Buried Angels

LOVÖ CEMETERY 1933

Two years had passed since Carin’s death, but Hermann hadn’t come to fetch her. As faithful as a dog, Dagmar had waited as the days became weeks, the months became years.

She still scoured the newspapers for word of him. Hermann had become a government official in Germany. In the photographs he looked so handsome in his uniform. A powerful and important associate for that man called Hitler. As long as Hermann was in Germany and involved in his career, Dagmar could understand why he had to let her wait, but when the papers reported that he was once again in Sweden, she had decided to make things easy for him. He was a busy man, and if he couldn’t come to her, then she would go to him. As the wife of a prominent politician, she would be forced to adapt to his needs, and most likely she would also have to move to Germany. She realized that the girl could not come with her. It wouldn’t do for a man in Hermann’s position to have a daughter born out of wedlock. But Laura was thirteen now; she could fend for herself.

The papers didn’t mention where Hermann was staying, leaving Dagmar unsure how to find him. She went to his old address on Odengatan in Stockholm, but a stranger opened the door and told her that the Görings hadn’t lived there for years. She was standing outside the building, pondering her next move, when she suddenly remembered reading about the place where Carin was buried. Maybe Hermann would go there to visit his wife’s grave. It turned out that Lovö cemetery was located somewhere outside the city. Eventually she managed to find a bus that would take her almost all the way there.

Now she was squatting down in front of the headstone, staring at Carin’s name and the swastika that had been etched underneath. Golden autumn leaves whirled around her in the cold October wind, but she hardly noticed. She’d thought that her hatred would fade when Carin died, but as she sat in her worn coat, filled with thoughts of all the years of hardship she’d endured, she felt her old fury awaken once more.

She sprang to her feet and took a few steps back from the grave. Then she launched herself at the headstone with all her might. An intense pain radiated from her shoulder to her fingertips, but the stone hadn’t budged. Frustrated, she attacked the flowers that adorned the grave, yanking them up by the roots. Then she again backed up and rushed forward in an attempt to dislodge the green swastika made of iron that stood next to the headstone. It gave way and fell flat on the grass. She dragged it as far from the grave as she could. With glee she surveyed the destruction she had wrought until a hand grabbed her by the arm.

‘What on earth are you doing?’ A big, hefty man was standing next to her.

She smiled happily. ‘I’m the future Mrs Göring. I know that Hermann doesn’t think Carin deserved to have such a fine grave, so I’ve taken care of the matter, and now I must go to him.’

Dagmar kept on smiling, but the man’s face was grim. He muttered something to himself as he shook his head. Then with a firm grip on her arm, he dragged her towards the church.

When the police arrived an hour later, Dagmar was still smiling.