The Hidden Child

Chapter 41

A tense feeling of anticipation had settled over the station following the events at the cemetery. Mellberg, of course, was taking full credit for the discovery, but nobody paid much attention to him. Even Gösta had a gleam in his eye as he joined in the speculation. Though they didn’t yet know exactly how yesterday’s discovery fit in with the two recent murders, everyone was certain it marked a major breakthrough in the investigation.

‘The question is,’ mused Paula, ‘why start killing people over a murder that happened sixty years ago? I mean, we almost have to assume that Britta and Erik were killed because of some link to the “alleged”’ – here she drew quote marks in the air – ‘murder of that boy. But why now? What sparked the renewed interest?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Martin, who’d been sitting at his desk wondering the very same thing when Paula dropped by. ‘Let’s hope the post-mortem will give us something concrete to go on.’

‘What if it doesn’t?’ said Paula, voicing the thought that he’d been trying to avoid.

‘Let’s just take it one step at a time,’ he said quietly.

‘That reminds me,’ said Paula, ‘aren’t we supposed to get back the DNA profile results today? It won’t do us much good unless we’ve got something to compare them to.’

‘You’re right,’ said Martin, pushing back his chair. ‘Let’s take care of that right now.’

‘Who should we take first? Axel or Frans? Those are the two we should focus on, right?’

‘Let’s take Frans,’ said Martin, and he put on his jacket.

With the summer tourist season over, Grebbestad was just as deserted as Fjällbacka, and they saw only a few residents as they drove through town. Martin parked the police vehicle in the small car park in front of the Telegraph restaurant, and they walked across the street to Frans’s flat. No one answered when they rang the bell.

‘Damn. He’s not at home. We’ll have to come back later,’ said Martin, turning away.

‘Wait a minute,’ said Paula. ‘The door’s open.’

‘But we can’t just…’ Martin’s objection came too late. His colleague had already opened the door and stepped inside.

‘Hello?’ he heard her calling, and reluctantly he followed her down the hall. They peeked into the kitchen and the living room. No Frans. And not a sound.

‘Come on, let’s check the bedroom,’ said Paula. Martin hesitated. ‘Oh, come on,’ she said. With a sigh he let her lead the way.

The bedroom was also empty, the bed neatly made up and no Frans in sight.

‘Hello?’ called Paula again when they returned to the hall. No answer. They made their way to the last room in the flat.

They saw him as soon as the door swung inwards. The room was a small office, and Frans had collapsed forward on to the desk, the gun still in his mouth and a gaping hole in the back of his head. Martin felt all the blood drain from his face; for a moment he swayed on his feet and had to swallow hard. Paula, on the other hand, seemed totally unfazed. She pointed at Frans, forcing Martin to look, even though he would have preferred not to.

‘Look at his arms,’ she said calmly.

Fighting the waves of nausea rising up inside of him, Martin did his best to focus on Frans’s forearms. He gave a start. They were covered in deep scratches.

It was just a matter now of waiting for confirmation from the scientific team. DNA and fingerprint analysis would no doubt prove that Frans had murdered Britta. And perhaps the techs combing through the apartment in Grebbestad would come up with a link to Erik Frankel’s murder too. And then there was the preliminary report on the body found in the soldiers’ grave in Fjällbacka; everybody was eager to know what fresh information that might provide.

Martin was the one who took the call from the ME. Holding the faxed post-mortem report in his hand, he then went round knocking on office doors and summoning his colleagues to a meeting.

After the others were seated, he leaned against the kitchen counter, deciding to remain standing so that everyone would be able to hear him.

‘As I said, I’ve got the initial report from Pedersen,’ Martin told them, turning a deaf ear to Mellberg’s sullen mutterings that he should have been the one to take that phone call.

‘Since we don’t have any DNA or a dental chart for comparison, we can’t positively identify the deceased as Hans Olavsen. But the age matches. And the time of his disappearance also fits, even though it’s impossible to know for certain after such a long time.’

‘So how did he die?’ asked Paula. She was tapping her foot on the floor, eager to get on with things.

Enjoying his moment in the spotlight, Martin paused for effect before announcing: ‘Pedersen says that the body had sustained massive injuries. Stab wounds caused by a sharp instrument, as well as contusions from kicks or punches, or both. It looks as though Hans Olavsen was the victim of a frenzied attack. His killer must have been in a fit of rage. The details are all in Pedersen’s preliminary report.’ Martin leaned forward to put the pages on the table.

‘So the cause of death was…?’ Paula was still tapping her foot.

‘It’s hard to say which particular injury caused his death. According to Pedersen, there were several wounds that could have been fatal.’

‘I’ll bet Ringholm was the one who did it. And that’s why he killed Erik and Britta too,’ muttered Gösta, voicing what most of his colleagues were thinking. ‘He’s always been a hot-headed bastard,’ Gösta added, shaking his head gloomily.

‘That’s one theory that we need to work on,’ said Martin, nodding. ‘But let’s not jump to conclusions. Frans did have scratches on his arms, just as Pedersen told us to look for, but until we have the lab results we won’t know whether Frans’s DNA matches the skin scrapings that we found under Britta’s fingernails, or whether he’s a match for the thumb-print on the pillowcase button. So until we have that corroboration, we’re going to keep plugging away as usual.’

Martin was surprised at how professional and calm he sounded. This was how Patrik came across whenever he reviewed a case. Martin couldn’t help stealing a glance at Mellberg, to see whether his boss seemed upset by the fact that his subordinate had jumped in and taken over the role that rightfully belonged to him, as station chief. But, as usual, Mellberg seemed content to hand over all the investigative legwork. Only when the case was solved would he muster the energy to take all the credit.

‘So what do we do now?’ asked Paula, giving Martin a quick wink to indicate that she thought he was doing a great job.

Even though the praise hadn’t been put into words, Martin was glowing with pride. He’d been the station rookie for so long that it hadn’t come easy, having to step up and take responsibility. But Patrik’s paternity leave had finally given him a chance to show his true worth.

‘Let’s start by reviewing our investigation of Erik Frankel’s death in the light of these new developments. We need to see if we can find any links to Frans. Could you do that, Paula?’ She nodded. Then Martin turned to Gösta.

‘Gösta, find out what you can about Hans Olavsen. Check out his background, see if anyone can give us more details about his stay in Fjällbacka, and so on. Talk to Patrik’s wife, Erica. She seems to have done a lot of research on the subject, and Frans’s son was on the trail. Get them to share their information with you. I don’t think Erica will present any problems in that regard, but it might be necessary to press Kjell a bit harder.’

Gösta nodded, but he displayed considerably less enthusiasm than Paula had. It wasn’t going to be either easy or fun to dig up information from sixty years ago. He sighed. ‘All right, I’ll work on it,’ he said, looking as if he’d just been assigned the labours of Hercules.

‘Annika, could you let us know ASAP when you hear from the lab?’

‘Of course,’ she said, putting down the pad of paper on which she had been taking notes while Martin talked.

‘Okay. Let’s get on with it then!’

Martin watched them troop out of the room, his face flushed with satisfaction at having successfully led his first investigative review.

Patrik put down the phone after finishing his conversation with Martin and went straight upstairs to see Erica.

‘I’m sorry to bother you,’ he said, tapping on her work-room door, ‘but I think you’ll want to hear this.’ He sat down on the armchair in the corner and recounted what Martin had told him about Hans Olavsen – or rather, the body that they thought was Hans Olavsen’s – and the terrible injuries he had suffered.

‘I assumed that he’d been murdered… But this seems…’ Erica was clearly upset.

‘Yes, somebody really had a score to settle with him,’ Patrik said. Then he noticed that he had interrupted Erica as she was once again reading through her mother’s diaries.

‘Have you found anything interesting?’ he asked, pointing to the books.

‘No, not really,’ she said, frustrated. ‘They stop right about the time that Hans Olavsen came to Fjällbacka, and that’s really the moment when things started to get interesting.’

‘And you have no idea why she stopped keeping a diary at that point?’ asked Patrik.

‘No, and that’s the thing: I’m not sure that she did stop. It seems to have been an ingrained habit of hers to write for a while every day, so why would she suddenly stop? No, I think there must be more diaries somewhere, but God only knows where…’ she said pensively, twisting a lock of hair around her finger, a habit that Patrik was quite familiar with by now.

‘Well, you’ve searched the whole attic, so they can’t be up there,’ he said, thinking out loud. ‘Do you suppose they might be in the basement?’

Erica thought for a moment, but then shook her head. ‘No, I went through the whole basement when we cleaned up before you moved in. I have a hard time believing they would be here in the house, but I don’t have any other ideas where they could be.’

‘Well, at least you’re getting some help with your research into Hans Olavsen. Kjell is working on it, and I have great faith in his ability to ferret out information. And Martin said that they’re going to work on it too. He’s asked Gösta to liaise with you.’

‘Okay. I have no problem sharing my information with the police,’ said Erica. ‘I just hope Kjell has the same attitude.’

‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ replied Patrik. ‘He’s a journalist, after all, and I’m sure he sees a story in all of this.’

‘I still wonder…’ said Erica, rocking her chair back and forth. ‘I still wonder why Erik gave those newspaper articles to Kjell. What did he know about the murder of Hans Olavsen that he wanted Kjell to find out? And why didn’t Erik just tell him what he knew? Why be so cryptic and evasive?’

Patrik shrugged. ‘We’ll probably never know. According to Martin, my colleagues at the station believe everything comes back to Frans. They think he murdered Hans Olavsen, and that he killed Erik and Britta in order to cover it up.’

‘Okay, I suppose there’s plenty of evidence that points in that direction,’ said Erica. ‘But there’s still a lot that…’ She let the sentence remain unfinished. ‘There’s so much that I still don’t understand. For example, why now? After sixty years? Hans had been lying in his grave undisturbed for sixty years, why did all of this come to the surface now?’ She chewed on the inside of her cheek as she pondered the question.

‘I have no idea,’ said Patrik. ‘There could be any number of reasons. We’ll probably just have to accept that the key events happened so far back in the past that we’ll never have a whole picture.’

‘You’re probably right,’ said Erica, clearly disappointed. She reached for the bag of sweets on her desk. ‘Would you like a Dumlekola?’

‘Sure,’ said Patrik, taking one out of the bag. In silence they munched on the sweets as they thought about the mystery of Hans Olavsen’s brutal death.

‘So you think it was Frans? Are you positive? And is it certain that he murdered Erik and Britta too?’ said Erica at last, studying Patrik’s expression.

‘Yes, I think so. At any rate, there’s not much to indicate that he didn’t do it. Martin’s expecting the lab report to come through on Monday, and it sounds as though that will at least confirm that he killed Britta. I imagine, now the investigation has homed in on Frans, they will turn up evidence to link him to Erik’s murder. As for Hans… he was murdered so many years ago that I doubt we’ll ever have a complete explanation for it. The only thing is…’ He made a wry face.

‘What? Is there something that seems odd to you?’ asked Erica.

‘Not odd, exactly. Just that Frans had an alibi for the time when we think Erik was killed. But his pals could be lying. Martin and the others will have to look into that. That’s my only reservation.’

‘And there’s no question about Frans’s death? No doubt that it was suicide, I mean?’

‘No, apparently not. It was his own gun, he was still holding it in his hand, and the barrel was still in his mouth.’

Erica grimaced as she pictured the scene in her mind. Patrik went on: ‘So, if we confirm that his fingerprints were on the gun and that he had powder residue on the hand that was holding it, then for all intents and purposes we’re looking at suicide.’

‘But you didn’t find a suicide note?’

‘No. Martin said they haven’t found anything like that. But people who commit suicide don’t always leave a note.’ He got up and tossed the sweet wrapper into the wastebasket. ‘Okay, I should let you work in peace, sweetheart. Try to get some work done on your book, otherwise the publisher is going to start breathing down your neck.’ He went over and kissed her on the lips.

‘Yes, I know,’ sighed Erica. ‘I’ve already made some headway today. What are you and Maja going to do?’

‘Karin phoned,’ said Patrik lightly. ‘We’ll probably go for a walk as soon as Maja wakes up.’

‘You’re certainly taking a lot of walks with Karin,’ said Erica, surprising herself by how disapproving she sounded.

Patrik looked at her in astonishment. ‘Are you jealous? Of Karin?’ He laughed and went over to give her another kiss. ‘You have no reason in the world to be jealous.’ He laughed again, but then turned serious. ‘Listen, if you really have a problem with me seeing her, please tell me.’

Erica shook her head. ‘No, of course not. I’m just being silly. There aren’t a lot of people you can spend time with now that you’re on paternity leave, so it’s good for you to have some adult company.’

‘Are you sure?’ Patrik studied her intently.

‘Yes, I’m sure,’ said Erica, waving him out of the room. ‘Go now. Somebody in this family needs to be working.’

He laughed and closed the door behind him. The last thing he saw as he peeked through a crack in the door was Erica reaching for one of the blue diaries.