Buried Angels

‘That’s right. I’ll see you both back at the station later on.’

Patrik ended the call and put on a T-shirt.

‘What’s happened?’ asked Erica, sitting up in bed.

‘The fire brigade thinks someone has set a fire over at the old summer camp.’

‘The summer camp? Someone’s trying to burn it down?’ Erica swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

‘I promise to tell you all about it later,’ said Patrik with a smile. ‘I know it’s one of your pet projects.’

‘What a strange coincidence that someone would try to burn down the place now, just when Ebba has come back to live there.’

Patrik shook his head. He knew from experience that his wife liked to get herself mixed up in things that were not her concern. She was always jumping to outlandish conclusions. It was true that occasionally she turned out to be right – that much he had to admit – but sometimes she also made a real mess of things.

‘Annika said they suspect arson. That’s all we know at this stage, and it might not be arson at all.’

‘But still,’ said Erica. ‘It’s odd that it should happen now. Can I come with you? I was planning to go out there anyway to have a little talk with Ebba.’

‘And who’s going to take care of the kids? Have you thought about that? I think Maja’s still too young to heat up the formula for the boys.’

He kissed Erica on the cheek and then raced downstairs. Behind him he heard the twins start to cry, right on cue.

Patrik and Martin exchanged only a few words on their way out to Valö. The suggestion that this could be arson was both unsettling and hard to believe. As they approached the island and surveyed the idyllic setting, it seemed more unlikely than ever.

‘It’s so beautiful out here,’ said Martin, lost in admiration as they walked up the path from the dock where Patrik had tied up the boat.

‘You’ve been out here before, haven’t you?’ said Patrik without turning around. ‘At least that one Christmas.’

Martin muttered something in reply. He didn’t want to be reminded of that fateful Christmas when he had been drawn into a family drama on the island.

A large expanse of lawn stretched out before them. They stopped to look around.

‘I have some wonderful memories of this place,’ said Patrik. ‘We used to come here on school outings a few times a year, and in the summertime when I was at sailing camp. I’ve kicked a lot of balls across that lawn. And played a lot of games of rounders.’

‘I know. Who hasn’t been to camp out here? Strange how it’s always been called the summer camp.’

Patrik shrugged and started up the path towards the house. ‘I suppose the name stuck. It was only a boarding school for a short time, and nobody wanted to name the place after old man von Schlesinger who lived here before.’

‘Oh, right. I’ve heard about that lunatic,’ said Martin, cursing as a branch slapped him in the face. ‘Who owns the place now?’

‘I assume the couple who live here own it. After what happened in 1974, it’s been administered by the local council, at least as far as I know. Too bad that the house has been allowed to fall into such disrepair, but it looks like they’re starting to fix it up.’

Martin peered up at the scaffolding that covered the entire front of the building. ‘They seem to be putting a lot of work into it. I hope the fire didn’t cause too much damage.’

They made their way to the stone stairway that led up to the front door. The Fjällbacka Volunteer Fire Brigade were gathering up their equipment, going about their work in a calm, methodical manner. They must be sweating buckets in those heavy uniforms, thought Patrik. The heat was already oppressive, in spite of the early hour.

‘Hi!’ Östen Ronander, chief of the fire brigade, came over and nodded a greeting. His hands were black with soot.

‘Hi, Östen. So what happened here? Annika said you suspect the fire might have been deliberately set.’

‘It certainly appears that way. But we’re not qualified to make that judgement, from a technical point of view. We’re hoping that Torbjörn will get here soon.’

‘I phoned him on our way over, and they expect to be here in …’ Patrik glanced at his watch, ‘about half an hour.’

‘Good. Want me to show you around, in the meantime? We’ve tried not to disturb anything. The owner had already put out the flames with a fire extinguisher by the time we arrived, so we’ve just made sure that nothing is still smouldering. There wasn’t really much else we could do. Take a look over there—’

Östen pointed to the front hall. On the other side of the threshold the floor was scorched in a strange, irregular pattern.

‘Must have been some sort of flammable liquid, don’t you think?’ said Martin, peering at it.

Östen nodded.

‘I’d say somebody poured the liquid under the door and then ignited it. Judging by the smell, I reckon it was petrol, but I’m sure Torbjörn and his boys will be able to tell us for sure.’

‘Where are the people who live here?’

‘They’re sitting out back, waiting for the medics, who unfortunately have been delayed because of a traffic accident. They both seem to be suffering from shock, and I thought they could use some peace and quiet. I also thought it would be best if we didn’t let them tramp about inside the house before you had a chance to secure any evidence.’

‘Good thinking.’ Patrik patted Östen on the shoulder and then said to Martin. ‘Shall we go and have a talk with them?’

Without waiting for a reply he headed towards the back of the house. As they turned the corner they spotted a few pieces of patio furniture a short distance away. The chairs and table were shabby, as if they’d been subjected to years of all kinds of weather. Sitting at the table were a man and a woman, both in their mid-thirties, looking lost. When the man caught sight of Patrik and Martin, he stood up and came to greet them, holding out his hand, which was hard and callused, as if accustomed to working with tools.

‘Tobias Stark.’

Patrik and Martin introduced themselves.

‘We don’t understand what happened. The firemen said something about arson. Could that be right?’ said Tobias’s wife, who had come over to stand next to her husband. She was slender and petite. Even though Patrik was only of average height, she barely reached to his shoulder. She seemed delicate and fragile, and she was shivering in spite of the heat.

‘That’s not necessarily true. We don’t yet know anything for certain,’ said Patrik, wanting to reassure them.

‘This is my wife Ebba,’ Tobias told them. Then he wearily rubbed a hand over his face.

‘Why don’t we sit down?’ said Martin. ‘We’d like to hear a little more about what happened.’

‘Sure, we can sit over there,’ said Tobias, pointing to the patio furniture.

‘Who discovered the fire?’ asked Patrik when they were seated. He was studying Tobias, who had a dark patch on his forehead. Like Östen, his hands were black with soot.

Noticing the direction of Patrik’s gaze, Tobias glanced down at his hands. It appeared he hadn’t realized until now how dirty they were. He spent a few moments wiping his palms on his jeans before he answered the question.

‘I did. I woke up and noticed a strange smell. As soon as I realized that there was a fire downstairs, I tried to wake Ebba. It took a few minutes because she was sound asleep, but finally I managed to get her out of bed. Then I ran to get the fire extinguisher. There was only one thought in my mind: to put out the fire.’ Tobias spoke so fast that he was out of breath, and he had to pause for a moment.

‘I thought I was going to die. I was absolutely convinced of it,’ said Ebba, picking at a cuticle. Patrik gave her a sympathetic look.

‘I took the fire extinguisher and sprayed it like crazy at the flames in the front hall,’ Tobias went on. ‘At first nothing happened, but I kept on spraying, and all of a sudden the flames went out. But there was still a lot of smoke. There was smoke everywhere.’ Again he had to stop to catch his breath.

‘Why would anyone … I don’t understand,’ said Ebba vaguely, and Patrik suspected that Östen was right: she was in a state of shock. That would also explain why she was shivering as if she were freezing. When the medics arrived, they were going to have to pay special attention to Ebba and also make sure that neither she nor Tobias was suffering from smoke inhalation. Many people didn’t realize that smoke could be deadlier than the actual fire. Drawing smoke deep into the lungs could have consequences that didn’t show up until later.

‘Why do they think the fire was deliberately set?’ asked Tobias, rubbing his face again. Patrik assumed that the man hadn’t had much sleep.

‘As I said, we don’t know anything for sure at the moment,’ he replied evasively. ‘But there are certain indications. I don’t want to say more until the technical experts have been able to confirm our suspicions. Did either of you hear any noises in the night?’

‘No. As I mentioned, I didn’t wake up until the fire was already burning.’

Patrik nodded towards a house a short distance away. ‘Are the neighbours at home? Would they have noticed if there were any strangers about?’

‘They’re on holiday. We’re the only ones on this part of the island.’

‘Is there anybody who might want to do you harm?’ Martin chipped in. He often let Patrik take charge of the questioning, but he always listened attentively and watched the reactions of the people they were interviewing. And that was just as important as asking the questions.

‘No. Not as far as I know.’ Ebba shook her head.

‘We haven’t lived here long. Only two months,’ said Tobias. ‘This house belonged to Ebba’s parents, but it was rented out for years, and she hasn’t been back until now. We decided to fix up the place and make something of it.’

Patrik and Martin exchanged a quick glance. The story of this house and Ebba’s family was well known in the area, but this was not the right moment to bring it up. Patrik was glad Erica hadn’t come with him. She wouldn’t have been able to restrain herself.

‘Where did you live before?’ asked Patrik, even though he could make a good guess, based on Tobias’s distinctive accent.

‘Göteborg, born and bred,’ said Tobias.

‘And no old quarrels to settle with anyone back there?’

‘We’ve never quarrelled with anyone in Göteborg – or anywhere else, for that matter,’ said Tobias curtly.

‘So what made you decide to move here?’ asked Patrik.

Ebba stared at the table as she fingered the pendant that hung on a chain around her neck. A lovely little angel made of silver.

‘Our son died,’ she said, tugging so hard on the angel that the chain bit into her neck.

‘We needed a change of scene,’ said Tobias. ‘This house had been allowed to fall into disrepair, and nobody cared about it any more. We saw it as a chance for us to start over. I come from a family of innkeepers, so it seemed the natural choice to set up in business, open a bed-and-breakfast. In time, we hope to get conference-goers to stay here.’

‘Looks like you’ve got a lot of work ahead of you,’ said Patrik, staring at the big house with the peeling paint. He purposely chose not to ask about their deceased son. The pain on their faces was too obvious.

‘We’re not afraid of working hard. And we’ll keep at it as long as we can. If we run out of steam, we can always hire some help, but we need to save money. It’s going to be tough to make a go of it financially.’

‘So you can’t think of anyone who might want to hurt you or your business?’ Martin persisted.

‘Business? What business?’ said Tobias with a sarcastic laugh. ‘But no. As I already told you, we can’t think of a single person who would do something like this to us. That’s not the kind of life we lead. We’re just ordinary folk.’

Patrik thought for a moment about Ebba’s background. Not many ordinary folk had that sort of tragic mystery in their past. Fjällbacka was rife with wild rumours about what had happened to Ebba’s family.

‘Unless …’ Tobias cast an inquisitive glance at Ebba, who didn’t seem to understand what he was hinting at. With his eyes fixed on her, he said, ‘The only thing that comes to mind is the birthday card.’

‘Birthday card?’ said Martin.

‘Ever since she was little, on every birthday Ebba has received a card from someone who simply signs the card “G”. Her adoptive parents never found out who was sending those cards. And the cards kept on arriving, even after Ebba moved away from home.’

‘And Ebba has no idea who they’re from?’ asked Patrik before he realized that he was speaking as if she wasn’t present. He turned to her and repeated the question. ‘You have no idea who has been sending these cards to you?’

‘No.’

‘What about your adoptive parents? Are you sure they don’t know anything?’

‘They haven’t a clue.’

‘Has this “G” ever tried to get in touch with you in any other way? Or threatened you?’

‘No, never. Nothing like that, right, Ebba?’ Tobias reached out as if to touch his wife, but then he let his hand drop back on his lap.

She shook her head.

‘Torbjörn is here,’ said Martin, gesturing towards the path.

‘Good. In that case we’ll stop now and let the two of you rest. The medics are on the way, and if they feel you ought to go to the hospital, I think you should do that. These kinds of things need to be taken seriously.’

‘Thanks,’ said Tobias, standing up. ‘Let us know if you find out anything.’

‘We’ll do that.’ Patrik cast another worried glance at Ebba. She still seemed to be enveloped in a bubble. He wondered how the tragedy of her childhood had shaped her, but then he pushed that thought aside. Right now he needed to focus on the job at hand. And that meant determining whether they were dealing with an arsonist.

FJÄLLBACKA 1912

Dagmar still didn’t understand how it could have happened. Everything had been taken from her, and she was utterly alone. No matter where she went, people whispered ugly words behind her back. They hated her because of what her mother had done.

Sometimes at night she missed her mother and father so much that she had to bite the pillow to stop herself sobbing aloud. Because if she did that, the horrid witch she lived with would beat her black and blue. But she couldn’t always hold back her screams when the nightmares got so bad that she woke up drenched in sweat. In her dreams she saw the chopped-off heads of her mother and father. Because in the end both of them had been beheaded. Dagmar had not been present to see it happen, but the image had been burned into her mind.

And sometimes images of the children also hounded her dreams. The police had found the bodies of eight infants when they dug up the earthen floor in the cellar. That was what the witch had said. ‘Eight poor little children,’ she said, shaking her head, whenever anyone came to visit. Her friends would then turn to glare at Dagmar. ‘The girl must have known about it,’ they said. ‘Even as young as she is, surely she must have realized what they were doing, don’t you think?’

Dagmar refused to be cowed. It didn’t matter whether that was true or not. Mamma and Pappa had loved her, and nobody wanted those dirty, squealing little kids. That was why they had wound up with her mother. For years she had worked so hard, yet the only thanks she ever received for taking in all those unwanted children was that people ended up demeaning her, jeering at her, and then they killed her. The same thing had happened to her father. He had helped Mamma bury those children and for that reason people said that he too deserved to die.

Dagmar had been sent to live with the witch after the police took her parents away. No one else was willing to have her, not the relatives or any friends. No one wanted anything to do with her family. The angelmaker from Fjällbacka – that was what people had started calling her mother the day those little skeletons were found. Now people even sang ballads about her. About the murderer who had drowned the children in a basin, and about her husband who had buried them in the cellar. Dagmar knew those songs by heart. Her foster mother’s snotty-nosed kids sang them to her whenever they got a chance.

None of this mattered to her, because she was still her parents’ little princess, and she knew that she had been both wanted and loved. The only thing that made her tremble with fear was the sound of her foster father’s footsteps approaching across the floor. At those moments Dagmar wished that she could have followed her mother and father into death.

Chapter Three

Josef nervously ran his thumb over the stone that he was holding. This meeting was important, and he wasn’t about to allow Sebastian to ruin things.

‘Here it is.’ Sebastian pointed at the drawings that he’d placed on the conference table. ‘Here’s our vision. A project for peace in our time.’ He said the last phrase in English.

Josef sighed to himself. He wasn’t convinced that the local council representatives would be impressed with fancy phrases in English.

‘What my partner is trying to say is that this is an amazing opportunity for Tanum to do something for peace. An initiative that will bring the area a great deal of prestige.’

‘Sure, peace on earth is a good thing. And financially it’s not such a daft idea, either. In the long run, it should increase tourism and create new jobs for the people who live here, and you know what that means.’ Sebastian held up his hand and rubbed his fingers together. ‘More money for the whole area.’

‘Yes, but above all it’s an important peace project,’ said Josef, resisting the urge to give Sebastian a kick in the shins. He’d known this would happen when he accepted Sebastian’s money, but he’d had no choice.

Erling W. Larson nodded. After the scandal over the renovation of the Badhotel in Fjällbacka, he’d found himself out in the cold for a while, but now he was once again involved in local politics. This sort of project would show that he was still a force to be reckoned with, and Josef hoped that Erling would realize this.

‘We think it sounds interesting,’ said Erling. ‘Could you tell us more about how you envision the whole thing?’

Sebastian took in a breath as he prepared to speak, but Josef beat him to it.

‘This is a little piece of history,’ he said, holding out the stone. ‘Albert Speer purchased granite from the quarry in Bohuslän for the German Reich. He and Hitler had grandiose plans to transform Berlin into the world capital of “Germania”, and the granite was supposed to be shipped to Germany for use in construction.’

Josef stood up and began pacing back and forth as he talked. In his mind he heard the stomping boots of German soldiers. The sound that his parents had so often told him about in horror.

‘But then the war turned,’ he went on. ‘Germania never evolved beyond a model that Hitler fantasized about during his last days. An unfulfilled dream, a vision of stately monuments and edifices that would have been built at the cost of millions of Jewish lives.’

‘How awful,’ said Erling, showing little concern.

‘The shiploads of granite never left Tanum—’

‘And that’s where we come in,’ Sebastian interrupted Josef. ‘We were thinking that from that granite we could make peace symbols that could then be sold. It would bring in a lot of money, provided it’s done properly.’

‘And we could then use the money to build a museum devoted to Jewish history and Sweden’s relationship to Judaism. Including our purported neutral position during the war,’ Josef added.

He sat down, and Sebastian put his arm around his shoulders. Josef had to stop himself from shaking off his arm. Instead he mustered a strained smile. He felt just as phoney as he had during those days on Valö. Even back then he’d had nothing in common with Sebastian or his other so-called friends. No matter how hard he tried, he knew he’d never be able to enter the upper-class world that John and Leon and Percy came from. Nor did he want to.

But right now he needed Sebastian. It was his only hope of realizing the dream he’d had for so many years: to pay homage to his Jewish heritage and make public what he knew about the assaults that had been carried out, and were still being levelled against the Jewish people. If that meant he had to sign a pact with the devil, then he’d do it. He hoped that over time he’d be able to end his association with Sebastian.

‘As my partner here was saying,’ Sebastian continued, ‘it’ll be a really great museum, and a pilgrimage destination for tourists from all over the world. And all of you will get the credit for backing this project.’

‘Doesn’t sound half bad,’ said Erling. ‘What do you think?’ He turned to Uno Brorsson, his second-in-command on the council, who in spite of the heat was wearing a checked flannel shirt.

‘It might be something worth considering,’ muttered Uno. ‘But it depends how much we’re expected to contribute. Times are hard.’

Sebastian gave him a big smile. ‘I’m sure we can reach an agreement. The main thing is that there’s enough interest to move forward. I’m personally investing a large sum in the project.’

Right. But you’re not about to tell them what your terms are, thought Josef. He clenched his jaw. All he could do was silently go along with whatever was offered and keep his eye on the goal. He leaned forward to shake hands with Erling. Now there was no turning back.

A small scar on her forehead, scars on her body and a slight limp were the only visible traces of the accident eighteen months ago. The accident when she lost the baby that she and Dan were expecting, and when she herself almost died.

Inside, it was a different matter. Anna was still feeling broken.

She hesitated a moment at the front door. Sometimes it was hard to be with Erica and see how everything had worked out for her. Her sister bore no scars from what had happened, and she had lost nothing. Yet it also did Anna good to see her. The wounds inside Anna twinged and ached, but the time she spent with Erica somehow helped them heal.

It was probably just as well that Anna hadn’t realized how long the healing process would drag on. If she’d had any clue, she might never have emerged from the automatonlike state she’d landed in after her life shattered into a thousand pieces. Recently she’d joked to Erica that she was like one of the old vases she used to handle when she worked for an auction house. A vase that had fallen to the floor and broken, then been laboriously glued back together. From a distance it appeared whole, but as you got closer, the cracks became painfully obvious. But as Anna rang Erica’s doorbell, she realized it wasn’t really a joke. That was her situation now. She was a broken vase.

‘Come in!’ shouted Erica from somewhere inside the house.

Anna went in and kicked off her shoes.

‘I’ll be right there. I just have to change the twins’ nappies.’

Anna went into the kitchen, which was so familiar to her. This house had belonged to their parents, and she knew every nook and cranny of it. Several years ago the house had prompted a quarrel between the two sisters that had almost destroyed their relationship, but that was in a different time, a different world. These days they could laugh about it and talk about ‘LWL’ and ‘LAL’ – ‘Life With Lucas’ and ‘Life After Lucas’. Anna shuddered. She had vowed to think as little as possible about her ex-husband Lucas and what he’d done. He was gone now. All that remained were the only good things he’d ever given her: the children, Emma and Adrian.

‘Want something to eat?’ asked Erica as she entered the kitchen, carrying a twin on each hip. The boys’ faces lit up when they saw their aunt. When Erica set them down on the floor, they ran towards Anna and tried to climb into her lap.