‘What kind of shit are you going around spouting! You’re such a wanker –don’t think I’m going to let you keep doing that, you fucking little wimp.’ Per was so furious that everything went black before his eyes, and the rest of the world disappeared. The only thing he was aware of was his hand holding on to Mattias’s hair, and the jolt that went through his fingers every time the boy’s head struck the pavement. The only thing he saw was the blood that started to colour the black surface under Mattias’s head. He was filled with satisfaction when he saw those patches of red. He felt it deep inside his chest, tasted it, savoured it. He felt a calm that he’d rarely felt before. He made no attempt to resist the rage – he just let it fill him, surrendering to it, relishing the feeling of something primitive that pushed aside all else, everything that was complicated, sad, small. He didn’t want to stop, couldn’t stop. He kept on shouting and hitting, kept on seeing that patch of red, all sticky and wet, every time he lifted Mattias’s head, until he felt someone grabbing him from behind and yanking him away.
‘What are you doing?’ Per turned around with a real sense of surprise to see the angry expression on the maths teacher’s face. Up in the school building there were faces peering from every window, and a small flock of curious bystanders had gathered in the playground. Per stared without emotion at Mattias’s still form, and without resisting allowed himself to be dragged several metres away from his victim.
‘My God, are you out of your mind?’ The maths teacher’s face was only an inch away. He was shouting loudly, but Per turned his head, feeling nothing.
For a moment he had felt so fantastic. Now there was only emptiness.
He stood in the hallway staring at the pictures on the wall for a long time. So many happy times. So much love. The black-and-white photos from their marriage, when he and Britta looked more solemn than they actually felt. Britta holding Anna-Greta in her arms as he took their picture. If he remembered correctly, he’d put down the camera after taking the photo and held his daughter in his arms for the first time. Britta had nervously reminded him to support the baby’s head, but it was as if he instinctively knew how to hold her. And he’d always taken an active role in caring for their babies, to a much greater degree than was expected of a husband back then. Many times his mother-in-law had admonished him, saying that it wasn’t a man’s job to change nappies or give babies a bath. But he couldn’t stay away. It had felt so natural to him, and he didn’t think it was fair for Britta to carry the whole load and mind the three girls that they’d had, so close in age.
Actually, he would have liked to have more children, but after the third birth, which had been ten times more complicated than the first two put together, the doctor had taken him aside and said that Britta’s body probably wouldn’t survive another pregnancy. And Britta had wept. Bowed her head without looking at him and with tears running down her face, she’d apologized for not being able to give him a son. He had stared at her in surprise. It had never occurred to Herman to wish for anything other than what he’d been given. Surrounded by his wife and three girls, he felt richer than he’d ever dreamed possible. It had taken him a while to convince her of this, but when Britta realized that he meant what he said, she stopped crying, and then they focused all their attention on the girls that they’d brought into the world.
Now there were so many to love. The girls had their own children, whom Herman and Britta loved dearly, and he’d once again demonstrated his skill in changing nappies whenever they went over to help out their daughters. It was so hard for them nowadays, trying to handle everything at once, a job, a home, and a family. But he and Britta had been happy and grateful that there was room for them, that there was someone they could help, someone they could love. And now a few of their grandchildren had children. His fingers were certainly stiffer now, but with those new fancy ‘up-and-go’ nappies, he could still change one now and again. He shook his head. Where had all the years gone?
He went upstairs to the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed. Britta was taking her afternoon nap. It had been a bad day. A few times she hadn’t recognized him, thinking that she was back in her parents’ home. She’d asked for her mother. And then for her father, with fear clearly audible in her voice. And he had stroked her hair, assuring her again and again that her father had been gone for many years. That he could no longer do her any harm.
He caressed her hand as it lay on top of the crocheted coverlet. Her skin was wrinkled, with the same age spots as he had on his own hands. But her fingers were still long and elegant. And he smiled to himself when he saw her pink nail polish. She’d always been a bit vain; she still was. But he had never complained. She’d always been a beautiful wife, and during fifty-five years of marriage, he’d never so much as cast a glance at another woman.
Her eyelids fluttered. She was dreaming about something. He wished that he could get inside her dreams. Live inside them with her, and pretend that everything was the way it used to be.
Today, in her confusion, she’d talked about the thing they’d agreed never to mention. But as her brain disintegrated and crumbled, the dams were bursting, the walls that they’d built up over the years to contain their secret. They’d shared it for so long that it had somehow disappeared inside the fabric of their life, until it was invisible. He’d allowed himself to relax, to forget about it.
It hadn’t been a good idea for Erik to visit her. Not at all. That was what had created the crack in the wall that was now growing bigger. If it couldn’t be plugged, a deluge was going to come pouring out and drag all of them under.
But at least he didn’t have to worry about Erik any more. They didn’t need to worry about Erik any more.
He kept on patting her hand.
‘Oh, I forgot to tell you: Karin phoned. You have a date to meet for a walk at ten o’clock. At the pharmacy.’
Patrik stopped in mid-stride. ‘Karin? Today? In’ – he glanced at his watch – ‘half an hour?’
‘Sorry,’ said Erica, although her tone of voice indicated that she wasn’t the least bit sorry. Then she relented. ‘I was thinking of running over to the library to do some research, so if you and Maja could be ready in twenty minutes, you can catch a ride with me.’
‘Is that . . .’ Patrik hesitated. ‘Is that all right with you?’
Erica went over and gave him a kiss. ‘Compared with using a police station as a day-care centre for our daughter, a date to take a walk with your ex-wife is nothing.’
‘Ha, ha, very funny,’ said Patrik sullenly, even though he knew Erica was right. What he’d done yesterday was pretty stupid.
‘So don’t just stand there! Go and get dressed! I would definitely object if you went off to meet your ex-wife looking like that.’ Erica laughed, looking her husband up and down as he stood in the bedroom, clad only in his underwear and a pair of tube socks.
‘What, I don’t look hunky enough like this?’ said Patrik, striking a bodybuilder pose. Erica laughed so hard she had to sit down on the bed.
‘Oh, God, stop it.’
‘For your information,’ said Patrik, pretending to be insulted, ‘I’m so disgustingly buff that I have a hard time achieving this look, but it’s important to lull the crooks into a false sense of security.’ He patted his stomach, which quivered a bit more that it should have if he’d touched nothing but muscle. Marriage hadn’t made his waistline dwindle to any significant degree.
‘Stop!’ hooted Erica. ‘I’ll never be able to have sex with you again if you don’t stop it.’ Patrik responded by flinging himself on the bed with his best beast-like howl as he started tickling her.
‘Take that back! Are you going to take that back? Are you?’
‘Yes, yes, I take it back! Now stop!’ cried Erica, who was terribly ticklish.
‘Mamma! Pappa!’ Maja was standing in the doorway, clapping her hands delightedly at the show. She’d been enticed out of her room by all the interesting sounds coming from her parents’ room.
> ‘Come over here and let Pappa tickle you too,’ said Patrik, lifting Maja on to the bed. The next second both mother and daughter were howling with laughter. Afterwards all three of them lay on the bed, drained and snuggled up next to each other, until Erica abruptly sat up. ‘The two of you better hurry. I can dress Maja while you make yourself decent.’
Twenty minutes later Erica pulled up in front of the municipal building, which also housed the pharmacy and library. This would be the first time she’d met Karin, even though she’d heard a fair bit about her, of course. She wasn’t sure what to expect; Patrik had been rather tight-lipped when it came to the subject of his first marriage.
She parked the car, helped Patrik lift the pushchair out of the boot, and then went with him to meet Karin. Taking a deep breath, she held out her hand.
‘Hi, I’m Erica,’ she said. ‘We spoke on the phone yesterday.’
‘How nice to meet you!’ said Karin, and Erica realized to her surprise that she instantly liked this woman standing in front of her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw how uncomfortable Patrik looked, rocking back and forth, and she couldn’t help enjoying the situation. It was actually quite funny.
She studied his ex-wife with curiosity. Karin was thinner than she was and a bit shorter. Her dark hair was gathered up in a simple ponytail. She had delicate features, wore no make-up, and looked rather . . . tired. No doubt from taking care of a toddler, thought Erica, realizing that she herself wouldn’t have stood up to close inspection before they’d managed to get Maja to sleep through the night.
They chatted for a while, but then Erica waved goodbye and headed for the library. It came as a relief to finally put a face to the woman who had been such a major part of Patrik’s life for eight years. She hadn’t even seen a picture of her before. But considering the circumstances that had caused them to split up, it was understandable that Patrik wouldn’t have wanted to keep any photographic evidence of the time they’d spent together.
The library was as calm as always. She’d spent many hours here, and there was something about libraries that gave her a tremendous sense of satisfaction.
‘Hi, Christian!’
The librarian glanced up and smiled when he saw Erica.
‘Hi, Erica. How nice to see you again! What can I help you with today?’ His Småland accent sounded so pleasant. Erica wondered why people from Småland always seemed so likable the minute they opened their mouths. In Christian’s case, the first impression held true. He was always cordial and helpful, as well as good at his job. There had been many occasions when he’d helped Erica find information that she’d only the faintest hope of being able to locate.
‘Do you need to know more about the same case that you were researching last time?’ he asked, giving her a hopeful glance. Erica’s research questions were always a welcome diversion from the rather monotonous routine of his job, which mainly consisted of looking up information about fish, sailboats, and the fauna of Bohuslän.
‘No, not today,’ she said, sitting down on a chair across from him in front of the information desk. ‘Today I need some facts about people here in Fjällbacka. And certain events.’
‘People and events. Could you possibly be a little more specific?’ he said with a wink.
‘I’ll try.’ Erica quickly rattled off a list of names: ‘Britta Johansson, Frans Ringholm, Axel Frankel, Elsy Falck – or rather, Moström – and . . .’ she hesitated a few seconds before adding, ‘Erik Frankel.’
Christian gave a start. ‘Isn’t he the man who was found murdered?’
‘That’s right,’ said Erica.
‘And Elsy? Is that your . . .?’
‘My mother, yes. I need some information about all of these people, from around the time of the Second World War. In fact, let’s limit the search to the war years.’
‘In other words, 1939 to 1945.’
Erica nodded and watched expectantly as Christian typed the desired request into his computer. ‘How’s it going with your own project, by the way?’
A cloud seemed to pass over the librarian’s face. Then it was gone, and he answered her question. ‘I’m about halfway done. Thanks for asking. And it’s largely because of the advice you’ve given me that I’ve made it this far.’
‘Oh, it was nothing,’ said Erica, looking embarrassed. ‘Just let me know if you need any more writing tips, or if you’d like me to have a look at your manuscript. By the way, have you chosen a working title?’
‘The Mermaid,’ said Christian, not meeting her eye. ‘It’s going to be called The Mermaid.’
‘What a good title. How’d you come up with . . .?’ Erica asked, but Christian brusquely shook his head, indicating that he didn’t want to discuss it. She looked at him in surprise. That was so unlike him. She wondered if she’d said something to offend him, but couldn’t think what it might be.
‘Here are some articles that may interest you,’ Christian then said. ‘Shall I print them out for you?’
‘Yes, please,’ said Erica, still a bit startled. But when Christian returned a few minutes later, bringing her a stack of pages from the printer, he was back to his usual self.
‘This should keep you busy for a while. Just let me know if there’s anything else I can help you with.’
Erica thanked him and left the library. She was in luck. The café across the street was open, and she bought herself a coffee before she sat down and began to read. But what she found was so interesting that she left her cup untouched, and the coffee grew cold.
* * *
‘All right, what have we found out so far?’ Mellberg grimaced as he stretched out his legs. He was surprised that the aches and pains from exercising could last so long. At this rate, he would recover just in time for the next mangling of his body at the Friday salsa class. But strangely enough, the idea wasn’t as alarming as he’d imagined. There was something about the combination of the fascinating music, the closeness of Rita’s body, and the fact that by the end of the previous week’s class his feet had actually started to figure out the moves. No, he wasn’t planning to quit anytime soon. If there was anyone who had the potential to become the salsa king of Tanumshede, he was it.
‘Sorry, what did you say?’ Mellberg gave a start. He’d completely missed what Paula was saying as he lapsed into daydreams about Latin rhythms.
‘As Paula said, we’ve managed to pin down the time frame for Erik Frankel’s murder,’ said Gösta. ‘He was with his . . . girlfriend, or whatever you call people in that age bracket, on the fifteenth of June. He split up with her, and he was visibly drunk, which according to her was highly unusual.’
‘And the cleaning woman went over to the house on the seventeenth of June, but couldn’t get inside,’ Martin added. ‘That doesn’t necessarily mean that he was dead by then, but it’s a clear indication that he may have been. She’d never been unable to get into the house before. If the brothers weren’t at home, they would always leave a key for her.’
‘Okay, good, then for the time being we’ll work on the assumption that Erik died between the fifteenth and seventeenth of June. Check with his brother to find out whether he was at home or had already left for Paris.’ Mellberg leaned down to scratch Ernst behind the ears. The dog was lying under the kitchen table, having settled on top of Mellberg’s feet, as usual.
‘But do you really think that Axel Frankel had anything to do with . . .?’ Paula stopped in mid-sentence when she saw Mellberg’s cross expression.
‘I don’t think anything at the moment. But you know as well as I do that most murders are committed by a family member. So let’s give the brother a shake. Okay?’
She nodded. For once Mellberg was right. She couldn’t let the fact that she’d found Axel Frankel so likable hinder the job she needed to do.
‘What about the boys who broke into the house? Have we secured any leads from them?’ Mellberg looked at his colleagues seated around the table. Everyone turned to Gösta. He fidgeted nervously.
Mellberg opened his eyes wide. ‘You’ve had several days to take care of this simple task, and yet you haven’t – and I quote – had time for it. Is that correct?’
Gösta nodded, looking downhearted. ‘Er, uh, yes . . . that’s correct. But I’ll see to it today.’ Yet another glare from Mellberg.
‘Immediately, ASAP,’ said Gösta, looking down.
‘You’d better hop to it,’ said Mellberg, who then shifted his attention to Martin and Paula.
‘Anything else? How’s it going with Ringholm? Anything there? Personally, I think it seems like the most promising lead, and we should really turn things upside down with Sweden’s Friends.’
‘We’ve spoken to Frans, but didn’t get anything more to go on. According to him, there were certain elements within the organization that had threatened Frankel, but he tried to intervene to protect Erik because of their old friendship.’
‘And these “elements”’ – Mellberg sketched quote marks around the words with his fingers – ‘have we talked to them?’
‘No, not yet,’ said Martin calmly. ‘But it’s on the agenda for today.’
‘Good, good,’ said Mellberg, shoving Ernst off of his feet because they were starting to go numb. Ernst let loose an audible doggy fart, then settled more comfortably on top of his master’s feet. ‘All right, that leaves only one more thing to discuss. This station is not a day-care centre! Do you understand?!’ He stared at Annika, who been quietly taking notes during the meeting. She stared back at him over the rims of her reading glasses. After a long pause, Mellberg began to squirm, wondering if his tone of voice might have been a bit too harsh.
The Hidden Child Page 19
