forest? The more he tried to remember, the more unclear the images became.
The sirens were getting closer. Two fire engines, their blue lights flashing, turned into the drive and stopped in front of the house. The fire-fighters leapt out, dressed in black protective suits.
Per moved backwards across the gravel. He bumped into something solid, turned around and saw that it was his own Saab. Flakes of dirty white ash had begun to accumulate on its roof.
A burning bed, a body in the smoke. And the frightened cries of a woman .
He looked around.
Jerry? Where was Jerry?
Oh yes, he was still sitting in the car.
He looked back at the house. The flames were shooting out of the windows on both floors now.
The fire-fighters were moving around their vehicles, dragging out bulky hoses and starting to connect them up. One of them, dressed in a red jacket, strode over to Per and leaned close to make himself heard through the roar of the fire: ‘What’s your name?’
‘Per Mörner.’
‘Are you the owner of this property, Per?’
He shook his head. He took a deep breath and tried to explain, but his windpipe felt as if it had disintegrated in the dry heat.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, it’s just …’
‘The ambulance is on its way,’ said the fire-fighter. ‘Do you know where the fire started?’
Per swallowed. ‘Everywhere,’ he whispered. Then he took another deep breath and tried to give a sensible answer: ‘There was fire upstairs and downstairs … and I think someone might still be inside. Perhaps more than one person.’
‘What?’
‘I think I saw a person inside the house. And I heard cries.’
He had raised his voice; it sounded better now. The fire-fighter blinked and looked at him. ‘Where exactly was this, Per?’
‘Upstairs, in the rooms upstairs. It was burning inside the rooms, so I …’
‘OK, we’ll search the place. Are there any LPG bottles in the house?’
Per shook his head. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘It was a … a film studio.’
‘Any hazardous liquids?’
‘No,’ said Per. ‘Not as far as I know.’
The man nodded and went back to the fire engines. Per saw that three of his colleagues were pulling on suits with breathing apparatus on their backs. The specialist search team. Two of the others turned on the water from their tank and directed the stream of water up towards the broken windows.
The search team moved slowly towards the front door, and at the same time a red car with the words EMERGENCY RESCUE TEAM on the side pulled into the drive. A man in a yellow jacket got out, holding a two-way radio in his hand. He switched it on and started reporting to someone.
Per coughed and drew more air into his lungs. Then he went back to the car and opened the door. His father was slumped in the passenger seat, his briefcase on his knee.
Per showed him the mobile phone he had found in the hallway. ‘Is this yours?’
Jerry looked and nodded. Per handed it over. ‘How are you feeling now?’
Jerry’s only response was a cough. Per could see him clearly for the first time that day, and he looked pathetic – tired and grey in his crumpled coat. When Per was little and his father used to come and visit him and Anita, Jerry’s hair had been black and slicked back. He had always worn expensive fur coats in the winter and Italian suits in summer. Jerry had earned a lot of money, and liked to show it off.
When Per was fifteen, his father had suddenly changed his name from Gerhard Mörner to Jerry Morner, possibly in order to appear more international.
‘You stink,’ Jerry said suddenly. ‘Stink, Pelle.’
‘So do you, Jerry … We stink of smoke.’
Per looked over at the burning house. The men with breathing apparatus were making their way up the stone steps now. The one in front opened the door wide and took a step inside, straight into the thick smoke, and disappeared. The other two remained outside.
Half a minute passed, then suddenly the first man
The sirens were getting closer. Two fire engines, their blue lights flashing, turned into the drive and stopped in front of the house. The fire-fighters leapt out, dressed in black protective suits.
Per moved backwards across the gravel. He bumped into something solid, turned around and saw that it was his own Saab. Flakes of dirty white ash had begun to accumulate on its roof.
A burning bed, a body in the smoke. And the frightened cries of a woman .
He looked around.
Jerry? Where was Jerry?
Oh yes, he was still sitting in the car.
He looked back at the house. The flames were shooting out of the windows on both floors now.
The fire-fighters were moving around their vehicles, dragging out bulky hoses and starting to connect them up. One of them, dressed in a red jacket, strode over to Per and leaned close to make himself heard through the roar of the fire: ‘What’s your name?’
‘Per Mörner.’
‘Are you the owner of this property, Per?’
He shook his head. He took a deep breath and tried to explain, but his windpipe felt as if it had disintegrated in the dry heat.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, it’s just …’
‘The ambulance is on its way,’ said the fire-fighter. ‘Do you know where the fire started?’
Per swallowed. ‘Everywhere,’ he whispered. Then he took another deep breath and tried to give a sensible answer: ‘There was fire upstairs and downstairs … and I think someone might still be inside. Perhaps more than one person.’
‘What?’
‘I think I saw a person inside the house. And I heard cries.’
He had raised his voice; it sounded better now. The fire-fighter blinked and looked at him. ‘Where exactly was this, Per?’
‘Upstairs, in the rooms upstairs. It was burning inside the rooms, so I …’
‘OK, we’ll search the place. Are there any LPG bottles in the house?’
Per shook his head. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘It was a … a film studio.’
‘Any hazardous liquids?’
‘No,’ said Per. ‘Not as far as I know.’
The man nodded and went back to the fire engines. Per saw that three of his colleagues were pulling on suits with breathing apparatus on their backs. The specialist search team. Two of the others turned on the water from their tank and directed the stream of water up towards the broken windows.
The search team moved slowly towards the front door, and at the same time a red car with the words EMERGENCY RESCUE TEAM on the side pulled into the drive. A man in a yellow jacket got out, holding a two-way radio in his hand. He switched it on and started reporting to someone.
Per coughed and drew more air into his lungs. Then he went back to the car and opened the door. His father was slumped in the passenger seat, his briefcase on his knee.
Per showed him the mobile phone he had found in the hallway. ‘Is this yours?’
Jerry looked and nodded. Per handed it over. ‘How are you feeling now?’
Jerry’s only response was a cough. Per could see him clearly for the first time that day, and he looked pathetic – tired and grey in his crumpled coat. When Per was little and his father used to come and visit him and Anita, Jerry’s hair had been black and slicked back. He had always worn expensive fur coats in the winter and Italian suits in summer. Jerry had earned a lot of money, and liked to show it off.
When Per was fifteen, his father had suddenly changed his name from Gerhard Mörner to Jerry Morner, possibly in order to appear more international.
‘You stink,’ Jerry said suddenly. ‘Stink, Pelle.’
‘So do you, Jerry … We stink of smoke.’
Per looked over at the burning house. The men with breathing apparatus were making their way up the stone steps now. The one in front opened the door wide and took a step inside, straight into the thick smoke, and disappeared. The other two remained outside.
Half a minute passed, then suddenly the first man
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