‘I’m fine, though I may have done something to my arm. Actually, I feel a bit wobbly, but I’m glad to see you lot.’
Hakim steered her towards a police car. ‘You have Zetterberg to thank,’ he muttered as though in apology. ‘Apparently, Pontus overheard you telling me that you weren’t going to Karlshamn, and rushed off to tell Zetterberg. I’m afraid I had to tell her what you were up to, and we drove out here. When we realized that something was up – we saw Lothar taking your car away – she called for armed back-up from Ystad.’
‘Thank goodness for Brodd’s big mouth.’
Zetterberg stalked over to the police car. ‘Where’s Kristina Ekman?’ she demanded to know.
‘Back there,’ said Anita, indicating the wood. ‘She won’t be giving us any more trouble.’
‘Hakim, go and find her.’
‘It’s a bit grisly,’ Anita warned.
Zetterberg’s gaze swept over the scene.
‘I suppose I should thank you,’ said Anita. ‘If you’d waited five minutes longer, I’d be dead.’
Zetterberg’s lip curled in distaste. ‘If I’d known, I’d have waited ten.’
Anita knew she meant it.
NOTES
Finnish Wartime Refugees
During the Second World War, over 70,000 Finnish children were evacuated in the face of Soviet attacks. The first wave of refugees took place during the Winter War (1939-40) as the Finns feared that there might be a humanitarian disaster following what they believed would be the inevitable Soviet occupation. Indeed, the Soviet Union did seize parts of Finland, including some of the country’s most fertile areas. With the prospect of the Soviet Union trying to annexe the whole country, the Finns became co-belligerents (as opposed to becoming a member of the AXIS powers) with Nazi Germany in the fight to regain lost territory. This became known as the Continuation War (1941-1944).
The Continuation War saw the flow of evacuated children increase, with most heading to Sweden, which was not only neutral, but also had hundreds of years of historic connections with Finland. This included children from both Finnish and Finnish-Swedish (Swedish speaking) homes. Many of the children were ‘guests’ of Swedish families while some of those who were ill or in poor physical condition were placed in institutions such as hospitals, sanatoria and orphanages. As one would expect, the children had mixed fortunes, though research has shown that most had later felt that the evacuation had been a positive experience.
However, when the war finished, most of the children didn’t return for some time due to the poor economic conditions in a war-battered Finland and the uncertainty over the future intentions of the Soviet Union. Over 15,000 children never returned to their native land at all; many having been too young to remember their Finnish roots and having bonded with their Swedish families in the intervening years. Many were formally adopted by their Swedish families and a substantial number of Finnish parents decided not to take their children back.
The physical and psychological effects were longer lasting for many of the returning evacuees. There was an elevated risk of heart disease and diabetes, and an earlier onset of puberty. Female evacuees were more likely to have their first child at a younger age. The psychological consequences included the increased risk of mental health issues, in particular personality disorders and substance abuse. A study by the Academy of Finland in April 2013 concluded that Finnish children sent to Sweden to avoid war suffered more than those who stayed.
To get an insight into the period, I recommend the 2005 Finnish film Mother of Mine, directed by Klaus Härö. It follows the life of a young Finnish boy who is taken in by a Scanian farmer and his wife during World War II. I have a personal connection with this film as Göran Brante, a friend who has been very helpful with my books over the years, plays the part of the postman delivering letters to the remote farm from the boy’s mother back in Finland.
Acknowledgements
As I once forgot to mention him, I’d like to start by thanking the generous Nick Pugh of The Roundhouse for his usual eye-catching cover design. On the medical front, the Foster doctors from Gloucester, Bill, Justine and Jess, provided helpful advice yet again. If I have used it incorrectly, blame me, not them. I’d like to thank neighbour, Carol Reading, for allowing me to snoop around her containers. And her husband, Mark, who was meant to find out information about South American firearms and didn’t, but still wanted a mention.
On the Swedish side; thanks go to the ever-helpful Eva Wennås Brante for introducing me to Svaneholm and Rutger Macklean. Of course, our great friend Karin Geistrand provided her usual extensive help on the police (including plundering her Police Academy photographs) and other matters over a few bottles of red wine and a visit to Simrishamn’s Nordic Sea Winery. Again, it’s no fault of hers that I have trampled over accepted Swedish police procedural practices.
I’d also like to mention one of my readers, John Boursy, who raised an interesting question about Ramadan in Sweden, the answer to which I’ve incorporated into the book. Of course, thanks to Fraser and Paula for accommodation and numerous tips on Swedish life. Thanks to Matt, Diana, Chantal and the team at eBookpartnership for their excellent service and back-up; and to Linda MacFadyen for her tireless support and her promotion of The Malmö Mysteries. Last but certainly not least, thanks to Susan for her editing and usual forthright suggestions.
I would also like to thank family, friends and readers for their continued encouragement.
About the author
Torquil MacLeod was born in Edinburgh. After working in advertising agencies in Birmingham, Glasgow and Newcastle, he now lives in Cumbria with his wife, Susan, and her hens. The idea for a Scandinavian crime series came from his frequent trips to Malmö and southern Sweden to visit his elder son. He now has four grandchildren, two of whom are Swedish.
MALICE IN MALMÖ Page 35