The Voices Beyond: (Oland Quartet Series 4) by Johan Theorin Read Free Book Online

their horns. It was midsummer, and ten thousand people had decided to go over to the island at the same time. Every single one of them just wanted to get there.
    The sun burned in through the windows, the inside of the car grew hotter and hotter, and Lisa hadn’t thought to bring any water or soft drinks. All she had was chewing gum.
    What should she do? Turn around and forget about Öland?
    A traffic cop on a motorbike rode up between the cars and pulled into the gap that had appeared when Lisa stopped halfway up the hill.
    Fuck.
She lowered her head and hoped he would keep on going.
    He didn’t, of course. He got off his bike and knocked on the window. She wound it down.
    ‘You can’t stop here,’ he said.
    ‘I don’t want to stop here,’ she said, nodding towards the bonnet. ‘Something’s wrong under there.’
    ‘With the engine?’ He sniffed the air. ‘I can smell burning.’
    ‘Me too …’
    ‘It’s probably the clutch. You’ve been overdoing it on the way up the hill.’ He pointed to the other side of the bridge. ‘It’s OK to drive, but pull off at the first car park and let the engine cool down. You’ll find some of my colleagues over there – they’ll help you out.’
    Lisa nodded. She had held a driving licence for five years, but felt like a complete novice as she put the car in gear and gently pressed the accelerator to rejoin the queue of traffic.
    She felt much better once she had passed the highest point and was on her way downhill. The acrid, burning smell was still powerful inside the car, but when she opened the window the stench of exhaust fumes came pouring in instead. The queue of vehicles and caravans stretched the entire length of the bridge, and was moving at roughly the same speed as a rowing boat. It was almost twelve thirty. The gig in Stenvik started at two – under normal circumstances, she would have had plenty of time.
    It took twenty-five minutes to cover the seven kilometres over the bridge and to reach the island, but the traffic jam continued on the other side. Lisa spotted a large car park on the right and turned off the road.
    There wasn’t much room – the police were there, just as the traffic cop had said, and had stopped several cars. Most were small and battered, with very young drivers and passengers who had been asked to get out and open the boot.
    Lisa got out and opened the bonnet. God, it stank. The engine was red-hot and ticking angrily, but at least there wasn’t any smoke now. She would wait for a little while before setting off again; that would give her an hour before the gig.
    After a while, a police officer came over to the car. She was younger than the cop on the bridge, probably around thirty; she was tanned and wearing a short-sleeved shirt.
    ‘Problems?’
    Lisa nodded.
    ‘But I think it’s just temporary … Apparently, the clutch needs to cool down.’
    ‘Good – we need all the space we can get. We’re pulling in a lot of cars.’
    ‘Is it a speed check?’
    ‘No. Booze.’
    ‘Booze?’
    The officer nodded over towards an old red Volvo estate. Three lads a few years younger than Lisa were unloading box after box of bottles of wine from the boot, under the watchful eye of two policemen. None of them looked particularly happy.
    ‘People bring too much alcohol with them at midsummer,’ the officer said. ‘If they’re under age, or seem to be bootleggers, we confiscate it.’
    ‘Do they get it back?’
    ‘No, I’m afraid we pour it all away.’ She looked at Lisa’s car. ‘How does it seem now?’
    Lisa sniffed, but she couldn’t smell burning any more. Just exhaust fumes.
    ‘I think I can probably risk it … Do you know if the traffic eases off as you head north?’
    ‘Not so you’d notice. It is midsummer, after all.’
    ‘I know,’ Lisa said.
    She rejoined the queue; a friendly caravan driver braked to let her in. The traffic was moving a little faster, but still at only fifty kilometres an hour. She wouldn’t