The old woman was completely confused. Maybe it would be better if she asked some easier questions. ‘Could you tell me a bit about yourself?’ Annika asked.
Hannelore looked up, then glanced around the cramped room. ‘I live in a castle,’ she said. ‘In a castle high above the clouds. I dance in die Halle for all the animals.’ She raised her arms and made graceful gestures in the air, her hands floating as she closed her eyes. There was something enchanting about her expression, as if there really was another reality concealed within Swedish geriatric care, another room besides this one in Ramsmora care-home. Annika looked at her for a long time, until she started to feel a bit uncomfortable.
‘Where are your parents?’ she asked.
The woman froze and she opened her eyes. ‘I’m not allowed to talk about Mother and Father,’ she said. She looked frightened.
‘Why not?’
‘Onkel Gunnar and Tante Helga have forbidden it.’ She tucked her hands under her armpits.
‘But you can tell me,’ Annika said.
She shook her head vigorously. ‘He’ll hit me even more if I ever say anything about Mother and Father,’ she said.
‘Who will?’
‘Onkel Gunnar.’ Her voice was a monotone now, and she stared in front of her as she spoke. ‘I came to Sweden on the white buses that Count Folke Bernadotte and the Swedish Red Cross so generously put at the disposal of those in need,’ she recited.
‘But that isn’t true, is it?’ Annika said.
Hannelore Lindholm glanced at her but said nothing.
‘They forced you to lie, didn’t they? Why?’
The woman blinked as though she were about to start crying. ‘Because Father was an officer,’ she said, in a very thin voice.
‘An officer? A German officer during the war?’
She nodded.
‘That castle you used to dance in, what sort of place was that? Was it a real castle?’
She nodded again. ‘Berghof,’ she said, in the same little voice.
Annika started. She wasn’t great at history, but she’d seen almost every episode of the miniseries Band of Brothers. ‘But that was Hitler’s home in Bavaria,’ she said. ‘The one they used to call the Eagle’s Nest.’
Hannelore wrapped her arms round her knees and hid her face against her legs.
Annika looked at the woman, her soft white hair flowing over her legs. Her hands were clenched around her lower arms, white hands with blue veins and pale pink nails.
Hannelore Lindholm wasn’t Jewish, Annika realized. She had never been in a German concentration camp. On the contrary, she was the daughter of a Nazi officer, so high up that the family had visited Berghof at least once. Her Jewish background was a retrospective fabrication put together by the people she called Onkel and Tante. Who were they? Annika had never studied German, but those sounded like family titles. Were Gunnar and Helga distant relatives who had taken her in after the war? And who thought it sounded better and nobler to look after a poor Jewish girl who had survived a concentration camp than the daughter of a senior Nazi officer?
But why had she given her son Jewish names, David Ze’ev Samuel? Was that a way of repaying some kind of psychological debt?
Unless the boy’s father, the elusive Mr Lindholm, had chosen the boy’s names? And he might have been Jewish, of course …
The woman was rocking on the sofa in a slightly odd way.
‘Can you tell me about Siv?’ Annika asked.
Hannelore stopped rocking. She straightened her back, her shoulders relaxed and her arms let go. Her vision cleared and she looked at Annika. ‘Is Siv here?’ she asked.
‘No,’ Annika said, ‘she’s in Södermanland.’
She seemed content with the answer. She nodded in agreement, looking slightly concerned. ‘Poor Siv,’ she said.
‘Why’s that?’ Annika asked.
Hannelore leaned towards Annika. ‘She’s so easily taken in. She really believes in God and Heaven and all the other things that Onkel Gunnar preaches. When I first arrived at Gudagården she actually thought she was an angel, because that was what Tante Helga called her. How silly!’
Annika was studying her thoughtfully. Hannelore Lindholm didn’t seem to have any difficulty in remembering her childhood. In fact, it seemed as if she was still there. What she was saying was probably true.
The girls had grown up together on a farm somewhere, presumably in Södermanland because Hannelore had the same accent as her. They had shared the same childhood experiences. Something that had happened back then had bound them together so tightly that they had stayed in touch when they were grown-up.
‘What happened at Gudagården?’ Annika asked, watching the woman’s reaction carefully.
Hannelore Lindholm blinked. ‘Happened?’
‘When did you move away from there?’
Hannelore Lindholm got up from the sofa so quickly that she knocked over the antique table. She went to the window and began picking at the plant again, roughly now.
The question had upset her. Annika went after her and put her hands on the old woman’s. ‘Come and sit on the sofa,’ she said. ‘Let’s talk about Siv and Astrid.’
The doll’s eyes met Annika’s. ‘Is Astrid here?’ Hannelore asked.
Annika led her back to the leather sofa. ‘I’d like to talk about Torsten,’ she said.
‘Torsten isn’t here,’ Hannelore said.
‘No, I know,’ Annika said. ‘He’s in Morocco. What’s he doing there?’
Hannelore was fiddling with her skirt. Her lips moved, but no sound came out.
‘Does Torsten often go to Morocco? What does he do there? Do you know?’
Hannelore started singing, something monotonous and incomprehensible, maybe in German.
‘Don’t you want to talk about Torsten? Has he upset you?’
She stopped singing. ‘Torsten never came home,’ she said. ‘He went to the farm and never came back.’
Annika felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up.
Theres no internet at the farm so i havent been able to email.
‘Where is the farm?’ she asked. ‘Who’s at the farm?’
Hannelore Lindholm was staring straight ahead without moving.
Annika waited for a long time, trying to understand the limits of Hannelore Lindholm’s memory.
Julia had said she had been taken into care after Torsten disappeared. She seemed to remember that he hadn’t come back after his last trip. How long ago could that have been? David had been a teenager, and he would have been forty-three now. Twenty-five years ago, when Hannelore would have been about forty-five. Maybe she still had memories from that time.
He went to the farm and never came back.
‘Is David in Morocco as well?’ she asked.
Hannelore Lindholm brightened. ‘No, no,’ she said. ‘He’s coming to get me soon. We’ll be going home.’ She got up and went over to one of the bookcases, opened one of the doors and started to pile the books on the floor in front of it.
‘Hannelore,’ Annika said, going over to her, ‘come and sit on the sofa. David’s not here yet. We’ll have to wait a bit longer.’
She nodded and left the books where they were on the linoleum. ‘David doesn’t have an easy life,’ she said. ‘All the other children have a father.’
Annika got her to sit down again, and sat beside her on the sofa. ‘Why doesn’t David have a father?’ she asked.
Now Hannelore picked angrily at her cardigan. ‘They got cross with each other. He shouted at Astrid. Is David coming soon? He should be here by now, shouldn’t he?’
Annika could hear footsteps and voices in the corridor, the clatter of crockery on a trolley. She took a deep breath and looked directly at Hannelore. ‘Can you tell me about Fatima?’
The woman gazed at her uncomprehendingly. ‘Who?’
Annika waited a few seconds before she replied. ‘Fatima’s at the farm,’ she finally said. ‘With Amira.’
&nbs
p; Hannelore’s eyes darted round the room.
Annika waited, then asked, ‘Can you tell me about Julia?’
The old woman’s hands fumbled with her skirt.
‘Alexander, do you remember him? David’s son?’
There was a knock on the door and Barbro stuck her head into the room. ‘How’s it going?’ she asked, looking inquisitively at Annika.
‘We’re just having a chat,’ Annika said, rather sharply. ‘We’d appreciate it if we could be left in peace.’
Barbro came into the room and closed the door behind her. ‘It’s time for your medicine,’ she said, unlocking a cabinet in the bathroom.
‘I don’t want my medicine,’ Hannelore said. ‘It makes my head feel so fuzzy.’
The manager took something from the cabinet and locked it again, then came out into the room and went to the sink. ‘Don’t throw dead leaves into the drainer,’ she said clearly and slowly. ‘Just remember that we have to come and clean up after you.’ She filled a glass with water, then went over to the old lady.
Hannelore sighed, took the pill and swallowed it with a sip of water.
‘Well done,’ Barbro said in her loud voice, for people who were hard of hearing.
She turned to Annika. ‘I’ll have to ask you to leave now,’ she said. ‘Hannelore needs to rest.’
Annika glanced at her watch. It was time for her to be getting back anyway.
Hannelore went to sit on the bed with a look of resignation in her doll’s eyes. Annika followed her and took her hand. ‘Thanks very much for the chat,’ she said.
Hannelore peered at her. ‘Who are you?’ she asked.
Annika patted her hand, then went over to her bag, slung it onto her shoulder and put her jacket over her arm. ‘Julia and Alexander send their love,’ she said. ‘They’ll come and see you again soon.’
Hannelore was gazing at the window and didn’t seem to hear her.
32
It had started to rain again. Annika ran out to the car, discovered she had forgotten to lock it, and threw herself into the driving seat, tossing her bag onto the seat beside her.
She pulled out her mobile and checked the screen: one missed call, from Patrik’s mobile.
The head of news would have to wait.
She closed her eyes and thought. The rain was drumming on the roof of the car and streaming down the windscreen.
Hannelore, Astrid and Siv had grown up together on a farm in Södermanland called Gudagården. The patriarch was called Gunnar, and he hadn’t been above beating children. Hannelore was the daughter of a Nazi, and related to the farmers, who were hypocrites of the highest order: they had beaten the little girl into lying about her past.
The three girls had grown up and stayed in touch with each other. Their children in turn were like brothers and sisters: David and Filip, Yvonne and Veronica, and little Nina.
She started the car and drove onto the motorway as she dialled the number.
Nina Hoffman answered at once, as she usually did, and gave her full name.
There was no noise in the background, so Annika assumed she was at home or in her office. At least she wasn’t in a patrol car or in some noisy custody-suite corridor.
‘I was at the press conference when your brother was released,’ Annika said. ‘Do you know what he’s going to do now?’
‘I’m grateful for what you’ve done, but I don’t owe you anything,’ Nina Hoffman said. ‘You’ll have to ask Filip what he’s planning to do next.’
Annika slowed down and pulled into the inside lane. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘On a completely different subject, do you know anything about a farm in Morocco?’
The windscreen-wipers were going at top speed. Nina didn’t answer.
‘Hello?’ Annika said. ‘Hello? Nina?’
‘Yes, I’m here.’
‘I’ve just been to see Hannelore Lindholm,’ she said. ‘I talked to her about your mum, and Veronica Söderström’s mother, Astrid.’
‘What on earth for? Why do you want to go poking about in our family? Can’t you just leave us alone?’ She didn’t sound upset, just determined. ‘Hannelore is a sick, confused old woman. You’ve got nothing to—’
‘Nina,’ Annika interrupted. ‘Did your mother ever mention a farm in Morocco?’
There was a hissing sound on the line.
Nina was silent for a few seconds. ‘Why do you want to know?’
‘I know there’s a farm somewhere outside Asilah in northern Morocco, and it’s got something to do with Astrid Paulson, David Lindholm and all the rest of you.’
‘What do you mean by “all the rest of you”?’
‘A woman called Fatima, with a daughter called Amira? Ever heard of them?’
There was a click, then complete silence on the line. Nina Hoffman had hung up.
Annika bit the inside of her cheek. Damn. Nina knew something and she didn’t want to talk about it.
A lorry pulled alongside her, spattering the windscreen with sludge.
Annika put down her mobile and tried to concentrate on driving.
Tore had left for the day, thank goodness. She handed the car keys back to the evening-shift caretaker, telling him the car needed filling and could do with a wash. Then she got out a claim form for the day’s expenses, wrote down the cost of the car park, as well as the parking fine. They were supposed to pay any fines themselves, but there was no harm in trying …
‘How much do you want about Filip Andersson?’ Annika asked, as she passed the news desk.
‘Did you get an exclusive?’ Patrik asked.
‘Nope.’
The head of news pushed back his chair. ‘Where have you been all day?’
Annika stopped beside him, taken aback. ‘Checking a few things,’ she said. ‘Why?’
‘Not the things you should have been checking,’ he said, putting his hand on a bundle of notes beside his computer. ‘How are we supposed to publish a paper if the reporters don’t show up for work?’
She made up her mind not to get angry. ‘Give me the notes,’ she said. ‘What is it – some television celebrity burping during a live broadcast? Or has the man with the world’s longest nose got hay-fever?’
Patrik grabbed the edge of his desk and wheeled himself towards it without answering.
‘Oh, well,’ Annika said. ‘It can’t have been that important, then.’
She went over to the day shift’s table and took out her laptop. She opened an ordinary Word document, gathered her thoughts, then started to type up what she had learned during the day. She started at the end, with Nina not wanting to talk to her, then Hannelore and her confused childhood memories, Julia and Alexander and their brittle existence, and then she reached Suzette. She stopped, and saw in her mind’s eye the photo on Polly’s computer of the black-haired girl with her arms around the horse, the radiance in her eyes and smile.
‘Annika? Can you come into my office for a moment?’
The editor-in-chief, Anders Schyman, was standing in the doorway to his glass box.
‘What?’ Annika said. ‘Right now?’
‘Preferably.’
‘Sure,’ she said, logging out of the network to avoid having her password changed, a nightmare that seemed to be the new game among night editors with too little to do. She left her jacket on top of her bag on a spare table, and followed him inside the box.
‘Close the door.’
She slid it shut. ‘Has something happened?’ she asked.
‘Sit down,’ he said, pointing at a chair.
Annika remained standing, and didn’t say anything. Schyman sat down behind his desk. ‘How do you think it’s working, you being a reporter?’
She looked at him intently, trying to work out what he wanted. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘It’s quite fun. It’s not exactly rocket science, not with Patrik at the news desk.’
‘I’ve received a number of worrying reports about the way you treat your colleagues,’ he said.
Annika stiffe
ned.
‘Patrik says you come and go as you please. You can’t behave like that. He has a responsibility to me and the management team, and he has to be able to rely on you being at work during the hours you’re paid for.’
She folded her arms. ‘He’s been in here telling tales,’ she said. ‘He’s annoyed because I didn’t rush back to his little notes quickly enough.’
‘Patrik’s not the only one who’s fed up with your attitude. One of the temp photographers called me in tears when you were in Spain on that job about the Costa Cocaine. She said you’d abandoned her outside a conference centre, gone off with some man and not come back to the hotel all night. Then you went around by yourself, taking your own pictures, instead of working with her.’
Annika took a deep breath. ‘Nothing I wanted was “photogenic” enough so she refused point blank to get her camera out. And I had my hands full. I couldn’t sit there holding Lotta’s hand, listening to her telling me how clever she’d been in Tehran.’
The editor-in-chief raised a hand. ‘She’s been getting great reviews for her exhibition at Kulturhuset,’ he said, ‘so she can’t be completely without talent.’
‘Those were the pictures she was running round taking instead of doing her job,’ Annika said.
Schyman’s elbows landed heavily on the desk. ‘You have to think about the way you act,’ he said. ‘Your behaviour towards Patrik has been terrible ever since his first day as head of news. Almost as bad as some of the others were towards you when you were head of crime. Patrik doesn’t want you on his shift any more, and I can’t say I blame him. So I’ve agreed to transfer you.’
Annika wanted to sit down, but stood where she was, paralysed. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked.
‘Have you got any idea of where I can put you?’
‘Are you serious?’
Anders Schyman sighed. ‘Are you interested in a freelance contract?’
She gasped. ‘What the fuck is this? Are you firing me?’
The editor-in-chief got up, squeezed round his desk, pulled out one of the visitors’ chairs and said, ‘Sit down.’
Annika sat. The chair was lower than she’d expected and she jarred the base of her spine as she landed.
‘Can you see how Patrik might have had trouble handling you?’
The Long Shadow Page 36