First he intended to clean up after himself. As soon as he got rid of the body he intended to clean up after himself. Starting with his hotel room. Get his keys. Take the plane to Stockholm. Clean up his apartment on Norr Mälarstrand and his big house in the country. In the best case he could get back anything that rightfully belonged to him.
There was never time for any cleanup. As so often before when he planned things, the unexpected upset his calculations.
When he showed up at the hotel the next morning the police had already been there. A regular marked car was parked by the hotel entrance. Two uniformed Spanish officers standing in reception, talking with the staff. The main key that was in his pocket, that he’d had to pay so dearly for, could no longer be used. He got rid of it. Threw it in the water when he turned in the boat he had rented. Traveling to Sweden was out of the question.
What remained was the hope that there wasn’t anything to clean up. He laid low. Changed residence, waited, hid for months like a rabbit in its new hole. It was also then that he decided to have Esperanza built. As an extra insurance policy he could use to protect himself against the unexpected.
But nothing had happened. There hadn’t been anything he needed to clean up. If there had been he would have noticed it. Then things would have happened. All that had happened was that year was added to year, and soon it would be over for good, and worldly justice could no longer reach him. He had never had any reason to trouble himself about divine justice. On the contrary, it seemed to have been on his side all along, if you wanted to believe in such things.
Esperanza was no longer simply a boat, an insurance policy, and a reminder. It had also become a contribution to his livelihood, and it was Ignacio Ballester who had suggested it. Why not earn some extra money from all the charter tourists? Everyone who wanted to swim, fish, and dive. He knew the area, he knew the waters. He was an experienced sailor too, good diver, and capable fisherman. What would be simpler than putting out his card among all the others on the bulletin board down by the charter pier in Puerto Pollensa? Day tours, swimming, fishing, diving. Easy money and no tax authorities to torment anyone smart enough to give out only a cell phone number on the printed card.
Think of all the good-looking women he could meet, said Ignacio, winking at him. A man like him. In his prime and with a beautiful boat like Esperanza. All the beautiful women, practically naked, dressed for swimming and diving. And then the sun, the warm sea. Security, freedom, perhaps love too. Love. There was never anything wrong with a little love, was there?