The Atlantis Keystone

by Caroline Väljemark

  He saw a car on the driveway. It was a mail delivery. It dropped something in the post box and left. Erik got up and went outside to pick it up. It was the local paper, as he had expected. He was reading it as he was walking back in.

  “I knew it!” he mumbled. He closed the library door behind him as he entered. The sound made Emma stir and wake up. Erik ignored her disillusioned look and proclaimed, waiving the paper in front of her: “The local press might not be very enthusiastic but they somehow manage to sniff out the news of the region. Look at the front page!” It showed a picture of Torpa with a story about a body having been found in its vicinity. It didn’t say anything further. Clearly they had not been given any detail about the chest or the link with the space in the wall. Erik noted this with relief.

  Emma quickly came to her senses. “Do you know how long the local paper has been around?” she asked, looking as if she had just realised something.

  “Since some time in the nineteenth century I think. I know what you’re thinking.”

  “Yes, let’s go and check out the archives. If anyone went missing in the 1960s or 70s they would have reported on it.”

  “I suppose so. Do you want to go there now?” He started to walk towards the door.

  “It’s Wednesday, isn’t it? It should be a normal working day for them. Let’s have some breakfast and then get ready and go.”

  Erik agreed. An hour later, as it started to rain, they drove Erik’s black shiny BMW into the little town nearby. It took almost twenty minutes to get there, with Erik staying meticulously to the speed limit. The town was at the other end of the main lake, set on a little hill with views over the lake. They parked up and walked to the town square near the church. A respectable number of small shops lined the pedestrian area, currently populated by about five people; one old woman who was walking slowly, supported by some sort of crutch; a young man who had the appearance of someone skiving off school and a mother with two small children. The shops were evidently not getting much business this morning, Erik concluded.

  “Why have you never brought me here before?” Emma demanded. “It’s charming!”

  “If you say so… It is you and the Germans then.” Year on year the number of German tourists visiting had increased to an almost unbelievable level. During the summer months one could hear more German voices than Swedish on the busy streets.

  It didn’t take them long to reach the office of the local paper. It was just off the square. It had a small reception and they were greeted by an older woman with a wide smile.

  “Erik, what brings you here today?” she said with exaggerated surprise. Erik had never met the woman and he had no idea who she was but he had developed into something of a local celebrity after the whole ‘opening the wall’ incident. Also, in such a small town there was an ever present ‘everyone knows everyone’ mentality, even if that wasn’t always the case. “Did you hear about the body they found in the Torpa woods yesterday?” she continued.

  “Yes, I saw it in the paper this morning. Very shocking.” He pretended to be unaware of the detail and got straight to the point. “If you would be so kind we would like to search your archives this morning. Would that be possible?”

  “Interested in the origin of the dead woman, are you? Can’t blame you really. Who knows who it could have been? Very upsetting really. We have no regulations about sharing our archives with whoever is asking. In fact, we have now uploaded all articles so that we have a complete computer system with two hundred years worth of news. Not everything is connected to our local search engine but you should be able to find all articles on one of our computers here.” She showed them the way up the stairs and into a room lined with comfortable sofas and a table with numerous coffee mugs. “You just missed the breakfast meeting,” she added and showed them into an empty office with a desktop computer. “Here you go.”

  “Thank you so much.” It had certainly been easier than Erik had expected but he was a little bit annoyed that she had so easily been able to guess why they were there. The computer was already on and they found the ‘archives’ link almost immediately. After having attempted to use the search engine to look for the word ‘missing’ they realised that all three hundred and ten hits were from after 1987 and revealed that ‘A man had been missing his dog on his travels around China’, a farmer had ‘three missing cows’ following a blizzard and Hjertrud would be missed by her ‘three daughters, fourteen grandchildren and twenty seven great grandchildren’ following her death at ninety seven. All very interesting but not in the least bit useful for their current quest.

  “Let’s try and search by year,” Emma suggested. “Type in ‘1970’”. A multitude of links to previous instalments of the paper from that year came up on screen. They were all links to scanned images of the paper.

  “This is going to take us a long time…” Erik said with dismay. “We don’t even know in what year she would have disappeared and whether it would have been first page news.”

  “The find of a lost cat would be first page news in this town! I think we should restrict ourselves to the front page. That would be much quicker.” Erik agreed and they started to methodically go through the front pages of the whole of the year 1970. They spent no more than a few seconds per issue but it seemed to be a somewhat time consuming task. With three issues per week, there were almost 160 issues in a year. It took them forty minutes to go through the whole of the year.

  “I think we can conclude that it didn’t happen in 1970. Shall we do 1969 or 1971 do you think?”

  “Let’s do 1971. Not that I’m a fashion expert but to me her clothes, or what was left of them, looked more seventies than sixties,” Erik suggested. Emma laughed but went along with it. They spent another hour going through the local news of that year without much success. There had been a story on Torpa but it had concerned the annual Midsummer celebration in the Torpa grounds and reported of an unfortunate breakdown in correspondence between the members of the folk-dance group ‘Mora-truppen’ which had lead to a surplus of male dancers. At the end of the front page news item it was noted that the disappointment of the audience was evident by the decrease in herring consumption following the event.

  “It’s amazing what made front page news in those days,” commented Emma absently.

  At that moment one of the journalists walked past and spotted Erik through the window to the office. Erik recognised him as one of the reporters from the ‘opening of the wall’ ordeal and he guessed that he was the one who had taken the unflattering picture of him being carried out of Torpa in a sheet. For a moment Erik thought the reporter was going to stand outside and stare at them but he seemed to have decided to come in and say hello.

  “Erik, you’re well I see!” he said shaking Erik’s hand. “Are you here searching for something?”

  “Just showing Emma around town really. Thought we’d drop in and check if we could find something about that woman found dead near Torpa.” Erik decided to stick to the truth. It was pointless to lie as the receptionist was bound to have spread the news already.

  “Yes, sad story that. I have done a little digging myself this morning. Not much success. Don’t have enough to go by. I suppose we can leave it to the police to do their job first.” Erik didn’t like his tone. It had sounded as if he disapproved of them snooping around. The reporter, who had introduced himself as Tomas was in his fifties and was wearing brown trousers and a beige polo-neck jumper with little style. There was something about him that made Erik dislike him but it was difficult to put a finger on exactly what it was. After having offered them coffee from the nearby machine Tomas said goodbye.

  “Back-to-business then. It was nice to meet you.” He said smiling stiffly.

  Emma and Erik continued through 1972, 1973 and 1947 without any clues as to the origin of the dead woman or her killer. Starting to despair they debated whether to go back to 1969 and do the earlier years first but decided to do 1975 anyway, to cover off the first part of the seve
nties at least. They were half way through when they finally stumbled upon something.

  “Look!” A picture of Torpa from the January 1975 edition caught Emma’s attention. Dominating the picture was a woman standing in front of the house. She had long blond hair and appeared young, in her late teens or early twenties. She was smiling widely at the camera, wearing something which looked like a ballet dancing outfit under her jacket and a medal around her neck. Erik translated the text under the picture which revealed that she had won a ballet dancing competition and mentioned ‘…with Torpa as her temporary home during her stay in Sweden…’ This woman had actually stayed at Torpa, albeit temporarily. Erik was just about to move on but Emma stopped him, looking more closely at the picture. She inhaled sharply and said: “Look at her face. Can you not see the resemblance?”

  “To whom?”

  “To me…” she said sarcastically. “Who do you think? The dead woman of course!”

  Erik leaned closer. “I suppose so. Both have blond hair and I would say an oval face but it is very difficult to tell. There was not much left of the body!” Erik returned the sarcasm. “The timing is right though.”

  “There is definitely something familiar about her. Perhaps something about her eyes as well. Maybe she is a relative of your family and that’s why she was staying at Torpa. What does it say?” Erik quickly eyed the rest of the article.

  “This woman is Danish, from Copenhagen. She was visiting the town for a dance-event and she won a ballet dancing competition. It says her name was Anne-Lise Andersen. That is really all it says. I don’t recognise her name. I have never heard any mention of any relatives in Denmark.”

  “There is definitely something familiar about her.” Emma repeated. “Well, remember the legend about the girl who was buried in the wall. She had visited relatives in Denmark. That would suggest that hundreds of years ago your family did have some Danish connections at least, if the legend is to be believed that is. I think we should make some enquiries about her. Let’s start with the web!” Erik quickly Googled the name in the article but nothing useful came back.

  “Maybe our next step should be to speak to someone who was around at the time. Though I would rather not speak to my parents about it. Maybe Britt-Marie. She would have been, working at Torpa by then I think and would probably have been about the same age as this woman. She was also pretty good at keeping up to date with the village gossip so if this girl somehow ended up living out here for a while, Britt-Marie would know about it. I say we call it a day here and speak to her tomorrow.”

  They took a copy of the article and thanked the helpful receptionist on the way out. Not sure about the significance of their discovery, they had dinner in a small café before heading back to Torpa. An impenetrable darkness had settled on the estate by the time they got there. Only a couple of windows of the modern house were lit. Erik guessed that his parents had once again been out all day, going about their business as always. His mother had numerous business ventures which she was keeping a close eye on. His father may have been involved in them as well but didn’t have any of his own.

  As it turned out his parents were at home and informed them that they had missed a visit from the police earlier in the day. They had questioned Erik’s parents and had asked to speak to Erik in more detail at his earliest convenience.

  ▪ ▪ ▪

  Although she was in her fifties, she had never married and had no children. Britt-Marie lived with her parents, who were still alive but now aging and in their seventies. Her only sibling was a brother, who had moved out many years ago and started a family in a nearby town. They approached the house via a narrow drive-way, lined with trees on either side all dusted in white from a light snowfall earlier that morning. The house was not small but yet not very grand in comparison to the splendour of the Torpa estate. With its two floors of lit windows it looked homely and welcoming. The exterior of the house was wooden and painted in a typically Swedish yellow. The garden was extremely well kept. Emma guessed that was Britt-Marie’s doing now that she had more time on her hands. She recalled Erik telling her that Britt-Marie had been in the service of the family since before he was born. She had been Erik’s nanny for many years and thereafter had taken the unenviable post as the caretaker of Erik’s grandmother. Erik had mentioned that she was particularly attached to the old woman and their whole family, which seemed to explain her decision to stay but Emma still found it difficult to believe that anyone could form a liking to the old witch, unless she had turned nasty only in recent years. After Mrs Stenbock’s death in August, Britt-Marie had finally left her post and moved back to her parents full time. Emma guessed that they now needed her more than anyone else. As they parked on the driveway Emma noticed for the first time that the house was situated only twenty or so meters away from the lake, with the garden leading down to a small sandy beach.

  Erik pressed the door-bell and it seemed to take an age before the door opened, revealing a short woman in her seventies, white hair and an unpleasant facial expression.

  “Vad vill ni?” Emma understood this as a rather rude ‘What do you want?’ Erik said something in Swedish in response which Emma understood as ‘We would like to speak to Britt-Marie if she is home’. Her Swedish was clearly improving, she thought to herself. They were shown in and were asked to sit down in the grand living room. Britt-Marie would be with them shortly. Then she left them alone.

  “Was that Britt-Marie’s mother?” Emma whispered.

  “Yes, I believe so. I have never actually met her before I don’t think. They never seem to attend any neighbourhood events or gatherings and I haven’t really had a reason to come and visit here before. Britt-Marie has always been around at ours.” They both fell silent, waiting. Emma was looking around the room, noticing some expensive looking paintings on the wall as well as various artefacts on display in the glass encased main bookshelf at the back of the room. The room was bright and stylishly furnished in the typically Swedish Gustavian style. The items on the bookshelf seemed to be a collection of beautiful porcelain figurines and vases. One of the vases stood out from the rest, being made of alabaster, Emma noticed. She could not help walking over to take a closer look.

  “What are you doing?” Erik asked from the sofa.

  “Just having a look.” Before Emma had even reached the shelves Britt-Marie entered the room. She looked much the same as she had when Emma had seen her back in August. She smiled brightly at them.

  “What a lovely surprise to see you both! I thought you’d never come and see me Erik! What brings you here today?”

  Erik felt a sting of guilt for not having visited earlier. “We just wanted to say hello and catch up,” He said, returning her smile. “How’s life treating you without Torpa?”

  “Well it takes some getting used to. I probably shouldn’t say this but I could do with someone needing me.” She lowered her voice. “My parents take care of themselves. No need for me to look after them. I have been thinking of offering my childcare services to another family in the area.”

  “Yes, why not. You are a great nanny, Britt-Marie.” Erik went over to give her a hug. They had been chatting for almost forty minutes, Britt-Marie providing coffee and cookies, before Erik brought the dead woman up. He did it casually.

  “By the way, did you hear about the woman buried in the Torpa woods?”

  “Yes, I read about it in the paper. Strange that. Very strange. Who could it be? Who could have done something like that around here?”

  “It was Emma and I who found her. We found the woman buried near the rune stone.” Erik paused as if debating how much to tell…”She was hidden in the chest; the chest that was in the space in the wall at Torpa. It appears the burglar didn’t want to steal what was in the chest, he wanted to hide it; to prevent it from being exposed.” Britt-Marie seemed to pale. She set her cup down and looked at them both.

  “I didn’t know this. The newspaper article doesn’t seem to have made the connection with
the chest yet.” She looked down on her hands as if deep in thought.

  “You know this means the woman was actually buried inside the old Torpa manor house. Do you have any idea who she could be and who did this?”

  Britt-Marie quickly looked up again. “No! I don’t have a clue. It was a long time ago!” Her answer was rapid. Almost too rapid, Emma thought. She was around back then, thirty years ago. Emma doubted that Britt-Marie would have been involved herself. She was a person without a vicious bone in her body but there was the possibility that she could be protecting someone else.

  “We found this article.” Erik handed over the copy of the page with the picture of the missing girl. Britt-Marie was shaken this time but was trying hard to compose herself. The picture clearly meant something to her but for some reason she was reluctant to talk about it.

  “I don’t remember this. I’m sorry.” she said after almost a minute’s hesitation.

  “Do you have any idea who she is?”

  “I’m afraid not. I mean, let me think about it. My mother might remember. She was teaching dance classes many years ago.” The way she said it was with something that resembled guilt. Erik had never seen Britt-Marie react in this way. Her cheeks had turned red and Erik was convinced she was lying. She obviously wasn’t used to lying to people and undoubtedly hated having to do it. She could not get them out of the house quickly enough and although she was smiling brightly as she waved goodbye from the door as they left, they could both see that she was in a state of inner turmoil.

  TWENTY-THREE

  It was raining heavily. The rain was cold and unfriendly, coming down like needles from the dark sky. Although it was midday it felt more like early evening. The noise from the rain and wind drowned out the struggling priest. Although he was doing his best to deliver his speech loudly, they could not hear a word. The weather conditions reflected Erik’s mood as the group of umbrella-clad family and friends gathered around the freshly dug grave into which they had lowered Anna’s coffin. Erik glanced over at her parents. They were wrestling with their umbrella but this didn’t prevent her mother from crying loudly, grasping her husband and shaking from a combination of grief and cold. Anna had been their only child and a year and a bit after her death they were still finding it difficult to accept she was really gone. They were good people and Erik hoped that the return of Anna’s body and the ceremony today would help them to find some sort of peace and move on.