The Hidden Child

‘That’s great,’ said Patrik, giving her a kiss on the cheek before he shut the door behind him.

‘That’s great, all right,’ said Erica to herself, opening her manuscript document and preparing to put all thought of Erik Frankel out of her mind.

She had no sooner set her fingers on the keyboard when a crackling noise issued from the baby monitor. Erica froze. It was probably nothing. Maja was just moving around in her cot; sometimes the monitor was overly sensitive. She heard the sound of a car starting up, and then Patrik drove off. As she moved her eyes back to the screen, struggling to think of the next sentence, she heard the crackling noise again. She looked at the baby monitor as if she could will it to stay quiet, but her efforts were rewarded with an audible ‘Waaaaaa.’ Followed by a shrill ‘Mammaaaa … Pappaaaa …’

Feeling resigned, she pushed back her chair and got up. How typical. She went down the hall to Maja’s room and opened the door. Her daughter was standing up, crying angrily.

‘But Maja, sweetheart, you’re supposed to be sleeping.’

Maja shook her head.

‘Yes, it’s time for your nap,’ said Erica firmly, setting her daughter down in the cot, but Maja sprang up as she were made of rubber.

‘Mammaaaa!’ she cried with a voice that could break glass. Erica felt fury gathering in her chest. How many times had she done this? How many days had she spent feeding, carrying, playing with Maja and then putting her down for a nap? She loved her daughter, but she had a desperate need for some respite from the responsibility. To rediscover what it was to be a grown-up and do grown-up things – exactly the way Patrik had been able to during the whole year that she’d been home with Maja.

No sooner did she put Maja down in the cot than she clambered back up, even more furious.

‘You need to sleep now,’ said Erica, backing out of the room and closing the door. Anger surging in her chest, she picked up the phone and punched in the number for Patrik’s mobile, pressing the buttons a little too hard. She heard the first ringtone and then gave a start when she realized it was coming from downstairs. Patrik’s mobile was on the kitchen counter.

‘Bloody hell!’ She slammed down the receiver, angry tears welling up in her eyes. She took a couple of deep breaths and told herself it wasn’t the end of the world if she had to jump in for a little while, even though it might feel like it. She realized this whole thing was about the fact that she felt unable to let go, unable to trust Patrik with the baton she had passed him.

But there was nothing she could do about it. And the most important thing was not to take out her feelings on Maja. It wasn’t her fault, after all. Erica took another deep breath and went back to her daughter’s room. Maja was wailing, her face bright red. And an unmistakable odour had started to spread through the room. The mystery was solved. That was why Maja didn’t want to sleep. Feeling a bit guilty and extremely inadequate, Erica tenderly picked up her daughter and comforted her, pressing the little downy head against her breast. ‘There, there, sweetie, Mamma is going to change the nasty nappy. There, there.’ Maja sniffled as she pressed closer. Downstairs in the kitchen, Patrik’s mobile was ringing shrilly.

‘It feels … creepy.’ Martin was still standing in the entry hall, listening to the sounds characteristic of all old houses. Small creaks and squeaks, faint sounds of protest when the wind picked up.

Gösta nodded. There was definitely something creepy about the atmosphere in this house, but he thought it was because they knew what had happened here, rather than anything inherent in the house itself.

‘So you said Torbjörn’s given the all-clear to go in, right?’ Martin turned to look at Gösta.

‘Yes, Forensics are done with the place.’ Gösta nodded his head towards the library, where traces of fingerprint powder were clearly visible. Black, sooty particles that disturbed the image of an otherwise beautiful room.

‘Okay, then.’ Martin wiped his shoes on the doormat and headed for the library. ‘Shall we start in here?’

‘Might as well,’ said Gösta with a sigh.

‘I’ll take the desk while you go through the file folders and ring binders.’

‘Sure.’ Gösta sighed again, but Martin paid no attention. Gösta always sighed when confronted with an assignment.

Martin cautiously approached the big desk. It was a huge piece of furniture made of dark wood, ornately carved, that looked as if it belonged in some English manor house. The desktop was very neat, with only a pen and a box of paper clips, aligned in perfect symmetry. A little blood had stained a notepad that was covered in scribbles, and Martin leaned closer to see what had been scrawled there. ‘Ignoto militi’ it said over and over. The words meant nothing to him. He carefully began pulling out one desk drawer after another, methodically going through the contents. Nothing piqued his interest. The only thing he could tell was that Erik and his brother seemed to have shared the work area, and they also seemed to share a fondness for neatness and order.

‘Doesn’t this border on the obsessive?’ Gösta held up a binder and showed Martin the neatly arranged documents inside, complete with a table of contents on which Erik and Axel had meticulously detailed what each scrap of paper was about.

‘It’s not what my files look like, I can tell you that.’ Martin laughed.

‘I’ve always thought there’s something wrong with people who are this neat. It probably has to do with deficient toilet training or something like that.’

‘Well, that’s one theory.’ Martin smiled. ‘Have you found anything? There’s nothing of interest here.’ He closed the last drawer that he’d been looking through.

‘Nope, nothing yet. Mostly bills, invoices, stuff like that. Do you realize they’ve saved every single electricity bill since time immemorial? Arranged by date.’ Gösta shook his head. ‘Here, take one of these files.’ From the bookshelf behind the desk he pulled out a big, thick binder with a black spine and handed it to his colleague.

Martin took it over to one of the armchairs and sat down to read. Gösta was right. Everything was systematically arranged. He went over each item, and was despairing of finding anything significant when he came to the letter ‘S’. A quick glance showed that ‘S’ stood for ‘Sweden’s Friends’. Curious, he started leafing through the papers, which proved to be letters. Each one bore a printed logo in the upper right-hand corner showing a crown against a billowing Swedish flag. They had all been written by the same person: Frans Ringholm.

‘Listen to this –’ Martin began reading aloud from one of the first letters, which according to the date was among the most recent:

‘In spite of our shared history, I can no longer ignore the fact that you are actively working against the goals and aims of Sweden’s Friends, and this will inevitably lead to consequences. I’ve done my best for the sake of old friendship, but there are powerful forces within the organization that do not look upon this kindly, and there will come a time when I can no longer offer you protection …’

Martin raised one eyebrow. ‘And it goes on in the same vein.’ He quickly leafed through the other letters and saw that there were four more.

‘It looks as if Erik Frankel managed to upset some neo-Nazi group, but paradoxically enough, someone in that very organization was shielding him.’

‘A protector who ultimately failed.’

‘So it seems. Let’s go through the rest of the documents and see if we can find out anything else. But there’s no doubt we need to have a talk with this Frans Ringholm.’

‘Ringholm …’ Gösta stared straight ahead as he thought. ‘I recognize that name.’ He frowned as he racked his brain to come up with a connection, but in vain. He was still looking pensive as they silently combed through the rest of the binders.

After nearly an hour, Martin closed the last one and said, ‘Well, I didn’t find anything of interest. How about you?’

Gösta shook his head. ‘No, and there aren’t any other references to that group called Sweden’s Friends.’

They left the library and searched the rest of the house. Erik Frankel’s fascination with Germany and the Second World War was evident throughout, but nothing caught their attention. It was a beautiful house, but it appeared that the brothers had left the place pretty much as it was when they’d inherited it. The parents’ presence was palpable: black-and-white photographs of them, along with other relatives, hung on the walls or were displayed in heavy frames set on top of bureaus and sideboards. The furnishings were rather outmoded, and had begun to show signs of wear; the whole place had a feeling of age. A thin layer of dust was the only thing disturbing the order.

‘I wonder if they did the dusting themselves or if they had someone come in to clean?’ said Martin, running a finger over the surface of the chest of drawers in one of the three bedrooms upstairs.

‘I have a hard time picturing two men in their late seventies doing the dusting,’ said Gösta as he opened the door to the wardrobe. ‘What do you think? Is this Erik’s or Axel’s room?’ He looked at the row of brown jackets and white shirts hanging inside the wardrobe.

‘Erik’s,’ said Martin. He’d picked up a book lying on the bedside table and now held it up to show the title page where a name had been written in pencil: Erik Frankel. It was a biography of Albert Speer. ‘Hitler’s architect,’ Martin read aloud from the back cover before he put the book back where he’d found it.

‘He spent twenty years in Spandau prison after the war,’ murmured Gösta, and Martin gave him a look of surprise.

‘How do you know that?’

‘The Frankels aren’t the only ones interested in the Second World War. I’ve read a lot about it over the years. And seen some documentaries on the Discovery channel and the like.’

‘Is that so?’ said Martin, still looking surprised. In all the years they’d worked together this was the first time he’d heard Gösta show an interest in anything besides golf.

They spent another hour searching the house but found nothing more. Yet Martin felt pleased with their efforts as he drove back to the station. The name Frans Ringholm gave them something to go on.

The supermarket wasn’t too busy, and Patrik took his time strolling down the aisles. It was a relief to get out of the house for a while, a relief to have some time to himself. This was only the second day of his paternity leave, but while part of him rejoiced in the opportunity to stay home with Maja another part was having a hard time adjusting. Not because he didn’t have enough to do during the day – he’d quickly realized that he had his hands full taking care of a one-year-old. He was ashamed to admit that the problem was, he didn’t find it particularly … stimulating. And it was unbelievable how restricted he felt. He couldn’t even go to the toilet in peace, since Maja had got into the habit of standing outside and crying ‘Pappa, Pappa, Pappa, Pappa’ as she banged on the door with her tiny fists until he relented and let her in. Then she’d stand there and stare at him with curiosity as he did what he’d always done before in much greater privacy.

He felt slightly guilty about leaving Erica to take over while he went out to do errands. But Maja was asleep, so she could carry on working. Maybe he should ring home and check, though, just to be sure. He stuck his hand in his pocket to get his mobile phone, then realized that he’d left it on the kitchen counter. Damn! Never mind, it was probably okay.

Finding himself in the baby-food section, he started reading the labels: Beef stew with cream gravy, fish in dill sauce. Hmm … Spaghetti with meat sounded much better. He took five jars. Maybe he should really start cooking food for Maja at home. That’s a great idea, he thought, and put back three of the jars. He could be the big chef, and Maja could sit next to him, and …

‘Let me guess. You’re making the typical rookie mistake of thinking you could cook these things yourself.’

The voice was familiar but somehow seemed out of place. Patrik turned around.

‘Karin? Hi! What are you doing here?’ Patrik hadn’t expected to bump into his ex-wife in the Konsum supermarket in Fjällbacka. They hadn’t seen each other since she moved out of their terraced house in Tanumshede and moved in with the man she’d been in bed with when Patrik discovered them together. An image of that scene flitted through his mind but quickly vanished. It was all so long ago. Water under the bridge, so to speak.

‘Leif and I have bought a house here in Fjällbacka. In the Basket district.’

‘Oh, really?’ said Patrik, trying not to look surprised.

‘Yes, we wanted to move closer to Leif’s parents now that we have Ludde.’ She pointed to her shopping cart, and only now did Patrik notice the little boy sitting there, grinning from ear to ear.

‘How about that for timing,’ said Patrik. ‘I’ve got a little girl at home, about the same age. Her name is Maja.’

‘I’d heard rumours to that effect,’ said Karin, laughing. ‘You’re married to Erica Falck, right? Tell her that I love her books!’

‘I’ll do that,’ said Patrik, waving to Ludde.

‘But what are you doing now?’ he asked Karin. ‘Last I heard, you were working for an accounting firm.’

‘Oh, that was a while back. I quit three years ago. Right now I’m on maternity leave from a consulting company that handles financial services.’

‘Is that right? This is actually my second day on paternity leave,’ said Patrik with a certain pride.

‘What fun! But where’s … ?’ Karin looked past him, and Patrik smiled a bit sheepishly.

‘Erica is looking after her at the moment. I had to go out to do some errands.’

‘Uh-huh. Well, I’m very familiar with the phenomenon.’ Karin gave him a wink. ‘The male lack of ability to multitask seems to be universal.’

‘I suppose it is,’ said Patrik, embarrassed.

‘But why don’t we get together with our kids sometime? It’s not that easy to keep them occupied on their own, plus then you and I would have a chance to talk to another grown-up. And that’s always a plus!’ She rolled her eyes and gave Patrik an enquiring look.

‘Sure, that’d be great. When and where?’

‘I usually take a long walk with Ludde every morning around ten. You’re welcome to join us. We could meet outside the pharmacy, at about ten fifteen. How’s that?’

‘Sounds good. By the way, do you know what time it is? I left my mobile at home, and I use it as my clock too.’

Karin glanced at her watch. ‘Two fifteen.’

‘Shit! I should have been home two hours ago!’ He raced off towards the cashier, pushing the cart in front of him. ‘See you tomorrow!’

‘Ten fifteen. Outside the pharmacy. And don’t show up fifteen minutes late, like you used to,’ Karin called after him.

‘I won’t,’ Patrik shouted back as he began putting his groceries on the check-out belt. He sincerely hoped that Maja was still sleeping.

There was a thick layer of morning fog outside the window as the plane began its descent towards Göteborg. The landing gear whirred as it was deployed. Axel leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. That was a mistake. The images again appeared, as they had so many times in past years. Wearily he opened his eyes. He hadn’t got much sleep last night. He’d mostly lain awake in bed in his Paris flat, tossing and turning.

The woman on the phone had told him the news about Erik in a tone of voice that was both sympathetic and distant. He could tell from her manner that this was not the first time she’d notified someone about a death.

His head swam as he thought how many times such news had been delivered throughout history. Conversations with the police, a pastor standing on the doorstep, an envelope with a military seal. All those millions and millions of people who had died. And each time someone must have conveyed the news.

Axel tugged at his earlobe. Over the years this had become an unconscious habit. He was practically deaf in his left ear, and touching it seemed to calm the constant rushing sound.

He shifted his gaze to look out the window but saw only his own reflection. The grey, furrowed face of a man in his eighties, with sorrowful, deep-set eyes. He touched his face. For a moment he imagined that he was looking at Erik instead.

With a thud the wheels touched down. He had arrived.

Wary of another ‘accident’ in his office, Mellberg took down the dog lead that he’d hung on a hook and attached it to Ernst’s collar.

‘Come on, let’s get this over with,’ he grunted, and Ernst scampered joyfully towards the front door, moving at a speed that forced Bertil to trot after him.

‘You’re supposed to be walking the dog, not vice versa,’ remarked Annika with amusement as they rushed past.

‘I’d be happy to let you take him out,’ snapped Mellberg, but he continued towards the door.

Stupid mutt. His arms were aching from holding the dog back. But once Ernst had lifted his leg to a bush the sense of urgency dissipated and they were able to continue on their walk at a more sedate pace. Mellberg even found himself whistling. This isn’t so bad after all, he thought. Some fresh air and a little exercise might do him good. And Ernst had settled into sniffing at the wooded path they were walking along, calm as could be. Just like a person, he could sense when someone with a firm hand was in control. There shouldn’t be any problem training the mutt properly.

At that moment Ernst stopped, his ears pricked forward and every muscle tensed in his sinewy body. Then he exploded into motion.

‘Ernst? What the –?’ Mellberg was yanked forward so fast that he almost fell on his face, but at the last second he managed to keep his footing and hung on as the dog set off at a gallop.

‘Ernst! Ernst! Stop! Stop right now! Heel!’ Mellberg was panting from the unaccustomed physical effort, and that made it hard for him to shout. The dog ignored his commands. As they came flying around a corner, Mellberg saw what it was that had precipitated their flight. Ernst threw himself at a big, light-coloured dog that looked to be of a similar breed, and the two began romping around each other while their owners tugged at the leads.

‘Señorita! Stop that! Sit!’ The short, dark-haired woman spoke in a harsh tone, and her dog obediently backed away from Ernst, who continued to ignore Mellberg’s remonstrations. ‘Bad dog, Señorita! You shouldn’t be carrying on like that.’ Looking suitably abashed, Señorita peered up at her owner from under a shaggy fringe.

‘I … I … must apologize,’ Mellberg stammered, tugging at the lead to prevent Ernst launching himself at the other dog who, judging by the name, must be female.

‘You clearly have no control over your dog.’ Her sharp tone of voice had him fighting back the urge to stand to attention. She had a slight accent and this, together with her flashing dark eyes, gave him the impression she must come from some southern country.

‘Well, it’s not really my dog. I’m just taking care of him until …’ Mellberg heard himself stammering like a teenager. He cleared his throat and attempted to sound a bit more authoritative. ‘I’m not used to dogs. And he’s not mine anyway.’

‘He seems to have a different opinion about that.’ She pointed to Ernst who was pressed close to Mellberg’s leg, looking up at him with adoring eyes.

‘Er, well …’ said Mellberg, embarrassed.

‘Shall we continue walking the dogs together? My name is Rita.’ She held out her hand, and after a slight hesitation, he shook it.

‘I’ve had dogs all my life, so I’m sure I can give you a few tips. Besides, it’s much more pleasant to walk with somebody to keep me company.’ She didn’t wait for a reply before starting off along the path. Without knowing how it had happened, Mellberg found himself keeping step with her, as if his feet had a will of their own. And Ernst had no objections. He fell in beside Señorita, wagging his tail vigorously.

CHAPTER 6 FJÄLLBACKA 1943

‘Erik? Frans?’ Britta and Elsy cautiously stepped inside. They’d knocked but received no answer. They glanced around nervously. The doctor and his wife probably wouldn’t be pleased to find two girls coming over to visit their son while they were away. Usually they met in Fjällbacka, but on bold impulse Erik had suggested that the girls come to the house since his parents would be out all day.

‘Erik?’ Elsy called a little louder and then jumped when she heard someone say ‘Shhh’ from the room directly in front of them. Erik appeared in the doorway and motioned for them to come in.

‘Axel is upstairs asleep. He came back this morning.’

‘Oh, he’s so brave,’ said Britta with a sigh, but her face lit up when she saw Frans.

‘Hi!’

‘Hi,’ said Frans but he was looking past her. ‘Hi, Elsy.’

‘Hi, Frans,’ replied Elsy, but then she headed straight for the bookshelves.

‘My, what a lot of books you have!’ She ran her fingers over the spines.

‘You can borrow some if you like,’ said Erik generously, although he added, ‘But only on condition that you take good care of them. Pappa is very particular about his books.’

‘Of course,’ said Elsy happily, devouring the rows of books with her eyes. She loved to read. Frans didn’t take his eyes off her for even a second.

‘Books are a waste of time,’ said Britta. ‘It’s much better to experience things yourself rather than just reading about other people’s experiences. Don’t you agree, Frans?’ She sat down in the chair next to him, tilting her head to look into his eyes.

‘One doesn’t necessarily have to exclude the other,’ he said gruffly but without meeting her gaze. He was still staring at Elsy. A furrow appeared on Britta’s forehead, and she jumped up from the chair.

‘Are any of you going to the dance on Saturday?’ She took a few dance steps across the floor.

‘I don’t think Mamma and Pappa will let me go,’ said Elsy in a low voice, still engrossed in the books.

‘Who do you think will be there?’ said Britta, dancing some more. She tried to pull Frans to his feet, but he resisted and managed to stay seated in the armchair.

‘Stop fooling around.’ His tone of voice was brusque, but then he couldn’t help laughing. ‘Britta, you’re crazy, do you know that?’

‘Don’t you like crazy girls? If not, I can be serious too.’ She put on a stern expression. ‘Or happy.’ She laughed so loud that the sound echoed off the walls.

‘Shhh,’ said Erik, glancing up at the ceiling.

‘Or I can be very quiet,’ whispered Britta melodramatically, and Frans laughed again, pulling her down on to his lap.

‘Crazy will do just fine.’

A voice from the doorway interrupted them.

‘What a ruckus you’re making.’ There stood Axel, leaning against the door jamb and smiling tiredly.

‘Sorry, we didn’t mean to wake you.’ Erik’s voice was brimming with the awe that he felt towards his brother, but he also looked worried.

‘It doesn’t matter, Erik. I can take a nap later.’ Axel folded his arms and said, ‘So, looks like you’re taking advantage of our parents going out to visit the Axelssons by having a few ladies over.’

‘Er, I don’t know if I’d call it that,’ muttered Erik.

Frans laughed, still with Britta perched on his lap. ‘Do you see ladies anywhere? There isn’t a lady in sight. Just two saucy little girls.’

‘Shut up, why don’t you!’ Britta punched Frans in the chest. She did not look amused.

‘And Elsy is so busy looking at the books that she hasn’t even said hello.’

Elsy turned around, embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry. Hello, Axel.’

‘I was just kidding you. Go back to the books. Did Erik tell you that you could borrow some if you like?’

‘Yes, he did.’ Still blushing, she quickly turned her attention back to the bookshelves.

‘How’d it go yesterday?’ Erik was looking at his brother as if hungry for every word.

Axel’s cheerful, open expression shut down at once. ‘Fine,’ he said curtly. ‘It went fine.’ Then he turned on his heel. ‘I’m going to lie down again for a while. Please try to keep the noise level to a minimum, okay?’