The Hidden Child

Chapter 21

‘She seems very nice.’ Karin smiled as she pushed Ludde in his pushchair.

‘Erica is the best,’ said Patrik, a smile tugging at his lips. Of course they’d had a few quarrels recently, but that wasn’t important. He counted himself a lucky man, waking up next to Erica every morning.

‘I wish I could say the same about Leif,’ said Karin. ‘But I’m starting to get really tired of being married to a dance band musician. I knew what I was getting myself into, though, so I suppose I can’t complain.’

‘Things change when you have kids,’ said Patrik, his remark half a statement and half a question.

‘You think so?’ replied Karin sarcastically. ‘Maybe I was naïve, but I had no idea how much work it is, and how many demands there are on a person when you have a young child, and… it’s not easy having to carry the entire load myself. Sometimes it feels like I’m the one who does all the hard work, getting up at night, changing nappies, playing with him, feeding him, taking him to the doctor when he’s sick. And then Leif comes waltzing in the door and Ludde welcomes him home as if he were Santa Claus. And that feels so unfair.’

‘But who does Ludde want if he hurts himself?’ asked Patrik.

Karin smiled. ‘You’re right. I’m the one he wants. So I guess it means something to him after all that I’m the one who comforts him in the middle of the night. But I don’t know… I feel duped somehow. This isn’t the way things were supposed to be.’ She sighed and straightened Ludde’s cap, which had twisted round so that one ear was covered.

‘Personally, I’m finding it much more fun than I’d ever imagined,’ said Patrik, only realizing what a stupid remark it was when he caught the piercing look that Karin gave him.

‘Does Erica feel the same way?’ she asked sharply, and Patrik saw her point.

‘No, she doesn’t. Or at least she hasn’t during the past year,’ said Patrik. He felt a pang of guilt at the thought of how pale and joyless Erica had been during the first months after Maja was born.

‘Could it be because Erica has been yanked out of her adult life to stay home with Maja, while you’ve gone off to work every day?’

‘But I’ve helped out as much as I could,’ Patrik protested. ‘Helped out, sure,’ said Karin, steering the pushchair and moving ahead as they came to a narrow stretch of road leading to Badholmen. ‘But there’s a huge difference between “helping out” and being the one who has to shoulder most of the responsibility. It’s not so simple to work out how to calm a crying baby, or how and when he needs to eat, or how to keep yourself and the child busy for at least five days a week, usually without any type of adult companionship. It’s a whole other matter to be the CEO of Baby Incorporated, compared with just being an assistant standing on the sidelines, taking inventory.’

‘But you can’t just lump all fathers together like that,’ said Patrik as he manoeuvred the pushchair up the steep hill. ‘Often the mothers don’t want to relinquish control, and if the husband does change a nappy, she’ll say he’s done it wrong, or if he feeds the baby, she’ll say he’s not holding the bottle properly, and so on. It’s not always so easy for the fathers to participate in that CEO role you’re talking about.’

Karin didn’t say anything for a few minutes. Then she looked at Patrik and said, ‘Was Erica like that, when she stayed home with Maja? Refusing to let you participate?’ She waited for his answer.

Patrik thought hard for a moment and then was forced to admit: ‘No, she wasn’t. I think I was actually glad not to have the major responsibility. When Maja was unhappy and I tried to comfort her, it was nice to know that, no matter how much she cried, I could always hand her over to Erica if I couldn’t get her to calm down. And Erica would take care of things. And it was great to go off to work every morning, knowing I’d come home to a big welcome from Maja in the evening.’

‘And in the meantime you got your dose of the adult world,’ said Karin drily. ‘So how are things now that you do have the major responsibility? Everything okay?’

Patrik thought for a moment and then had to shake his head. ‘Well, I haven’t exactly received top marks as a stay-at-home dad. But it’s not easy. Erica works at home, you see, and she knows where everything is and…’ He shook his head again.

‘That sounds so familiar. Every time Leif comes home, he stands there shouting: “Karin! Where are the nappies?!” Sometimes I wonder how you men manage to do your jobs at all, since at home you can’t remember where anything’s kept.’

‘Oh, come on now,’ said Patrik, giving Karin a poke in the side. ‘We’re not that helpless. Give us a little credit, okay? Only a generation ago men would never have changed their kids’ nappies, and we’ve come a long way since then. But you can’t make these kinds of transformations overnight. Our fathers were our role models, they’re the ones who influenced us, and it takes time to adapt. But we’re doing the best we can.’

‘Maybe you are,’ said Karin, and again she sounded bitter. ‘That’s definitely not the case with Leif.’

Patrik didn’t reply. There was really nothing to say. And when they parted in Sälvik at the intersection near Norderviken Sailing Club, he felt both sad and pensive. For a long time he’d harboured bad feelings towards Karin because of the way she’d betrayed him. Now he just felt enormously sorry for her.

The phone call to the station had them jumping into a police car immediately. Mellberg, as usual, had muttered some excuse and hurried to his office, but Martin, Paula, and Gösta had raced off to Tanumshede secondary school. On arrival, they’d been directed to the principal’s office and since this wasn’t their first trip to the school, Martin had no trouble finding the way.

‘What’s happened here?’ He glanced around the room; a surly-looking teenager sat on a chair, flanked by the principal and two men, whom Martin guessed were teachers.

‘Per beat up one of our students,’ said the principal grimly as he sat down behind his desk. ‘I’m glad you got here so fast.’

‘How is the student doing?’ asked Paula.

‘It doesn’t look good. The school nurse is with him, and an ambulance is on the way. I’ve phoned Per’s mother. She should be here soon.’ The principal glared at the boy, who responded with an indifferent yawn.

‘You’ll have to come down to the police station with us,’ said Martin, signalling for Per to stand up. He turned to the principal. ‘See if you can reach his mother before she gets here, otherwise you’ll just have to ask her to meet us at the station. My colleague, Paula Morales, will stay here and interview any witnesses to the attack.’

‘I’ll get started right away,’ Paula said, making for the door.

Per was still sporting the same indifferent expression as he sauntered down the corridor with the police officers. A large crowd of curious students had gathered, and Per reacted to the attention by grinning and giving them the finger.

‘Fucking idiots,’ he muttered.

Gösta gave him a sharp look. ‘Keep your mouth shut until we get to the station.’

Per shrugged but obeyed. As they drove back to the squat building that housed both the police and the fire brigade, he sat staring out of the window in silence.

When they reached the station, they put the boy in an interview room and waited for his mother to arrive. Martin’s mobile rang. He listened with interest and then turned to Gösta, a pensive look on his face.

‘That was Paula,’ he said. ‘Do you know who Per beat up?’

‘No, is it somebody we know?’

‘You bet. Mattias Larsson, one of the boys who found Erik Frankel. They’re taking him to the hospital now. So we’ll need to interview him later on.’

Gösta received this information without comment, but Martin saw that his face had turned pale.

Ten minutes later Carina came running through the front door into the reception area, out of breath and asking for her son. Annika calmly brought her to Martin’s office.

‘Where’s Per? What has he done?’ She was fighting back the tears and sounded on the verge of hysteria. Martin shook hands with her as he introduced himself. Formalities and familiar routines often had a calming effect. As they did now. Carina repeated her questions, but in a more subdued tone of voice, and then she sat down on the chair that Martin offered her. He grimaced as he sat down at his desk, recognizing a familiar smell emanating from the woman across from him. Stale booze. Maybe she’d been to a party the day before. But he didn’t think so. Her slightly bloated features were one of the tell-tale signs of alcoholism.

‘According to the report from the school, Per assaulted a fellow pupil.’

‘Oh, dear God,’ she said, gripping the armrests of her chair. ‘How…? The boy, is he…’ She couldn’t finish the sentence.

‘He’s being taken to the hospital. Apparently he was severely beaten.’

‘But why?’ She swallowed hard, shaking her head.

‘That’s what we aim to find out. We have Per in one of the interview rooms here, and we need your permission to ask him some questions.’

Carina nodded. ‘Yes, of course.’ She swallowed hard again.

‘All right then. Let’s go and have a talk with Per.’ Martin led the way. He paused in the corridor to knock on the door jamb of Gösta’s office. ‘Come with us. We’re going to have a talk with the boy.’

Carina and Gösta shook hands, and then all three of them went into the room where Per was waiting, trying to look as if the whole business bored him. But he lost his composure the minute he saw his mother come in. Not entirely, but there was a slight twitch at the corner of his eye. A trembling in his hands. Then he forced himself to resume the indifferent expression and turned his gaze towards the wall.

‘Per, what have you done now?’ Carina’s voice rose in pitch as she sat down next to her son and went to put her arm around him. He shook her off and refused to answer.

Martin and Gösta sat across from Per and Carina, and Martin switched on the recorder. From habit, he had also brought along a pen and notepad, which he placed on the table. Then he rattled off the date and time for the sake of the recording and cleared his throat.

‘All right, Per, can you tell us what happened? By the way, Mattias has been taken to the hospital. In case you were wondering.’

Per merely smiled.

‘Per!’ His mother poked him in the side with her elbow. ‘You need to answer the question. And of course you were worried about the boy! Right?’ Her voice was shrill, and her son still refused to look at her.

‘Let’s give Per time to answer,’ said Gösta, winking at Carina to calm her down.

They sat in silence, waiting for the fifteen-year-old to respond. Finally he tossed his head and said, ‘That Mattias talks a load of shit.’

‘What kind of “shit”?’ said Martin, keeping his voice friendly. ‘Could you be a little more precise?’

Another lengthy pause. Then: ‘He was chatting up Mia, bragging about how fucking brave he was when he and Adam broke into that old guy’s house and found his body and how nobody else would have dared! I mean, what the fuck was that about? They only got the idea because I’d already been inside. Their ears were as big as satellite dishes when I told them about all the cool stuff he had. Everybody knows they weren’t the first to break in. Those fucking nerds.’

He threw back his head and laughed, while his mother stared shamefaced at the tabletop.

‘Are you talking about Erik Frankel’s house?’ said Martin, incredulous.

‘Yeah, the guy that Mattias and Adam found dead. The one with all the Nazi stuff. Really cool stuff,’ said Per, his eyes shining. ‘I was hoping to pick up a few nice pieces, but then the old guy showed up and locked me in and called my father and…’

‘Whoa – hold on,’ said Martin, holding up his hands. ‘Slow down a bit. Are you saying that Erik Frankel caught you when you broke into his house? And that he locked you up?’

Per nodded. ‘I didn’t think he was home, so I went in through a basement window. But he came downstairs while I was in that room with all the books and shit, and he closed the door and locked it. Then he made me give him my father’s phone number so he could call him.’

‘Did you know about this?’ Martin turned to Carina, giving her a sharp look.

She nodded reluctantly. ‘I only found out yesterday. Kjell, my ex-husband, didn’t tell me about it before, so I had no idea. And I can’t understand why you didn’t give him my number, Per, instead of getting your father mixed up in this!’

‘You wouldn’t have been able to handle it,’ said Per, looking at his mother for the first time. ‘You just lie around drinking all the time and don’t give a shit about anything else. You reek of booze, by the way. Just so you know!’ Per’s hands started shaking, his composure cracking again.

Tears rolled down Carina’s cheeks. ‘Is that the only thing you have to say about me, after all I’ve done for you? I gave birth to you, fed you, dressed you, and took care of you all those years when your father didn’t want anything to do with us.’ She turned to Martin and Gösta. ‘One day he just up and left. Packed his suitcases and took off with some twenty-five-year-old tart that he’d got pregnant. He walked out on me and Per without so much as a backward glance. Got on with starting a new family while we were left behind like yesterday’s rubbish.’

‘It’s been ten years since Pappa left,’ said Per wearily. He suddenly looked much older than his fifteen years.

‘What’s your father’s name?’ asked Gösta.

‘My ex-husband is Kjell Ringholm,’ replied Carina tensely. ‘I can give you his phone number, if you like.’

Martin and Gösta exchanged glances.

‘Would that be the same Kjell Ringholm who writes for Bohusläningen?’ said Gösta, the pieces falling into place in his mind. ‘The son of Frans Ringholm?’

‘Frans is my grandfather,’ said Per proudly. ‘He’s so cool. He’s even been to prison, but now he does political work instead. They’re going to win the next council election, and then those black fuckers are going to be driven out of the district.’

‘Per!’ exclaimed Carina, shocked. Then she turned to the officers. ‘He’s at that age when he’s testing things. And Frans isn’t a good influence on him. Kjell has forbidden Per to see his grandfather.’

‘As if that would stop me,’ muttered Per. ‘And that old man with the Nazi stuff? He got what he deserved. I heard the way he talked to my father when he came to get me. All that shit about how he could give my father good material for the articles he was writing about Sweden’s Friends, and especially about Frans. They didn’t think I was listening, but I heard them make an appointment to meet again. Fucking traitors, the pair of them. I can understand why Grandpa is ashamed of my father,’ said Per hostilely.

Smack! Carina slapped her son, and in the ensuing silence mother and son stared at each other with both surprise and hatred. Then Carina’s expression softened. ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to… I… I’m sorry.’ She tried to give her son a hug, but he pushed her away.

‘Get away from me, you fucking drunk. Don’t you dare touch me!’

‘Okay, everybody, calm down.’ Gösta rose from his chair, glowering at Carina and Per. ‘I don’t think we’re going to get much further at the moment. You can leave now, Per. But…’ He looked at Martin, who nodded almost imperceptibly. ‘But we’re going to have to contact the social services office about this. We’ve seen enough to cause concern, and we will recommend that social services take a closer look. In the meantime we’ll be carrying on our own investigation.’

‘Is that necessary?’ asked Carina, her voice quavering, but her question lacked any real force. Gösta had the impression she was relieved that somebody was going to take control of their situation.

After Per and Carina left the station, walking side by side without looking at each other, Gösta followed Martin to his office.

‘Well, that certainly gave us something to think about,’ said Martin as he sat down.

‘It certainly did,’ said Gösta. He bit his lip, rocking back and forth on his heels.

‘You look like you have something to say. What is it?’

‘Hmm… well, it might not be important.’ Then Gösta made up his mind. It was something that had been gnawing at his subconscious for a few days, and during the interview with Per, he’d realized what it was. Now the question was how he should put it into words. Martin was not going to be happy.

Axel stood on the porch for a long time, hesitating. Finally he knocked. Herman opened the door almost immediately.

‘So, it’s you.’

He nodded. He stayed where he was, making no attempt to enter.

‘Come in. I didn’t tell her you were coming. I didn’t know if she’d remember.’

‘Is she that bad?’ Axel looked with sympathy at the man standing in front of him. Herman looked tired. It couldn’t be easy.

‘Is this the whole clan?’ asked Axel, nodding at the photos in the hall as he stepped inside.

Herman’s face lit up. ‘Yes, that’s everybody.’

Axel studied the photographs, hands clasped behind his back. Midsummer and birthday celebrations, Christmas gettogethers and ordinary days. A swarm of people, including children and grandchildren. For a moment he allowed himself to reflect on how his own wall of photos would have looked, if he’d had one. Pictures from his days at the office. Endless piles of documents. Countless dinners with politicians and others with the power to wield influence. Few, if any, would be pictures of friends. There weren’t many who had the energy to keep up with him, who could stand the constant drive to track down yet another war criminal who’d managed to live an undeservedly comfortable life. Another former Nazi with blood on his hands who was free to enjoy the privilege of using those soiled hands to pat the heads of his grandchildren. How could family members, friends, or an ordinary life compete with that quest? For long periods of his life he hadn’t even allowed himself to consider whether he was missing out on anything. And the reward when his efforts bore fruit, when those years of searching archives and interviewing survivors with failing memories finally resulted in exposing the guilty and bringing them to justice, the reward at such times was so great that it pushed aside any longing for an ordinary life. Or at least, that was what he’d always believed. But now, as he stood in front of these family photographs, he wondered whether he’d been wrong to put death ahead of life.

‘They’re wonderful,’ said Axel, turning his back on the pictures. He followed Herman into the living room, stopping abruptly when he saw Britta. Even though he and Erik had never abandoned their home in Fjällbacka, it had been decades since he’d last seen her. There had been no occasion for their lives to intersect in all that time.

Now the years fell away with cruel force, and he felt himself reeling. She was still beautiful. She’d actually been much lovelier than Elsy, who could better be described as pretty. But Elsy had possessed an inner glow, a kindness that Britta’s outward beauty could never match. Though he could see now that something about her had changed with the years. There was no trace of Britta’s former haughty demeanour; now she radiated a warm maternal glow, a maturity that the years must have bestowed on her.

‘Is that you?’ she said, getting up from the sofa. ‘Is that really you, Axel?’ She held out both hands towards him, and he took them. So many years had passed. Such an unbelievable number of years. Sixty years. A lifetime. When he was younger, he never would have imagined that time could pass so quickly. The hands he held in his own were wrinkled and covered with brown age spots. Her hair was no longer dark but a lovely silvery-grey. Britta looked calmly into his eyes.

‘It’s good to see you again, Axel. You’ve aged well.’

‘Funny, but I was just thinking the same thing about you,’ said Axel with a smile.

‘Well now, let’s sit down and have a little chat. Herman, could you bring us some coffee?’

Herman nodded and went into the kitchen to make coffee. Britta sat down again, still holding Axel’s hands as he took a seat next to her.

‘To think we’d ever be so old, Axel. I never dreamt that would happen,’ she said, tilting her head to look at him. Axel noted with amusement that she had retained some of the coquettishness of her younger days. ‘You’ve done a lot of good, over the years, from what I’ve heard,’ she said, studying him intently. He looked away.

‘I’m not sure what you mean by “doing good”. I’ve done what I had to do. Certain things just can’t be swept under the rug,’ he said, and then fell silent.

‘You’re right about that, Axel,’ said Britta solemnly. ‘You’re certainly right about that.’

They sat next to each other in silence, looking out at the bay, until Herman came back with the coffee service on a floral-painted tray.

‘I’ve made you some coffee.’

‘Thank you, dear,’ said Britta. Axel felt a pang in his heart when he saw the look they gave each other. He reminded himself that through his work he’d been able to contribute a sense of peace to scores of people, giving them the satisfaction of seeing their tormentors brought before a court of law. That was also a form of love. Not personal, not physical, but still a kind of love.

As if she could read his thoughts, Britta handed him a cup of coffee and said, ‘Have you had a good life, Axel?’

The question encompassed so many dimensions, so many levels, that he didn’t know how to answer it. In his mind he pictured Erik and his friends in the library of their house, light-hearted, carefree. Elsy with her sweet smile and gentle demeanour. Frans, who made everybody around him feel like they were tiptoeing around the edge of a volcano, yet beneath it all there remained something fragile and sensitive about him. Britta, who had seemed so different from the way she was now. Back then, she had carried her beauty like a shield, and he had judged her to be nothing more than an empty shell, with no substance worthy of notice. And maybe that’s how she was back then. But the years had filled up the shell, and now she seemed to glow from within. And Erik. The thought of Erik was so painful that his brain wanted to push it away. But as he sat there in Britta’s living room, Axel forced himself to picture his brother as he was back then, before the difficult times commenced. Sitting at his father’s desk, with his feet propped up. His brown hair tousled as always, wearing that absent expression that made him look much older than he was. Erik. Dear, beloved Erik.

Axel realized that Britta was waiting for his reply. He forced himself back from the past and tried to find an answer in the present. But as always, the two were hopelessly intertwined, and the sixty years that had passed merged in his memory into a muddle of people, encounters, and events. His hand holding the coffee cup began to tremble, and finally he said, ‘I don’t know. I think so. As good as I deserved.’

‘I’ve had a good life, Axel. And I decided a long time ago that I deserved it. You should do the same.’

His hand trembled even more, making coffee splash on to the sofa.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry… I…’

Herman leapt to his feet. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get a dishcloth.’ He went out to the kitchen and quickly returned with a damp blue-checked kitchen towel, which he cautiously pressed over the upholstery.

Britta gave a little shriek, making Axel jump. ‘Oh, now Mamma is going to be cross with me. Her fancy sofa. This is bad.’

Axel cast an enquiring glance at Herman, who responded by rubbing on the stain even harder.

‘Do you think you can get it off? Mamma is going to be so cross with me!’ Britta rocked back and forth, anxiously watching Herman’s efforts to wipe up the coffee. He straightened up and slipped his arm around his wife. ‘It will be fine, sweetheart. I’ll get rid of the stain. I promise.’

‘Are you sure? Because if Mamma gets mad, she might tell Pappa, and…’ Britta wrung her hands and nervously chewed on her knuckles.

‘I promise that I’ll get rid of it. She won’t even notice.’

‘Oh, good, That’s good,’ said Britta, relaxing. Then she gave a start and stared at Axel. ‘Who are you? What do you want?’

He looked at Herman for guidance.

‘It comes and goes,’ he said, sitting down next to Britta and patting her hand. She studied Axel intently, as if there was something annoying or baffling about his face, something that kept eluding her. Then she grabbed Axel’s hand and moved her face close to his.

‘He’s calling to me, you know.’

‘Who?’ said Axel, fighting an urge to withdraw his face, his hand, his body.

Britta didn’t reply at first. Then he heard the echo of his own words.

‘Certain things just can’t be swept under the rug,’ she whispered, her face only centimetres away from his own.

He tore his hand out of her grip and looked at Herman over Britta’s silvery-grey hair.

‘So now you can see for yourself,’ said Herman wearily. ‘What do we do next?’

‘Adrian! Cut that out!’ Anna was struggling so hard that she broke into a sweat with the effort of getting her son dressed. Lately he’d turned his wriggling into an art form, making it impossible to get him into his clothes. She’d managed to hold on to him just long enough to pull up a pair of under-pants, but then he tore loose and started running all over the house.

‘Adrian! Come on now! Please. Mamma doesn’t have time for this. We’re going to drive with Dan to Tanumshede to do some shopping. You can go look at the toys in Hedemyr’s,’ she said, desperate to win his cooperation, for all that she knew bribes probably weren’t the best way to handle the getting-dressed problem. But what else could she do?

‘Aren’t you ready yet?’ asked Dan when he came downstairs and saw her sitting on the floor next to a pile of clothes while Adrian continued to race around like crazy. ‘My class starts in half an hour. I’ve got to leave.’

‘Fine. Do it yourself then,’ snapped Anna, tossing Adrian’s clothes at Dan. He looked at her in surprise. She certainly hadn’t been in the best of moods lately, but maybe that wasn’t so strange. Merging two families was turning out to be much harder than either of them had anticipated.

‘Come on, Adrian,’ said Dan, grabbing the boy by the scruff of the neck as he dashed past. ‘Let’s see if I still know how to do this.’ He got socks on the boy with relative ease, but that was it. Adrian resumed his wriggling and flat-out refused to put on his trousers. Dan made a couple of attempts, but then he too lost patience. ‘Adrian, sit still NOW!’

Looking astonished, Adrian stopped instantly. Then his face turned bright red. ‘You’re NOT my pappa! Get out of here! I want my pappa! PAPPA!’

That was too much for Anna. All the memories of Lucas and that terrible time when she’d lived like a prisoner in her own home came flooding back, and she started to cry. She rushed upstairs and threw herself on to the bed, where she gave into wrenching sobs.

Then she felt a gentle hand on her back. ‘Sweetheart, what’s wrong? It’s not that bad. He’s not used to the situation, and he’s testing us, that’s all it is. You should have seen how Belinda was at his age. He’s a rank amateur compared to her. One time I was so sick and tired of her making such a fuss about getting dressed that I set her outside the door in nothing but her knickers. Pernilla was furious – it was December, after all. But I only left her outside for a minute.’

Anna didn’t laugh. Instead she cried even harder, and she was shaking all over.

‘Sweetie, what is it? You’re making me really worried. I know that you’ve been through a lot, but we can make this work. Everybody just needs a little time, and then things will calm down. You… you and I… together we can make this work.’

She raised her tear-stained face to look at him and then propped herself up on the bed.

‘I-I know…’ she stammered as she tried to stop crying. ‘I know that… and I don’t understand… why I’m reacting… this way.’ Dan stroked her back and the sobs began to subside. ‘I’m just a little… oversensitive… I don’t understand. I usually only act this way when I’m…’ Anna stopped in mid-sentence and stared at Dan, open-mouthed.

‘What?’ he said, looking puzzled. ‘You usually only act this way when what?’

Anna couldn’t bring herself to reply, and after a moment she saw a light go on in his eyes.

Then she nodded. ‘I usually only act this way when I’m… pregnant.’

There was utter silence in the bedroom. Then they heard a little voice from the doorway.

‘I’m dressed now. I did it all by myself. I’m a big boy. Can we go to the toy shop now?’

Dan and Anna looked at Adrian standing in the doorway, beaming with pride. His trousers were on backwards, and his shirt was inside out, but it was true: he had put on his clothes. All by himself.

Even out in the hallway it smelled good. Filled with anticipation, Mellberg went into the kitchen. Rita had phoned just before eleven o’clock to ask whether he’d like to come over for lunch since Señorita had expressed a desire to play with Ernst. He hadn’t asked how her dog had communicated this desire. Certain things should just be accepted like manna from heaven.

‘Hi there.’ Johanna was standing next to Rita, helping her chop vegetables. Clearly it was a bit of an effort, for her stomach forced her to keep some distance from the counter.

‘Hi. It smells so good in here,’ said Mellberg, sniffing at the air.

‘We’re making chilli con carne,’ said Rita, coming over to give him a kiss on the cheek. Mellberg resisted an impulse to raise his hand and touch the spot where her lips had been. Instead, he sat down at the table, which was set for four.

‘Is someone else joining us?’ he asked, looking at Rita.

‘My partner is coming home for lunch,’ said Johanna, rubbing her back.

‘Shouldn’t you sit down?’ said Mellberg, pulling out a chair. ‘It must be hard to carry all that weight around.’

Johanna complied and sat down next to him, breathing heavily. ‘Oh, you have no idea. Hopefully it won’t be long now. It’s going to feel great to get rid of this.’ She ran her hand over her belly. ‘Would you like to feel?’ she asked Mellberg when she saw his expression.

‘Could I?’ he asked sheepishly. He hadn’t discovered his own son’s existence until Simon was a teenager, so this part of parenthood was a mystery to him.

‘Here, the baby’s kicking.’ Johanna took his hand and placed it on the left side of her belly.

Mellberg gave a start as he felt a strong kick against his hand. ‘Good heavens! That’s amazing. Doesn’t it hurt?’ He stared at her abdomen as he kept feeling solid kicks against the palm of his hand.

‘Not really. Sometimes it’s a little uncomfortable when I’m trying to sleep. My partner thinks the baby is going to be a football player.’

‘I’m inclined to agree with him,’ said Mellberg, not wanting to take his hand away. The experience stirred strange feelings inside him that he could hardly define. Longing, fascination, regret… He wasn’t really sure. ‘Does his father have a talent for football that the baby might inherit?’ he said with a laugh. To his great surprise, his question was greeted with silence. He looked up to meet Rita’s astonished expression.

‘But Bertil, don’t you know that…’

At that moment the front door opened.

‘How good it smells, Mamma,’ they heard from the hall. ‘What are you making? Your special chilli?’

Paula came into the kitchen, and her look of surprise was even greater than Mellberg’s.

‘Paula?’

‘Boss?’

Thoughts whirled through Mellberg’s mind until the pieces fell into place. Paula, who had moved here with her mother. Rita, who had recently moved here. And the dark eyes. To think he hadn’t noticed earlier. They had exactly the same eyes. There was just one thing that he didn’t really…

‘So, I see that you’ve met my partner,’ said Paula, putting her arm around Johanna’s shoulders. She stared at Mellberg, waiting to see his reaction. Challenging him to say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing.

Out of the corner of her eye Rita was watching him tensely. She held a wooden spoon in one hand, but she’d stopped stirring as she too waited for his reaction. A thousand thoughts raced through Mellberg’s head. A thousand prejudices. A thousand things that he’d said over the years that might have been better not said. But suddenly he realized that this was the moment in his life when he had to say the right thing, do the right thing. Too much was at stake, and with Rita’s dark eyes fixed on him, he said calmly:

‘I didn’t know you were about to become a mother. And so soon. I see that congratulations are in order. Johanna was kind enough to let me feel that wildcat inside there, so I tend to agree with your theory that she’s going to give birth to a future football player.’

Paula didn’t move for a few more seconds, her arm around Johanna and her eyes riveted on his, trying to determine if there was any veiled sarcasm in what he’d said. Then she relaxed and smiled. ‘It’s amazing to feel all that kicking, isn’t it?’ The whole room seemed to implode with relief.

Rita went back to stirring the chilli as she said with a laugh: ‘That’s nothing compare to how you kicked, Paula. I remember that your father used to joke about it, saying it felt like you were looking to find a different way out than the usual exit.’

Paula kissed Johanna on the cheek and sat down at the table. She couldn’t hide the fact that she was staring at Mellberg with astonishment. He, in turn, was feeling enormously pleased with himself. He still thought it was strange that two women would live together, and the fact that one of them was pregnant seemed especially bewildering. Sooner or later he’d be forced to satisfy his curiosity about that. And yet, he’d said the right thing. To his great surprise, he’d also meant what he’d said.

Rita set the pot of chilli on the table and urged them to help themselves. The look she gave Mellberg was the final proof that he’d done well.

He could still feel Johanna’s bulging skin under his hand, and the child’s foot kicking against his palm.

‘You’re just in time for lunch. I was about to give you a call.’ Patrik tasted a spoonful of the tomato soup and then set the saucepan on the table.

‘Now that’s what I call service. What’s the occasion?’ Erica came into the kitchen and kissed him on the back of the neck.

‘You think this is all? Do you mean that I could have impressed you just by making you lunch? Jeez, that means that I’ve done the laundry, cleaned up the living room, and changed the light bulb in the bathroom all for nothing.’ Patrik turned around and kissed her on the lips.

‘Whatever drug you’re on, I’d like some too,’ said Erica, looking at him in surprise. ‘Where’s Maja?’

‘She fell asleep about fifteen minutes ago. So we’ll be able to eat lunch in peace and quiet, just you and me. And after that, you can zip back upstairs to work while I wash the dishes.’

‘Okay… Now it’s getting to be a little too much,’ said Erica. ‘Either you’ve embezzled all our money, or you’re about to tell me that you have a mistress, or that you’ve been accepted into NASA’s space programme and you’ll be spending the next year circling the planet in a spaceship… Or has my husband been kidnapped by aliens, and you’re some sort of android, half human and half robot?’

‘How did you know about NASA?’ said Patrik with wink. He put a few slices of bread in a basket and sat down at the kitchen table across from Erica. ‘No, the truth is I had a little epiphany when I was out walking with Karin today, and… well, I just thought I should help you out more. But don’t think you’ll get this sort of treatment every day. I can’t guarantee that I won’t have a relapse.’

‘So the only thing I need to do to get my husband to help out more around the house is to send him on a date with his ex-wife? I’ll have to tell my women friends about this.’

‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ said Patrik, blowing on a spoonful of hot soup. ‘It wasn’t really a date, you know. And she’s not having a very easy time of it.’ He briefly recounted what Karin had told him, and Erica nodded. Even though Karin seemed to be getting considerably less support at home than she’d had, it still sounded very familiar.

‘So how was your morning?’ asked Patrik, slurping a bit as he ate his soup.

Erica’s face lit up. ‘I found a lot of good stuff. You wouldn’t believe the things that happened in Fjällbacka during the Second World War. All kinds of smuggling went on, both to and from Norway – food, news, weapons, and people. Both German defectors and Norwegian resistance fighters came here. And later there were the mines to contend with. A number of fishing boats and cargo ships were lost, along with their crews and everything on board, when they ran into mines. And did you know that in 1940 a German fighter plane was shot down by the Swedish air force just outside of Dingle? All three crewmen were killed. I’ve never heard anyone mention any of this. I always had the impression the war had hardly any impact in these parts, aside from the food and petrol rationing.’

‘It sounds as though you’re getting really interested in the subject,’ said Patrik as he served Erica some more soup.

‘I haven’t told you the half of it. I asked Christian to dig out anything that might mention my mother and her friends, never thinking he’d get anywhere with it, given that they were so young back then. But wait until you see this -’ Erica’s voice shook with excitement as she got up to fetch her briefcase. She set it on the kitchen table and took out a thick wad of papers.

‘Wow, that’s quite a stack you’ve got there.’

‘I’ve spent three hours reading it all,’ said Erica, leafing through the documents, her fingers trembling. Finally she found what she was looking for. ‘Here! Look at this!’ She pointed to an article with a big black-and-white photograph.

Patrik studied the article she handed him. The picture was the first thing that drew his attention. Five people, standing next to each other. He squinted to make out the caption, recognizing four of the names: Elsy Moström, Frans Ringholm, Erik Frankel, and Britta Johansson. But the fifth person he’d never heard of before. A boy, about the same age as the others, by the name of Hans Olavsen. Patrik silently read the article as Erica fixed her eyes on his face.

‘So? What do you think? I don’t know what it means, but it can’t be a coincidence. Look at the date. He came to Fjällbacka on almost the same day that my mother seems to have ended her diary. That can’t be a coincidence! It must mean something!’ Erica paced back and forth in the kitchen.

Patrik bent his head to examine the photo again. He studied the images of the five young people. Elsy had died in a car crash four years ago. Now one more of them was dead, murdered sixty years after this picture was taken. He had a gut feeling that Erica was right. It must mean something.

Paula’s thoughts were in turmoil as she walked back to the station. Her mother had mentioned that she’d met a nice man who had been keeping her company on her walks, and that she’d then persuaded him to take her salsa class. But Paula never would have dreamed that the man would be her new boss. And it was no exaggeration to say that she wasn’t exactly pleased. Mellberg was just about the last man on earth that she would have chosen for her mother. Mind you, she had to admit that he had handled the news about her and Johanna rather well. Surprisingly. Narrow-mindedness had been her foremost argument for not moving to Tanumshede. It had been hard enough for her and Johanna to be accepted as a family in Stockholm. And in a little town like this… Well, it could be disastrous. But she’d talked over everything with Johanna and her mother, and they had all agreed that if things didn’t work out they could simply move back to Stockholm.

So far, everything had gone much better than expected. She liked her job at the station, her mother had settled in with her salsa classes and a part-time job at the Konsum supermarket, and even though Johanna was on sick leave at the moment and would then have a lengthy maternity leave, she’d talked to a number of local businesses who’d shown interest in enlisting her help with their finances. Yet the minute Paula saw Mellberg’s expression when she put her arm around Johanna, it had felt as though everything might fall apart like a house of cards. At that moment, their whole life could have collapsed. But Mellberg had surprised her. Maybe he wasn’t as hopeless as she’d assumed.

Paula exchanged a few words with Annika in the reception area. Then she knocked on Martin’s door and went in.

‘How are things going?’ she asked when he looked up from his paperwork.

‘With the assault case? Well, the boy admitted to doing it – not that he had much choice in the matter. His mother took him home, but Gösta has informed social services. It doesn’t appear to be a very stable home situation.’

‘That’s often the case,’ said Paula, sitting down.

‘But what was really interesting was the reason for the assault in the first place. It turns out that Per broke into Erik Frankel’s house in early June.’

Paula raised an eyebrow but let Martin continue without commenting. After he’d told her the whole story, they were both quiet for a moment.

‘I wonder what Erik had that would have interested Kjell,’ said Paula. ‘Could it have it been something about Frans?’

Martin shrugged. ‘That’s what the boy said. I thought it might be worth asking Kjell. We still have to go to Uddevalla to interview some of the members of Sweden’s Friends, and Bohusläningen has its main editorial office there. And we can call in on Axel on the way.’

‘No sooner said than done,’ said Paula, getting up.

Twenty minutes later they were again standing outside the front door of the Frankel brothers’ house.

Axel looks older than last time, Paula thought. Thinner, almost transparent in some way. He gave them a friendly smile as he let them in. He didn’t ask why they had come, just led the way to the veranda.

‘Have you made any progress?’ he asked as they sat down. ‘With the investigation, that is,’ he clarified unnecessarily.

Martin glanced at Paula but then said, ‘We have several leads that we’re following. Most importantly, we’ve managed to pinpoint the probable time when your brother died.’

‘Well, that’s a major development,’ said Axel, smiling, although the smile didn’t dislodge any of the grief or fatigue from his eyes. ‘So when do you think it was?’

‘He went to see his… woman friend, Viola Ellmander, on the fifteenth of June; that seems to be the last time he was seen alive. On the seventeenth of June, the cleaning woman…’

‘Laila,’ said Axel, seeing that Martin was struggling to recall the name.

‘Laila, right. She came here on the seventeenth to clean the house, as usual, but no one came to the door when she rang, and no one had left her a key, as the two of you were in the habit of doing if you weren’t going to be at home.’

‘Yes, Erik was very meticulous about leaving a key for Laila. As far as I know, he never forgot to do that. So if he didn’t open the door, and there was no key, then…’ Axel fell silent and rubbed his eyes, as if he were seeing visions of his brother that he’d prefer to dismiss at once.

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Paula gently, ‘but we have to ask you where you were between the fifteenth and seventeenth of June. I assure you, it’s just a formality.’

Axel waved away her attempt to reassure him. ‘No need to apologize. I know you’re only doing your job. And besides, don’t the statistics say that most murders are committed by someone in the family?’

Martin nodded. ‘True. But we need to gather information for the investigation and it will help if we can rule you out as a suspect.’

‘Of course. I’ll get my calendar.’

Axel was gone a few minutes. He returned carrying a thick diary. ‘Let’s see now…’ He sat down again and began leafing through it. ‘I left Sweden and went directly to Paris on the third of June, and I didn’t come back here until you… were kind enough to collect me at the airport. But from the fifteenth to the seventeenth… ah, here we are: I had a meeting in Brussels on the fifteenth, went to Frankfurt on the sixteenth, and then returned to the head office in Paris on the seventeenth. I can get you photocopies of my tickets if you like.’ He handed the diary to Paula.

She studied it closely, but after casting an enquiring glance at Martin, who shook his head, she pushed the diary back across the table.

‘No, I don’t think that will be necessary. Do you remember anything about these dates that might have significance with regard to Erik? Anything specific? A phone conversation? Something he may have mentioned?’

Axel shook his head. ‘No, I’m sorry. As I said, my brother and I weren’t in the habit of phoning each other very often when I was abroad. Erik would only have called me if the house was on fire.’ He laughed but then abruptly fell silent and again rubbed his eyes. ‘So, was that all? Is there anything else I can help you with?’ he asked, carefully closing the diary.

‘Actually, there is one other thing…’ said Martin, fixing his eyes on Axel. ‘We’ve interviewed a young man named Per Ringholm in connection with an assault case today. He told us that he broke into your house a few months ago. And that Erik caught him, locked him up in the library, and rang his father, Kjell Ringholm.’

‘Frans’s son,’ said Axel.

Martin nodded. ‘Exactly. And Per overheard Erik and Kjell making arrangements to meet later. It seems Erik had some information that he thought would interest Kjell. Does any of this ring a bell?’

‘No, it doesn’t,’ said Axel, vigorously shaking his head.

‘What about the information that Erik wanted to pass on? Do you have any idea what that might have been?’

Axel was silent for a while, as if considering the question. Then he shook his head again. ‘No, I can’t imagine what it could have been. Erik spent a lot of time studying the period leading up to the Second World War, and of course he’d personally experienced what Nazism was like during that period. Kjell, on the other hand, has devoted himself to writing about the resurgence of Nazism in Sweden today. So maybe Erik had found some kind of connection, something of historical interest that would give Kjell background material. But why don’t you just ask Kjell?’

‘We’re on our way to Uddevalla to see him now. But why don’t I give you my mobile number, just in case you happen to think of something.’ Martin wrote the number on a piece of paper and handed it to Axel, who slipped it inside his diary.

Paula and Martin got back in the car and continued their journey without speaking. But they were both thinking the same thing: What was it they were not seeing?

‘We can’t put it off any more. She won’t be able to stay here at home much longer.’ Herman looked at his daughters with such deep despair that they could hardly stand to return his gaze.

‘We know that, Pappa. You’re doing the right thing. There’s no other option. You’ve taken care of Mamma for as long as you could, but now others will have to step in. We’ll find a really great place for her.’ Anna-Greta went to stand behind her father’s chair, wrapping her arms around him. She shuddered to feel how gaunt his body felt under his shirt. Their mother’s illness had taken a heavy toll on him. Perhaps more than they’d known. Or wanted to see. She leaned forward and pressed her cheek against Herman’s.

‘We’re here to help you, Pappa. Birgitta and Maggan and our families. You know we’re here for you. You never need to feel alone.’

‘Without your mother, I do feel alone. But there’s nothing to be done about it,’ said Herman listlessly, quickly wiping away a tear with his shirtsleeve. ‘Still, I know that this is best for Britta. I know that.’

His daughters exchanged glances over their father’s head. Herman and Britta had been the centre of all their lives, a solid rock that they could always depend on. Now the very foundation of their lives was crumbling, and they reached out as if to steady each other. It was frightening to watch their mother shrink, becoming more and more diminished until she seemed smaller than themselves. Now it was necessary for them to step in and be the adults, taking on the burden of the ones they had always regarded, throughout their entire childhood and adolescence, as infallible, indestructible. Of course, they had long since ceased to look upon their parents as godlike creatures who had the answer to everything, but it was still painful to watch Britta and Herman fading this way.

Anna-Greta hugged her father’s gaunt form a few more times and then sat down at the kitchen table again.

‘Will she manage all right while you’re here?’ asked Maggan, looking worried. ‘Should I run over and look in on her?’

‘She had just fallen asleep when I left,’ said Herman. ‘But she usually doesn’t sleep more than an hour, so I’d better go back home.’ Wearily he got to his feet.

‘Why don’t we go over there and stay with her for a couple of hours? Then you can take a rest,’ said Birgitta. ‘Pappa could lie down in your guest room, couldn’t he?’ she asked Maggan, since it was at her house they had gathered in to talk about their mother.

‘That’s an excellent idea,’ said Maggan, nodding eagerly at her father. ‘Go in and rest for a while, and we’ll nip over to be with Mamma.’

‘Thank you, girls,’ said Herman, as he headed for the hall. ‘But your mother and I have taken care of each other for over fifty years, and I’d like to continue to take care of her for the short time that we have left. Once she’s settled in the nursing home, then…’ He didn’t finish his sentence but instead rushed out the door before his daughters could see his tears.

Britta smiled in her sleep. The lucid moments that her brain denied her when she was awake became all the more frequent when she slept. Then she saw everything clearly. Some of the memories were not welcome but forced themselves upon her nevertheless. Like the sound of her father’s belt striking a child’s bare behind. Or the sight of her mother’s tear-stained cheeks. Or the cramped confines of the little house on the hill, where the shrill cries of a child echoed in the space, making her want to clap her hands over her ears and scream too. But there were other things that were more pleasant to recall. Like the summers when they played merrily, racing over the rocks warmed by the sun. Elsy in one of the floral dresses that her mother had made by hand. Erik in his short pants, with his solemn face. Frans with his curly blond hair. She had always longed to run her fingers through his curls, even back when they were so young that there seemed no significant difference between boys and girls.

A voice forced its way through the memories as she slept. A voice that was all too familiar. It had been speaking to her more and more often lately. Not allowing her any peace, whether she was awake, asleep, or wrapped in a haze. The voice that penetrated through everything, wanted everything, insisted on taking a place in her world. The voice that denied her respite, refused to let her forget. The voice that she thought she’d never hear again. Yet here it was. So strange. And so frightening.

She rolled her head from side to side in her sleep, trying to shake off the voice, shake off the memories that were disturbing her rest. Finally she succeeded. Happy memories came to the fore. The first time she saw Herman. The moment when she knew that the two of them would spend their lives together. Their wedding, walking down the aisle in her white gown, giddy with happiness. The labour pains and then the love when Anna-Greta was born. And Birgitta and Margareta, whom she loved just as much. Herman taking care of the children, doing it out of love, not out of duty or obligation. She smiled. Her eyelids fluttered. This was where she wanted to stay. Here, with these memories. If she had to choose a single memory to fill her mind for the rest of her life, it was the image of Herman bathing their youngest daughter in the little bathtub. He was humming as he carefully supported her small head with his hand. With infinite gentleness he rubbed her chubby body with a washcloth, looking into his daughter’s eyes as she followed his every move. Britta saw herself standing in the doorway, watching without drawing her husband’s attention. Even if she forgot everything else, she would fight to hold on to that memory. Herman and Margareta, his hand under her head, the tenderness and closeness.

A sound forced her out of her dreams. She wanted to go back. Back to the sound of water splashing as Herman dipped the flannel in the basin. The sound of Margareta’s contented prattling as the warm water sloshed around her. But a new sound was forcing Britta closer to the surface. Closer to the fog that she wanted at all costs to avoid. Waking up meant risking being enveloped in the grey, confusing haze that took over her mind and had begun swallowing up more and more of her time.

At last she reluctantly opened her eyes. Somebody was leaning over her, looking at her. Britta smiled. Maybe she wasn’t yet fully awake. Maybe she could still fend off the fog with the memories that came to her in her sleep.

‘Is that you?’ she asked, staring up at the person leaning over her. Her body felt loose-jointed and heavy with sleep, which hadn’t yet completely left her. She didn’t have the strength to move. For a moment neither of them spoke. There wasn’t much to say. Then a sense of certainty forced its way into Britta’s brain. Memories rose to the surface. Feelings that had been forgotten now flashed and awakened to life. And she felt terror take hold. The fear from which she’d been released because of her gradual loss of memory. Now she saw Death standing beside her bed, and her entire being protested at having to leave this life, leave everything that was hers. She gripped the sheet in her hands, but her parched lips could manage only a few guttural sounds. Terror spread through her body, making her roll her head rapidly from side to side. Desperately she tried to send thoughts to Herman, as if he might hear her through the telepathic waves. But she knew it was in vain. Death had come to get her, the scythe would soon fall, and there was no one who could help her. She would die alone in her bed. Without Herman. Without the girls. Without saying farewell. At that moment the fog was gone and her mind was clearer than it had been in a long time. With fear racing like a wild animal in her chest, she managed at last to take a deep breath and utter a scream. Death didn’t move. Just kept staring at her as she lay in bed, staring and smiling. Not an unfriendly smile, but that made it all the more frightening.

Then Death leaned down and picked up the pillow from Herman’s side of the bed. Terrified, Britta saw the white shape getting closer. The final fog.

Her body protested for a moment. Panicked from the lack of air. Tried to take a breath, bring oxygen into her lungs. Her hands let go of the sheet, clutched wildly at the air. Struck resistance, struck skin. Tore and scratched, fighting to live another second.

Then everything went black.