‘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.
Chapter 42
Fjällbacka 1945
It was unbelievable. The war that had felt like it would never end was over. She was sitting on Hans’s bed, clutching the newspaper and trying to make her brain understand the meaning of the headline screaming ‘PEACE!’
Tears filling her eyes, Elsy she blew her nose on the apron she was still wearing after helping her mother wash the dishes.
‘I can’t believe it, Hans,’ she said. He had his arm around her shoulders, and he replied by squeezing her tighter. He too was staring at the newspaper, and like her he seemed incapable of comprehending what they were reading. For a moment Elsy glanced towards the door, nervous that someone might catch them, now that they had thrown caution to the wind and were sitting here together in the daytime. But Hilma had run over to see their neighbours, and Elsy didn’t think anyone would come here to disturb them just now. Besides, it would soon be time to tell everyone about their relationship. Her dresses were getting tighter around the waist, and this morning it was only with great effort that she had managed to fasten all the buttons. But everything was going to be fine. Hans had reacted exactly as she had anticipated when she told him a few weeks ago that she was pregnant. His eyes had sparkled and he had kissed her as he tenderly placed his hand on her stomach. Since then, he had assured her that they would manage. He had a job, after all, and was able to support her. And her mother was fond of him. Of course Elsy was young, but they could apply to the authorities for permission to marry. They would find a way to work things out.
His words had eased some of the worry she still carried in her heart, even though she thought she knew him so well, and trusted him. And he had been so calm. Assuring her that their child would be the most loved on earth, and that they would find a way to handle all the practical details. There might be a few bumps in the road for a while, but if they stuck by each other, any problems would be solved and both her family and God would offer their blessings.
Elsy leaned her head against his shoulder. Right now life was good. The news of peace spread over her like a warmth that thawed much of what had turned to ice after her father died. She just wished that he were here to experience this moment. If only he could have held on a few more months. She pushed the thought away. God was in charge, not people, and somewhere there had to be a plan to everything. That’s just how things were, no matter how terrible it seemed. She trusted in God, and she trusted in Hans, and that was a gift that made her able to look to the future with confidence.
But it was different for her mother. Elsy had grown increasingly worried about Hilma over the past few months. With Elof gone, she had seemed to shrink, to withdraw into herself, and there was no longer any joy in her eyes. When they heard the news of peace today, it was the first time since her father died that Elsy had seen the trace of a smile on her mother’s face. Perhaps the child she was expecting would make her mother happy – once she got over the initial shock, that is. Of course Elsy was afraid that her mother would be ashamed of her, but she and Hans had agreed to tell her as soon as possible, so that they could make all the proper arrangements before the baby arrived.
Elsy closed her eyes and smiled as she sat there, leaning against Hans’s shoulder, breathing in his familiar smell.
‘I’d like to go home and see my family, now that the war is over,’ said Hans, stroking her hair. ‘But I’ll only be gone a few days, so you don’t need to worry. I’m not about to run away from you.’ He kissed the top of her head.
‘That’s good,’ said Elsy, with a big smile. ‘Because, if you were to do that, I’d chase you to the ends of the earth.’
‘I’m sure you would,’ he said and laughed. Then he turned serious. ‘There are just a few things that I need to take care of, now that I can go back to Norway.’
‘That sounds serious,’ she said, lifting her head from his shoulder and looking at him nervously. ‘Are you afraid that something has happened to your family?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said hesitantly. ‘It’s been so long since I last talked to them. But I won’t leave right away. Maybe in a week or so, and then I’ll be back before you can even blink an eye.’
‘That sounds good,’ said Elsy, leaning against him again. ‘Because I never want us to be apart.’
‘And we won’t be, either,’ he said, kissing her hair again. ‘We won’t.’ Hans closed his eyes as he drew her closer. Between them lay the open newspaper, with the word ‘PEACE’ covering the front page.
Chapter 43
It was strange. It was only last week that it had first occurred to Kjell that his father was not immortal. And then on Thursday the police had rung the doorbell to give him the news of his death. He was surprised how strong his emotions were. How for a moment his heart had skipped a beat, and how, when he held out his hand in front of him, he could feel himself holding his father’s hand, a small hand enclosed in a big one, and how their hands had then slowly slipped apart. At that moment he realized that something stronger than hatred had existed the whole time: Hope. That was the only thing that had been able to survive, the only thing that could coexist without being suffocated by the all-consuming hatred that he had felt towards his father. Any love between them had died long ago. But hope had hidden away in a corner of his heart, concealed even from himself.
As he’d stood there in the hall after closing the door behind the police officers, Kjell felt that last vestige of hope disappear, and in that moment a terrible pain made everything go black before his eyes. Because somewhere inside of him that little boy had been longing for his father. Hoping that there might be a way around the walls they had built up.
Now that way was closed. The walls would remain, eventually crumbling but with no possibility of reconciliation.
All weekend his brain had been trying to grasp the fact that his father was gone. Dead by his own hand. And even though it had always been in the back of his mind that this might be the way Frans would die, given how destructive his life had been, it was still difficult to comprehend.
On Sunday Kjell had called in on Carina and Per. He had phoned them on Thursday to tell them what had happened, but he hadn’t had the strength to see them until his own thoughts and memories had settled a bit. He had sensed immediately that there was something different about the atmosphere in their home, but at first he couldn’t put his finger on it. Then he had exclaimed in surprise: ‘You’re sober!’ And he didn’t mean just for the moment, or for a short period – because that had happened before, although not very often in the past few years. Instinctively he understood that this was something more; there was a sense of calm, a determination in Carina’s eyes that had replaced the wounded look she’d had ever since he left her. It had always filled him with such guilt. Per was different too. They talked about what would happen after his trial for beating up his classmate, and Per had surprised Kjell with his composure and thoughts on how he was going to deal with the situation. After Per went up to his room, Kjell had mustered his courage and asked Carina what had changed. It was with growing amazement that he heard about his father’s intervention. Somehow Frans had succeeded where Kjell had failed despite ten years of trying.
That had made everything worse. It confirmed the realization that any remaining hope would now chafe futilely inside his heart. After all, Frans was gone: what use was there in hoping now?
Kjell went over to stand at the window of his office and looked out. In a brief, naked moment of self-reflection, he allowed himself to scrutinize his own life and soul with the same crit
ical gaze he had levelled at his father. And what he saw frightened him. Of course his betrayal of his family had not been as dramatic or as unforgivable in the eyes of society, but did that make it any more acceptable? Hardly. He had abandoned Carina and Per. And he had betrayed Beata, too. In fact, he had betrayed her even before their relationship had begun. He had never loved her. He had only loved what she represented, in a weak moment when he needed what she stood for. If he were honest, he wasn’t even fond of her. There’d never been anything like the love he’d felt for Carina that first time he saw her in her yellow dress and with that yellow ribbon in her hair. And he had betrayed Magda and Loke too. Because of the shame he felt at abandoning his first child, he had put up all sorts of barriers inside of him, so he’d never again experienced that raw, deep, all-encompassing love that he had felt towards Per from the moment he saw him in Carina’s arms. He had denied Beata and their children that kind of love, and he didn’t think he was capable of ever finding it again. That was the betrayal he would have to live with. They would have to live with it too.
Kjell’s hand trembled as he lifted the cup he was holding. He grimaced, noticing that the coffee had gone cold as he brooded, but he had already taken a big gulp and forced himself to swallow it.
He heard a voice at the door.
‘Some mail for you.’
Kjell turned and nodded wearily. ‘Thank you.’ He reached out to take the day’s post, already sorted for his personal attention, and leafed through it absentmindedly. A few adverts, some bills. And a letter. The address written in a hand that he recognized. Shaking uncontrollably, he sank back into his chair, placing the letter on the desk in front of him. For a long time he just sat there, staring at the envelope. At his name and the address of the newspaper, written in an ornate, old-fashioned script. The minutes ticked by as his brain tried to command his hand to pick up the letter and open the envelope. It was as if the signals got confused along the way and instead produced a total paralysis.
The Hidden Child Page 41