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

worked in. A sheet of Plexiglas at the front protected her from the public and any alcohol that might be splashing around.
    ‘What about security?’ she asked.
    ‘We’ve got guards here 24/7 in the summer,’ the receptionist said. ‘In the evenings they move between the hotel and the club. There’s an alarm button over by the bar if things kick off.’
    ‘Great.’
    ‘Make yourself at home,’ the receptionist said, and headed back up the stairs.
    Lisa placed her records and CDs on the floor behind the Plexiglas, then locked the booth and went over to the glass door to have a look outside.
    The door was like a wide fire exit or an escape route – which was good. She slid it open and stepped out into the summer heat. The sea air rushed towards her from the sparkling Sound, carrying with it the faint smell of seaweed.
    On the large wooden deck there were more tables and metal chairs arranged around a large barbecue made of metal and stone; there was also a bar decorated with bamboo. There was no one in sight, but many of the tables already had a R ESERVED notice on them.
    Immediately below the hotel she saw a sandy beach in an inlet extending south. To the north there was a verdant deciduous forest, with a low stone wall in front of it. The wall was topped with tightly stretched barbed wire.
    A flight of stone steps led down to the lawn in front of the hotel, where croquet hoops had been set up. Lisa walked down past the croquet lawn, and went over to the forest and the wall.
    Fences and walls always made her curious. She could see nothing but a dense wall of low trees and tangled bushes, so why the need for barbed wire?
    Cautiously, she grabbed hold of the wire and pulled it up so that she could wriggle underneath. First her legs, then the rest of her body. The wire seemed keen to shred the back of her head, but she managed to squeeze through and jump down on the other side of the wall.
    Now she was in the forbidden forest. It looked old, with lichen-covered ash trees and gnarled oaks among younger birch and elder. An enchanted forest waiting for a princess, for Lady Summertime.
    She was only intending to go a short distance. There was a narrow track leading away from the wall – possibly made by hares or deer – and Lisa took a few tentative steps along it. Then she stopped and took a deep breath.
    It was so quiet here. Dark and peaceful, with the muted sound of birdsong and the hum of various insects. She carried on down the track, and when she looked back she could no longer see the hotel. The wall she had climbed over was barely visible through the foliage. Forests on the island weren’t tall or extensive but dense and thick with undergrowth; they could hide just about anything.
    She heard a twig snap up ahead. It was very distinct, definitely not the product of her imagination, but she couldn’t see any movement. Everything around her was green and brown, leaves and branches trembling in the gentle breeze.
    The narrow track gradually widened, and after perhaps fifty metres it ended in a glade with tall, overgrown grass. Lisa stepped out into the light and screwed up her eyes as she turned her face up to the sun. It was almost at its zenith now. She could hear splashing and cheerful shouts from the beach to the south.
    The Swedish summer. Tomas Ledin was right, it was short, but that made it all the more intense. Lisa was a city girl; she had grown up in Farsta in a family that didn’t own a summer cottage, but a vague, almost atavistic longing for a rural community had attracted her to the job on Öland for this summer season.
    And the money, of course.
    When she looked down at the grass she noticed wide grooves – deep tyre tracks. A large, heavy machine had driven through this ancient forest, straight across the glade and over to the trees on the far side.
    A small building had once stood there, but the machine must have driven right into it, because now there was nothing left but the foundations and a