The Hidden Child

by Camilla Lackberg

  ‘But why now?’ she asked, looking at him.

  At first Frans didn’t seem willing to answer the question, but finally he said, ‘If anything happens to me, I want to have this all arranged.’

  Carina said nothing. She didn’t want to know anything more.

  ‘Cool,’ said Per. ‘How much dosh do I get?’

  ‘Per!’ exclaimed Carina, glaring at her son, who merely shrugged.

  ‘A lot,’ said Frans drily. ‘But even though the account is in your name, there are certain restrictions. For one thing, you can’t access the money until you’re twenty-five.’ He held up an admonitory finger. ‘And I’ve also set it up so that you can’t access it until your mother decides that you’re mature enough to handle money and grants her permission. And that condition holds, even after you turn twenty-five. If she doesn’t trust you to do something sensible with the funds, you won’t get a cent of it. Do you understand?’

  Per muttered something but accepted what Frans had said without protest.

  Carina didn’t know what to make of all this. There was something in Frans’s manner, something in his voice, that made her uneasy. At the same time, she felt an enormous sense of gratitude towards him, on Per’s behalf. She wasn’t going to worry about where the money had come from. Frans must have acquired it a long time ago, and if the money could help Per in the future, she wasn’t about to quibble.

  ‘What do I do about Kjell?’ she asked.

  Now Frans raised his head and fixed his eyes on her. ‘Kjell isn’t to know anything about this until the day that Per gets the money. Promise me that you won’t say anything to him! That goes for you too, Per.’ He gave his grandson a stern look. ‘That’s my only request. That your father doesn’t find out anything about this until after the event.’

  ‘Okay. Pappa doesn’t need to know about this,’ said Per, delighted to be asked to keep a secret from his father.

  Then Frans said in a slightly calmer voice: ‘I know you’re probably going to be punished for assaulting that boy. Now I want you to listen to what I’m going to tell you.’ He forced Per to meet his eyes. ‘You’re going to accept your punishment. They’ll probably send you to a home for delinquents. Stay out of trouble, don’t get mixed up in any shit while you’re there. Just do your time without causing any problems and afterwards don’t do anything else stupid. Do you hear me?’

  He spoke slowly, enunciating each word clearly, and every time Per seemed about to look away, Frans forced him to meet his gaze again.

  ‘I’m telling you right now that you don’t want to have the kind of life I’ve had. My life has been shit, from beginning to end. The only thing that has ever mattered to me is you and your father, even though he’d never believe that. It’s true though. So promise me that you’ll keep out of trouble. Promise me that!’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ said Per, squirming. But he seemed to be listening to his grandfather and taking in his words.

  Frans just hoped that this would be sufficient. He knew from his own experience how hard it could be to change paths once you’d started out in a specific direction. But he hoped it wasn’t too late to be giving his grandson a shove on to the right track. That was all he could do now.

  ‘So, I’ve said what I came here to say.’ Frans removed an envelope from his pocket and set it on the kitchen table in front of Carina. ‘Here are the documents you’ll need to access the money.’

  ‘Are you sure you won’t stay for a while?’ she asked, still feeling uneasy.

  Frans shook his head. ‘I’ve got things to do.’ He turned to leave but paused in the doorway and said quietly, ‘Take care of yourselves.’ Then he raised his hand to give them a little wave before he turned and headed for the front door.

  Carina and Per sat at the kitchen table in silence. They had both recognized the finality of Frans’s farewell.

  ‘This is almost getting to be routine,’ said Torbjörn Ruud drily as he stood next to Patrik watching the macabre business that was now under way.

  Anna had offered to babysit, so Erica was present too, observing the digging with ill-concealed eagerness.

  ‘It can’t have been easy for Mellberg to get permission,’ said Patrik. It was rare for him to praise his boss.

  ‘From what I heard, it took ten minutes before the guy at the prosecutor’s office stopped shouting at him,’ said Torbjörn, without taking his eyes off the grave, where layer after layer of earth was being removed.

  ‘Do you think we’ll need to dig up the whole thing?’ asked Patrik, shuddering.

  Torbjörn shook his head. ‘If the two of you are right, then the body we’re looking for should be on top. I doubt the killer would have gone to the trouble of burying him at the very bottom, underneath the others,’ he said sarcastically. ‘And he’s probably not in a coffin, so his clothes should tell us if your theory is correct.’

  ‘How fast can we get a preliminary report on the cause of death?’ asked Erica. ‘If we find him, that is,’ she added, but she seemed convinced that the exhumation would prove her right.

  ‘I’ve been promised a report day after tomorrow,’ said Patrik. ‘I talked to Pedersen, and they’re willing to move this post-mortem to the top of the list. He can start on it tomorrow and let us know the results by Friday. He stressed that it will only be a preliminary report, but it should be possible to establish cause of death, at least.’

  A shout from the men working at the grave interrupted him, and they moved closer.

  ‘We’ve found something,’ said one of the tech guys, and Torbjörn went over to talk to him. They had a brief conversation, their heads close together. Then Torbjörn returned to Patrik and Erica, who hadn’t dared go any nearer.

  ‘It looks like someone was buried close to the surface, and not in a coffin. They’re going to have go slower now so as not to destroy evidence. It will take a while to dig out the body.’ He hesitated. ‘But it looks as though you were right.’

  Relieved, Erica nodded and took a deep breath. In the distance she saw Kjell coming towards them, but he was stopped by Martin and Gösta, who were there to prevent anyone from getting too close. She hurried over to them.

  ‘It’s okay. I’m the one who told him about what’s going on here.’

  ‘No reporters or other unauthorized individuals. Mellberg gave us specific orders to that effect,’ muttered Gösta, his hand level with Kjell’s chest.

  ‘It’s okay,’ said Patrik, joining them. ‘I’ll take responsibility.’ He gave Erica a sharp look that signified she would be the one who’d bear responsibility for any consequences. She nodded curtly and led Kjell over to the grave.

  ‘Have they found anything?’ he asked, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

  ‘It looks that way. I think we’ve found Hans Olavsen,’ she told him, watching with fascination as the techs cautiously attempted to uncover a bundle lying in the hole, which so far was no more than a foot and a half deep.

  ‘So he never left Fjällbacka after all,’ said Kjell, unable to take his eyes off the work going on in the grave.

  ‘No, he didn’t. So the question is: how did he end up here?’

  ‘I presume that Erik and Britta knew he was here.’

  ‘Yes, and they were both murdered.’ Erica shook her head, as if that might make all the pieces fall into place.

  ‘He’s been here for at least sixty years. So why now? Why did he suddenly become so important?’ Kjell wondered.

  ‘You didn’t get anything out of your father?’ asked Erica, turning to look at him.

  He shook his head. ‘Not a thing. And I don’t know whether that’s because he doesn’t know anything, or because he doesn’t want to tell me.’

  ‘Do you think he could have . . .?’ She didn’t really dare finish the sentence, but Kjell understood what she was getting at.

  ‘My father is capable of just about anything. Of that I’m certain.’

  ‘What are you two talking about?’ asked Patrik, coming over to stand next to
Erica.

  ‘We’re discussing the possibility that my father may have committed murder,’ said Kjell calmly.

  Patrik was startled by his honesty. ‘And what did you decide?’ he said. ‘We’ve had our suspicions, but your father has an alibi for the time when Erik was killed.’

  ‘I didn’t know that,’ said Kjell. ‘But I hope you’ve double-and triple-checked your information, because an old jailbird like my father would have no difficulty arranging a false alibi.’

  Patrik realized he was right and made a note to ask Martin how closely they had scrutinized Frans’s alibi.

  Torbjörn joined them, greeting Kjell with a nod of recognition. ‘So, I see that the fourth estate has been granted permission to attend.’

  ‘I have a personal interest,’ said Kjell.

  Torbjörn shrugged. If the police wanted to allow a journalist to be present, he wasn’t going to interfere. That was their problem. ‘We’ll be done here in about an hour,’ he said. ‘And I know that Pedersen is standing by to start the post-mortem.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve already talked to him,’ said Patrik, nodding.

  ‘All right then. We’ll be getting him out of there, and then we’ll see what sort of secrets the lad is hiding.’ He turned and went back to the grave.

  ‘Yes, let’s see what secrets he has,’ said Erica quietly, staring at the grave. Patrik put his arm round her shoulders.

  Chapter 40

  Fjällbacka 1945

  The months following her father’s death were confusing and painful. Elsy’s mother continued to tend to her daily tasks and do was what was required of her, but something was missing. It was as if Elof had taken part of Hilma with him, and she no longer recognized her mother. In that sense, she had lost not only her father, but her mother too. The only solace she could find was in the nights that she and Hans shared. As soon as her mother had gone to bed, she would slip downstairs to his room and crawl into his embrace. She knew that it was wrong. She knew that there could be consequences she wouldn’t be able to ignore. But she couldn’t stay away. During those hours when she lay beside him under the covers, his arm around her, his hand gently stroking her hair – during those hours the world became whole again. When they kissed and the passion, by now so familiar and yet still surprising, overtook them, she couldn’t understand how it could be wrong. In a world that could so suddenly and brutally be shattered by a mine, how could love possibly be wrong?

  Hans had also been a blessing when it came to practical matters. Their finances were a big worry now that her father was dead; they only managed to scrape by because Hans took on extra shifts on the boat and gave them every krona of his wages.

  Sometimes Elsy wondered whether her mother knew that she was sneaking downstairs to see him at night but decided to turn a blind eye because she couldn’t afford to do otherwise.

  Elsy ran her hand over her stomach as she lay in bed next to Hans, listening to his steady breathing. She had realized one week ago that she was pregnant. In spite of everything she’d been taught about shame and its consequences, a great calm had come over her. After all, it was Hans’s child she was carrying, and there was no one in the world that she trusted more. She hadn’t told him yet, but deep inside she knew that it wouldn’t be a problem. He would be happy to hear the news. And they would help each other and somehow make things work.

  She closed her eyes, leaving her hand resting on her stomach. Somewhere inside was a small creature that was the product of their love. Hers and Hans’s. How could that be wrong? How could a child that belonged to them ever be wrong?

  Elsy fell asleep with her hand on her stomach and a faint smile on her lips.

  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 compa
rison, 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.