him but didn’t say anything.

He waved her over. “You need to hold the tiller while I radio through.”

They changed places, and the man quickly went downstairs. He switched on the VHF radio and found the correct channel. The rushing sound of radio waves immediately filled the boat. The man unhooked the microphone and held it close to his mouth.

“Stockholm Radio, Stockholm Radio, Stockholm Radio, this is S/Y Svanen calling.”

He repeated the call a couple of times, then there was a crackling sound, and he suddenly heard a woman’s voice.

“S/Y Svanen, S/Y Svanen, S/Y Svanen, this is Stockholm Radio responding to your call.”

“We are just off Grönskär northeast of Sandhamn. I want to report a fire. It looks as if there’s a fire in the lighthouse, up in the tower.”

“S/Y Svanen, please repeat. I can’t hear you clearly.”

“I said there’s a fire in Grönskär lighthouse. I repeat, there’s a fire in Grönskär lighthouse.”

He made an effort to speak clearly.

“S/Y Svanen, are you sure?” The woman sounded perplexed, as if she didn’t quite know what to do with the information.

“Yes, I’m sure. We’ve looked through binoculars, and I can see flames up in the tower.”

“Did you see any people?”

“No. The place looks deserted. The only thing I could see was the flames.”

The voice on the other end fell silent for a couple of seconds as the rushing sound grew louder. Then she came over the ether once more: “S/Y Svanen, thank you for the information. We will investigate immediately. Thank you for your help.”

The man smiled, satisfied that he had done his civic duty. “S/Y Svanen over and out.”

He switched off the radio and replaced the microphone. He climbed back into the cockpit and looked over toward Grönskär again. The flames looked smaller now, but perhaps it was his imagination. They had sailed some distance while he was reporting the fire, and Grönskär now lay behind them.

He shrugged. There wasn’t much he could do under the circumstances. Either the fire would die out, or the lighthouse would burn down. But it had stood there for almost three hundred years, so it must be pretty resilient.