Kjell felt strangely agitated after the meeting with his father. For all these years he had successfully managed to hold on to his hatred. It had been so easy to see only the negative, to focus on all the mistakes that Frans had made during his childhood. But maybe things weren’t really so black and white after all. He shook himself in an attempt to dismiss that idea. It was so much easier not to see any grey areas, to claim there was only right and wrong. But today Frans had seemed so old and frail. And for the first time it struck Kjell that his father wasn’t going to live for ever. One day he would be gone, and then Kjell would be forced to look at himself in the mirror. Deep inside, he knew that his hatred burned as strongly as it did because he still had the possibility of reaching out his hand, of taking the first step towards reconciliation. He didn’t want to do that. Had no desire to do that. But the possibility existed nonetheless, and it gave him a feeling of power. When his father died, it would be too late. Then Kjell would have only a life of hatred left. Nothing else.
His hand trembled slightly as he picked up the phone to make a few calls. Of course Erica had said that she would contact the authorities to check if there were any records on Hans, but he wasn’t used to relying on anybody else. He might as well do it himself. But an hour later, his phone calls to various Swedish and Norwegian agencies had drawn a blank. Having only a name and an approximate age to go on made it difficult, but there was bound to be a way. He hadn’t yet exhausted all the possibilities, and he had managed to find out enough to convince him that the boy hadn’t stayed in Sweden. So it was most likely that Hans had returned to his homeland when the war ended and he was no longer in danger.
Kjell reached for the folder containing the articles and suddenly realized that he had forgotten to fax Olavsen’s photograph to Eskil Halvorsen. He picked up the phone again to call the man and get his fax number.
‘I’m afraid that I haven’t found anything yet,’ said Halvorsen as soon as he heard who was calling. He listened as Kjell explained the reason for his call, then said, ‘Yes, a photo might be helpful. You can fax it to my office at the university.’
Kjell jotted down the number and faxed the article which had the clearest picture of Hans Olavsen. Then he sat down at his desk again. He was hoping that Erica’s research would prove more fruitful, since he felt as if he’d come to a dead end.
Just at that moment the phone rang.
‘Grandpa is here!’ Per shouted towards the living room, and Carina came out to join them in the hall.
‘Could I come in for a moment?’ asked Frans.
Carina noticed that he didn’t seem himself and it worried her. Not that she’d ever had especially warm feelings for Kjell’s father, but she was grateful to him for what he had done for her and Per recently. ‘Of course, come on in,’ she said, leading the way to the kitchen. Noticing that he was studying her intently, she replied to his unspoken question: ‘Not a drop since the last time you were here. Per can vouch for me.’
Per nodded and sat down across from Frans at the kitchen table. The look that he gave his grandfather bordered on hero worship.
‘Looks like your hair is starting to grow out,’ said Frans with amusement, patting the stubble on his grandson’s head.
‘I guess so,’ said Per, embarrassed, but then he ran his own hand over his scalp, looking pleased.
‘That’s good,’ said Frans. ‘That’s good.’
Carina gave him a warning look as she spooned coffee into the filter. He nodded faintly, to confirm that he wasn’t about to discuss politics.
When the coffee was ready and Carina had sat down at the table with them, she turned to him with an enquiring look. He stared down at his coffee cup. She thought again how tired he seemed. Even though she didn’t approve of the causes he espoused, he had always seemed to her the epitome of strength. Right now he was not at all his usual self.
‘I’ve opened a bank account in Per’s name,’ he said at last, not meeting their eyes. ‘He’ll have access to it when he turns twenty-five. I’ve already deposited a large sum in there.’
‘Where did you get –’ Carina started to say, but Frans held up his hand and went on.
‘For reasons that I can’t go into at the moment, the account and the money are not with a Swedish bank but a financial institution in Luxemburg.’
Carina raised an eyebrow, but she wasn’t entirely surprised. Kjell had always claimed that his father had money stashed away somewhere, from some of the criminal activities that had landed him in prison so many times in the past.
‘But why now?’ she asked, looking at him.
At first Frans didn’t seem willing to answer the question, but finally he said, ‘If anything happens to me, I want to have this all arranged.’
Carina said nothing. She didn’t want to know anything more.
‘Cool,’ said Per. ‘How much dosh do I get?’
‘Per!’ exclaimed Carina, glaring at her son, who merely shrugged.
‘A lot,’ said Frans drily. ‘But even though the account is in your name, there are certain restrictions. For one thing, you can’t access the money until you’re twenty-five.’ He held up an admonitory finger. ‘And I’ve also set it up so that you can’t access it until your mother decides that you’re mature enough to handle money and grants her permission. And that condition holds, even after you turn twenty-five. If she doesn’t trust you to do something sensible with the funds, you won’t get a cent of it. Do you understand?’
Per muttered something but accepted what Frans had said without protest.
Carina didn’t know what to make of all this. There was something in Frans’s manner, something in his voice, that made her uneasy. At the same time, she felt an enormous sense of gratitude towards him, on Per’s behalf. She wasn’t going to worry about where the money had come from. Frans must have acquired it a long time ago, and if the money could help Per in the future, she wasn’t about to quibble.
‘What do I do about Kjell?’ she asked.
Now Frans raised his head and fixed his eyes on her. ‘Kjell isn’t to know anything about this until the day that Per gets the money. Promise me that you won’t say anything to him! That goes for you too, Per.’ He gave his grandson a stern look. ‘That’s my only request. That your father doesn’t find out anything about this until after the event.’
‘Okay. Pappa doesn’t need to know about this,’ said Per, delighted to be asked to keep a secret from his father.
Then Frans said in a slightly calmer voice: ‘I know you’re probably going to be punished for assaulting that boy. Now I want you to listen to what I’m going to tell you.’ He forced Per to meet his eyes. ‘You’re going to accept your punishment. They’ll probably send you to a home for delinquents. Stay out of trouble, don’t get mixed up in any shit while you’re there. Just do your time without causing any problems and afterwards don’t do anything else stupid. Do you hear me?’
He spoke slowly, enunciating each word clearly, and every time Per seemed about to look away, Frans forced him to meet his gaze again.
‘I’m telling you right now that you don’t want to have the kind of life I’ve had. My life has been shit, from beginning to end. The only thing that has ever mattered to me is you and your father, even though he’d never believe that. It’s true though. So promise me that you’ll keep out of trouble. Promise me that!’
‘Okay, okay,’ said Per, squirming. But he seemed to be listening to his grandfather and taking in his words.
Frans just hoped that this would be sufficient. He knew from his own experience how hard it could be to change paths once you’d started out in a specific direction. But he hoped it wasn’t too late to be giving his grandson a shove on to the right track. That was all he could do now.
‘So, I’ve said what I came here to say.’ Frans removed an envelope from his pocket and set it on the kitchen table in front of Carina. ‘Here are the documents you’ll need to access the money.’
‘Are you sure you won’t stay for a while?’ she asked, still feeling uneasy.
Frans shook his head. ‘I’ve got things to do.’ He turned to leave but paused in the doorway and said quietly, ‘Take care of yourselves.’ Then he raised his hand to give them a little wave before he turned and headed for the front door.
Carina and Per sat at the kitchen table in silence. They had both recognized the finality of Frans’s farewell.
‘This is almost getting to be routine,’ said Torbjörn Ruud drily as he stood next to Patrik watching the macabre business that was now under way.
Anna had offered to babysit, so Erica was present too, observing the digging with ill-concealed eagerness.
‘It can’t have been easy for Mellberg to get permission,’ said Patrik. It was rare for him to praise his boss.
‘From what I heard, it took ten minutes before the guy at the prosecutor’s office stopped shouting at him,’ said Torbjörn, without taking his eyes off the grave, where layer after layer of earth was being removed.
‘Do you think we’ll need to dig up the whole thing?’ asked Patrik, shuddering.
Torbjörn shook his head. ‘If the two of you are right, then the body we’re looking for should be on top. I doubt the killer would have gone to the trouble of burying him at the very bottom, underneath the others,’ he said sarcastically. ‘And he’s probably not in a coffin, so his clothes should tell us if your theory is correct.’
‘How fast can we get a preliminary report on the cause of death?’ asked Erica. ‘If we find him, that is,’ she added, but she seemed convinced that the exhumation would prove her right.
‘I’ve been promised a report day after tomorrow,’ said Patrik. ‘I talked to Pedersen, and they’re willing to move this post-mortem to the top of the list. He can start on it tomorrow and let us know the results by Friday. He stressed that it will only be a preliminary report, but it should be possible to establish cause of death, at least.’
A shout from the men working at the grave interrupted him, and they moved closer.
‘We’ve found something,’ said one of the tech guys, and Torbjörn went over to talk to him. They had a brief conversation, their heads close together. Then Torbjörn returned to Patrik and Erica, who hadn’t dared go any nearer.
‘It looks like someone was buried close to the surface, and not in a coffin. They’re going to have go slower now so as not to destroy evidence. It will take a while to dig out the body.’ He hesitated. ‘But it looks as though you were right.’
Relieved, Erica nodded and took a deep breath. In the distance she saw Kjell coming towards them, but he was stopped by Martin and Gösta, who were there to prevent anyone from getting too close. She hurried over to them.
‘It’s okay. I’m the one who told him about what’s going on here.’
‘No reporters or other unauthorized individuals. Mellberg gave us specific orders to that effect,’ muttered Gösta, his hand level with Kjell’s chest.
‘It’s okay,’ said Patrik, joining them. ‘I’ll take responsibility.’ He gave Erica a sharp look that signified she would be the one who’d bear responsibility for any consequences. She nodded curtly and led Kjell over to the grave.
‘Have they found anything?’ he asked, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
‘It looks that way. I think we’ve found Hans Olavsen,’ she told him, watching with fascination as the techs cautiously attempted to uncover a bundle lying in the hole, which so far was no more than a foot and a half deep.
‘So he never left Fjällbacka after all,’ said Kjell, unable to take his eyes off the work going on in the grave.
‘No, he didn’t. So the question is: how did he end up here?’
‘I presume that Erik and Britta knew he was here.’
‘Yes, and they were both murdered.’ Erica shook her head, as if that might make all the pieces fall into place.
‘He’s been here for at least sixty years. So why now? Why did he suddenly become so important?’ Kjell wondered.
‘You didn’t get anything out of your father?’ asked Erica, turning to look at him.
He shook his head. ‘Not a thing. And I don’t know whether that’s because he doesn’t know anything, or because he doesn’t want to tell me.’
‘Do you think he could have . . .?’ She didn’t really dare finish the sentence, but Kjell understood what she was getting at.
‘My father is capable of just about anything. Of that I’m certain.’
‘What are you two talking about?’ asked Patrik, coming over to stand next to Erica.
‘We’re discussing the possibility that my father may have committed murder,’ said Kjell calmly.
Patrik was startled by his honesty. ‘And what did you decide?’ he said. ‘We’ve had our suspicions, but your father has an alibi for the time when Erik was killed.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ said Kjell. ‘But I hope you’ve double-and triple-checked your information, because an old jailbird like my father would have no difficulty arranging a false alibi.’
Patrik realized he was right and made a note to ask Martin how closely they had scrutinized Frans’s alibi.
Torbjörn joined them, greeting Kjell with a nod of recognition. ‘So, I see that the fourth estate has been granted permission to attend.’
‘I have a personal interest,’ said Kjell.
Torbjörn shrugged. If the police wanted to allow a journalist to be present, he wasn’t going to interfere. That was their problem. ‘We’ll be done here in about an hour,’ he said. ‘And I know that Pedersen is standing by to start the post-mortem.’
‘Yes, I’ve already talked to him,’ said Patrik, nodding.
‘All right then. We’ll be getting him out of there, and then we’ll see what sort of secrets the lad is hiding.’ He turned and went back to the grave.
‘Yes, let’s see what secrets he has,’ said Erica quietly, staring at the grave. Patrik put his arm round her shoulders.