Buried Angels

‘Good. We won’t drop that aspect of the investigation entirely, but at least it seems we can rule out insurance fraud. Then we have yesterday’s discovery,’ said Patrik, turning to Gösta. ‘Could you tell us how the house looked when the police searched it after the family disappeared?’

‘Sure. You can also see for yourselves – here are the original photographs,’ said Gösta, opening one of the file folders. He took out a stack of yellowing photos and handed them around. Patrik was surprised. In spite of their age, the pictures of the crime scene were of excellent quality.

‘In the dining room there were no clues as to what happened,’ said Gösta. ‘The family had begun to eat their Easter lunch, but there was absolutely nothing to indicate any sort of struggle had taken place. Nothing was broken, and the floor was clean. Take a look if you don’t believe me.’

Patrik did as he said, studying the photos carefully. Gösta was right. It was as if the family had simply stood up in the middle of lunch and left. He shivered. There was something ghostly about the table with the half-eaten food still on the plates and the chairs neatly pushed into place around the table. The only thing missing was the people. And the discovery under the floorboards cast a whole new light on the scene. Now he understood why Erica had devoted so many hours to trying to find out what was behind the mysterious disappearance of the Elvander family.

‘If it’s blood, can we determine whether it belonged to the family?’ asked Annika.

Patrik shook his head. ‘That’s not my field of expertise, but I doubt it. I reckon the blood is too old to do that kind of analysis. About the best we can hope for is confirmation whether it’s human or not. Besides, we have nothing to compare it with.’

‘Ebba is still alive,’ said Gösta. ‘If the blood came from Rune or Inez, maybe they could work up a DNA profile and see if it matches Ebba’s.’

‘Possibly. But I think that blood breaks down very quickly, and too many years have gone by. Regardless of the results of the blood analysis, we need to find out what happened on that Easter weekend. We need to transport ourselves back in time.’ Patrik set the photographs on the table. ‘We’ll have to read through all the interviews that were done with people connected to the boarding school and then have another talk with them. The truth is out there somewhere. A whole family can’t simply disappear. And if it’s confirmed that we’re dealing with human blood, then we have to assume that a crime was committed in that room.’

He glanced at Gösta, who nodded.

‘Yes, you’re right. We need to transport ourselves back in time.’

Some people might find it strange to have so many photographs on display in a hotel room, but if so, no one had ever mentioned it to him. That was the advantage of living in a suite. Everybody assumed that a person with so much money might be a little eccentric. And his appearance gave him the opportunity to do as he liked without caring what anyone thought of him.

The photos were important to him. The fact that he always kept them on show was one of the few things that Ia was not allowed to meddle in. Otherwise, he was in her power, and he knew it. But what he had once been and what he’d accomplished were things that she could never take away from him.

Leon rolled his wheelchair over to the chest of drawers where the photos stood. He closed his eyes and for a brief moment allowed himself to be carried back in his mind to the places shown in the pictures. He imagined the desert wind burning his cheeks and how the extreme cold made his fingers ache. He had loved the pain. ‘No pain, no gain’ had always been his motto. Now, ironically enough, he lived with pain every second of every day. Without gaining a single thing from it.

The face that smiled back at him from the photos was beautiful – or rather, handsome. To say it was beautiful implied that it was a feminine face, which was misleading. He radiated manliness and strength. A bold daredevil, longing to feel adrenalin rushing through his body.

He stretched out his left hand which, unlike his right hand, was whole, and picked up his favourite photograph, taken at the top of Mount Everest. It had been an arduous climb, and several members of the expedition had been forced to drop out at various stages. Some had given up before starting. That sort of weakness was incomprehensible. Giving up was not an option for him. Many had shaken their heads at his attempt to reach the summit without oxygen. Those with an understanding of what was involved said that he’d never succeed. Even the expedition leader had begged him to use oxygen, but Leon knew he could do it. Reinhold Messner and Peter Habeler had done it in 1978. Back then it was also considered impossible; not even the native Nepalese climbers had managed it. But he’d made it to the summit of Mt. Everest on the first attempt – without oxygen. In the photograph he was smiling broadly, holding the Swedish flag in one hand, with the colourful prayer flags behind him. At that moment he was on top of the world. He looked strong. Happy.

Leon carefully set the photo down and picked up the next one. Paris to Dakar. Motorcycle division, of course. It still bothered him that he hadn’t won. Instead he’d had to settle for placing among the top ten. He realized this was an amazing accomplishment, but for him first place was the only thing that counted. It had always been like that. He wanted to stand on the first-place podium, no matter what the endeavour. He ran his thumb over the glass covering the framed photo, holding back a smile. If he smiled, one side of his face tugged unpleasantly, and he hated that feeling.

Ia had been so scared. One of the competitors had been killed at the very start of the race, and she had pleaded with him to pull out. But the accident merely increased his motivation. It was the sense of danger that drove him, the realization that his life could be taken from him at any moment. Danger made him love what was good in life all the more intensely. The champagne tasted better, the women seemed more beautiful, the silk sheets felt smoother against his skin. His wealth was more valuable if he stood to lose it. Ia, on the other hand, was afraid of losing everything. She loathed the way he laughed at death and gambled for high stakes at the casinos in Monaco, Saint-Tropez, and Cannes. She didn’t understand the rush he felt whenever he lost big, only to win it all back the following night. On those nights she couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned in bed while he peacefully smoked a cigar out on the balcony.

In his heart he had actually enjoyed her distress. He knew that she loved the life he could offer her. She not only loved it, she needed and demanded it. That was what made it so exciting to see her expression whenever the roulette ball landed in the wrong slot. He would watch her bite her cheek, trying not to scream out loud whenever he bet everything on red and it came up black.

Leon heard the sound of a key in the lock. Gently he set the photo back on the chest of drawers. The man on the motorcycle gave him a big smile.

FJÄLLBACKA 1919

It was a marvellous day to wake up to, and Dagmar stretched her limbs like a cat. Now everything was going to be different. Finally she’d met someone who would silence all the talk and make the laughter stick in the throats of all those gossiping women. The Angelmaker’s daughter and the hero pilot – that would certainly give them something else to chatter about. But it would no longer have any effect on her, because they would be going off together. She didn’t know where, but that didn’t really matter.

Last night he had caressed her as no one had ever done before. He had whispered so many words in her ears, words that she couldn’t understand, but in her heart she knew they were promises about their shared future. His passionate gasps had made desire spread through her whole body, and she had given him everything she possessed.

Dagmar slowly sat up on the edge of the bed. Naked, she went over to the window and opened it wide. Outside the birds were chirping, and the sun had just come up. She wondered where Hermann was. Had he gone to fetch breakfast for them?

In the bathroom she carefully performed her morning ablutions. She would have preferred to keep the scent of him on her body, but at the same time she wanted to be as fragrant as the most beautiful rose when he returned. And she would soon smell his scent again. She had a whole lifetime to breathe in his scent.

When she was finished, she lay back down on the bed to wait, but he was taking his time and she felt her impatience grow. The sun had climbed higher in the sky, and the chirping of the birds was starting to seem annoyingly loud. Where had Hermann gone? Didn’t he know that she was waiting for him?

Finally she got up, put on her clothes, and left the room, holding her head high. Why should she care if anyone saw her? It would soon be clear what Hermann’s intentions were.

The house was very quiet. Everyone was in bed, sleeping it off, and no doubt they wouldn’t be up for a few more hours. The guests didn’t usually appear until eleven. But there were sounds coming from the kitchen. The staff were up early, preparing breakfast. The party-goers always had a ravenous appetite when they finally awoke, so the eggs had to be boiled and ready, the coffee made. She peeked into the kitchen. No, Hermann wasn’t there. One of the cooks saw her and frowned, but Dagmar tossed her head and pulled the door closed.

After searching the house, she headed towards the dock. Could he be having a morning dip? Hermann was so athletic. He’d probably gone down to have an invigorating swim.

She walked faster and then began to run down to the shore. Her feet seemed to fly over the grass, and when she reached the dock, she smiled as she gazed out over the water. But her expression soon turned solemn. He wasn’t there. She took one more look around, but Hermann was not in the water, and there were no clothes tossed on the dock. One of the boys who worked for the doctor and his wife came sauntering towards her.

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