‘Martin!’
‘Paula!’
They both shouted at the exact same time, each on their way to the other’s office with urgent news. Now they stood in the corridor, staring at one another, their cheeks flushed. Martin was the first to pull himself together.
‘Come with me,’ he said. ‘Kjell Ringholm was just here, and there’s something I have to tell you about.’
‘Okay, but then I’ve got something to tell you, too,’ said Paula, following him into his office.
He closed the door behind her and sat down. She sat down across from him, but she was so eager to share what she’d found out that she could hardly sit still.
‘First of all, Frans Ringholm confessed to the murder of Britta Johansson. He also hinted that he was the one who killed Erik Frankel and . . .’ Martin hesitated, ‘the man we found in the grave.’
‘What? He confessed to his son before he died?’ exclaimed Paula in astonishment.
Martin pushed across the desk the plastic sleeve containing the three-page letter. ‘Afterwards, actually. Kjell got this in the post today. Read it and then tell me your immediate impressions.’
Paula picked up the letter and began reading intently. After she was finished, she put the pages back in the plastic sleeve and said with a pensive frown on her face: ‘Well, his confession that he killed Britta is plain enough. But as for Erik and Hans Olavsen . . . He just writes that he’s the one to blame, and that’s rather an odd way of putting it, in this context, especially since he’s so unambiguous about Britta. So I don’t know. I’m not sure that he’s saying he killed the other two. And besides . . .’ She leaned forward and was about to tell Martin what she had found out, when he interrupted her.
‘Wait. There’s more.’ He held up his hand, and she closed her mouth, looking slightly offended. ‘Kjell has been doing some research on this Hans Olavsen. Trying to find out where he went and uncover more about him in general.’
‘And?’ said Paula impatiently.
‘He’s been in touch with a Norwegian professor who’s an expert on the German occupation of Norway. Since the professor has so much material on the Norwegian resistance movement, Kjell thought he might be able to help locate Hans Olavsen.’
‘And?’ Paula repeated, starting to look annoyed since Martin couldn’t seem to get to the point.
‘At first he didn’t find anything.’
Paula sighed loudly.
‘. . . but then Kjell faxed over an article with a photograph of the “resistance fighter” Hans Olavsen.’ Martin drew quote marks in the air.
‘Then what?’ Now Paula’s interest had been sparked, and for a moment she forgot about her own news.
‘The thing is, that boy was not a resistance fighter at all. He wasn’t even called Olavsen – that was his mother’s maiden name, which he took as his own surname after he fled to Sweden. It seems his Norwegian mother was married to a German named Reinhardt Wolf. When the Germans occupied Norway, Wolf was given a high position in the Norwegian SS, thanks to the fact that his wife had taught him the language. At the end of the war the father was captured and sent to a prison in Germany. Nobody knows what happened to the mother, but the son, Hans, disappeared from Norway in 1944 and was never seen again. And we know why: he fled to Sweden, pretending to be in the resistance, and then somehow ended up in a grave in Fjällbacka cemetery.’
‘That’s incredible. But how does that fit in with our investigation?’ asked Paula.
‘I don’t know yet. But I have a feeling it’s important,’ said Martin meditatively. Then he smiled. ‘Okay, now you know what my big news is. What was it you wanted to tell me?’
Paula took a deep breath and quickly explained what she had discovered. Martin gave his colleague an appreciative look.
‘Well, that certainly puts a different light on things,’ he said, getting up. ‘We need to do a search right away. Go and get the car while I ring the prosecutor and apply for a search warrant.’
That was all Paula needed to hear. She jumped up, the blood roaring in her ears. They were very close now, she could feel it. They were getting close.
Erica hadn’t said a single word since they got back in the car. She just stared out the window, with the diaries on her lap and her mother’s words and pain filling her head. Patrik left her alone, realizing that she would tell him when she was ready. He didn’t know as many of the details as Erica, since he hadn’t read the diaries, but while Erica was reading them, Kristina had been telling him about the son that Elsy had been forced to give away.
At first he had felt angry with his mother. How could she have kept something like that from Erica? And Anna, too. But gradually he began to see things from her point of view. She had made a promise to a friend and kept it. There had been times when she had considered telling Erica and Anna that they had a brother, but in the end she had decided to let things be. Though Patrik couldn’t condone her decision, he believed her when she said that she had tried to do what she thought was best.
Now that the secret was out, he could tell that Kristina was relieved. It was down to Erica to decide what she would do with the information. And he was pretty sure he could guess what that would be. He knew his wife well enough to realize that she would do everything in her power to find her brother. As he turned his head to study her profile as she sat next to him staring vacantly out the window, it suddenly occurred to him how much he loved her. It was so easy to forget. So easy to let life just roll by, with his job and the housework and . . . all the days that simply passed, one by one. But at certain moments – like right now – it hit him with an almost terrifying force just how much the two of them belonged together. And how much he loved waking up next to her each morning.
When they got home, Erica went straight up to her work-room. Still without saying a word and with the same distracted expression on her face. Patrik tidied up a bit and then put Maja in her cot for her afternoon nap before he dared disturb Erica.
‘Can I come in?’ he asked, gently knocking on the door. Erica turned and nodded, still a bit pale but with a more alert look in her eyes.
‘How are you feeling?’ he asked, sitting down in the armchair in the corner.
‘I’m not really sure, to be honest,’ she told him, taking a deep breath. ‘Dazed, I guess.’
‘Are you angry with my mother? Because she didn’t tell you, I mean?’
Erica thought for a moment but then shook her head. ‘No, not really. Mamma made Kristina promise, and I can understand why she was afraid of doing more damage by telling us.’
‘Are you going to tell Anna?’ asked Patrik.
‘Of course. She has the right to know too. But first I need to process everything myself.’
‘And I suppose you’ve already started the search. Am I right?’ asked Patrik, smiling as he nodded at the computer, with the Internet browser open on the screen.
Erica gave him a faint smile. ‘I’ve done some checking to see what avenues are available for tracing adoptions. It shouldn’t be that much of a problem to find him.’
‘Does it seem scary?’ asked Patrik. ‘You have no idea what he’s like or what sort of life he’s had.’
‘Super scary,’ Erica agreed. ‘But it seems scarier not to know. I mean, I have a brother out there somewhere. And I’ve always wanted a big brother . . .’ She smiled.
‘Your mother must have thought about him so many times over the years. Does this change your picture of her?’
‘It does,’ she replied. ‘I can’t say that I think she did the right thing by shutting us out, me and Anna, the way she did. But . . .’ She searched for the right words. ‘But I can understand that she didn’t dare let anybody in after that. It must have been awful for her, first being abandoned by the child’s father – because that’s what she thought had happened – and then being forced to give up the baby for adoption. She was only sixteen! I can’t even begin to imagine how painful it must have been for her. And right after losing her father, too – and in a practical sense her mother as well, from what I gather. No, I can’t blame her. No matter how much I’d like to, I just can’t.’
‘If only she had known that Hans didn’t abandon her.’ Patrik shook his head.
‘Yes, that’s almost the worst part. He never left Fjällbacka. And he never left her. Instead, somebody killed him.’ Erica’s voice broke. ‘But why? Why was he murdered?’
‘Do you want me to ring Martin and find out if they’ve been able to discover anything more?’ asked Patrik. It wasn’t just for Erica’s sake that he wanted to phone the station. The case fascinated him, even more so now that they had discovered the Norwegian was the father of Erica’s half-brother.
‘Could you do that?’ said Erica eagerly.
‘Sure, I’ll phone the station right now.’ Patrik got up. Fifteen minutes later he was back in Erica’s workroom, and she saw at once that he had news.
‘They’ve found a possible motive for the murder of Hans Olavsen,’ he told her.
Erica could hardly stay in her seat. ‘What is it?’ she said.
Patrik hesitated for a moment before telling her: ‘Hans Olavsen was not a resistance fighter. He was the son of a high-ranking SS officer, and he himself worked for the Germans during the occupation of Norway.’
Silence descended over the room. Erica stared at him, for once utterly speechless. Patrik went on:
‘Kjell Ringholm called in at the station earlier with a suicide letter from his father, which came in this morning’s post. Frans confessed that he murdered Britta. He also wrote that he was to blame for the deaths of Erik and Hans. They’re not sure whether to interpret that as an admission that he was the one who killed them.’
‘Then why did he say that he was to blame? What could that mean?’ said Erica. ‘And the fact that Hans was not in the resistance after all – I wonder if my mother knew that? How . . . ?’ She shook her head.
‘What’s your opinion, after reading her diaries? Did she know?’ asked Patrik, sitting down again.
Erica thought for a moment, then shook her head. ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘I don’t think Mamma knew. Absolutely not.’
‘The question is whether Frans found out about it,’ said Patrik, thinking aloud
‘Did Martin say anything about how they were going to proceed now?’
‘No, he just said that Paula had found a possible lead, and that they were on their way to check it out, and he would let me know as soon as they found out more. He sounded really elated,’ Patrik added, feeling a slight pang at being left out of the action.
‘I can tell what you’re thinking right now,’ said Erica, amused.
‘Well, I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t want to be over at the station, working the case,’ Patrik told her. ‘But I wouldn’t want it any other way, and I think you know that.’
‘I know,’ said Erica. ‘And I understand how you feel. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be part of the investigation.’
As if to confirm what they had just been talking about, they heard a loud cry coming from Maja’s room. Patrik got up.
‘Aha – that’s the sound of my factory whistle.’
‘Back to the salt mines you go,’ laughed Erica. ‘But first bring that little slave-driver in here so I can give her a kiss.’
‘Be right back,’ said Patrik. As he was on his way out the door, he heard Erica suddenly gasp.
‘I know who my brother is!’ she said. She laughed as the tears ran down her face, repeating: ‘Patrik, I know who my brother is!’
While they were in the car, Martin got a call confirming that the search warrant had been issued. They’d been so confident the prosecutor would grant the request that they’d set off without waiting for an answer. Neither of them spoke. Both were lost in thought, trying to put together all the loose ends and work out the pattern that was starting to emerge.
There was no answer when they knocked on the door.
‘The place seems empty,’ said Paula.
‘How shall we get in?’ asked Martin, studying the solid door, which looked as though it would be difficult to force open.
Paula laughed and reached up to run her hand over one of the beams above the front door.
‘With a key,’ she said, holding up what she had found.
‘What would I do without you?’ said Martin, meaning every word.
‘Probably break your shoulder while attempting to get inside,’ she said, unlocking the door.
They went in. It was eerily quiet, stuffy and hot, and they hung up their jackets in the hall.
‘Shall we split up?’ asked Paula.
‘Sure, I’ll take the ground floor, you can take upstairs.’
‘What exactly are we looking for?’ Paula suddenly sounded uncertain. She was positive they were on the right track, but now that they were so close, she wasn’t convinced they would find anything to prove their theory.
‘I’m not really sure.’ Martin looked equally doubtful. ‘Let’s just take a careful look around, and see what we can find.’
‘Okay.’ Paula nodded and headed upstairs.
An hour later she came back down. ‘Nothing so far. Should I keep looking upstairs, or should we swap for a while? Have you found anything interesting?’
‘No, not yet.’ Martin shook his head. ‘It’s probably a good idea if we change places. But . . .’ He looked pensive and then pointed to a door in the hall. ‘We could check the basement first. Neither of us has been down there yet.’
‘Good idea,’ said Paula, opening the basement door. It was pitch black on the stairs, but she found the light switch in the hall, just outside the door, and turned it on. She went first, with Martin following, and a few seconds later she stood at the bottom of the stairs, her eyes adjusting to the dim light.
‘What a creepy place,’ said Martin when he joined her. He let his eyes roam over the walls, and what he saw made him gape.
‘Shh . . .’ said Paula, putting her finger to her lips. ‘Did you hear something?’
‘No,’ said Martin, listening. ‘No, I didn’t hear a thing.’
‘I thought I heard a car door slam. Are you sure you didn’t hear anything?’
‘Yes, I’m sure. It’s probably your imagination.’ Then he fell silent as they suddenly heard footsteps overhead.
‘Imagination, huh? I think we’d better go back upstairs,’ said Paula, putting her foot on the first step. At that moment the basement door closed with a bang, and they heard a key turn in the lock.
‘What the –?’ Paula was on her way up the stairs when the light went out. They were left in pitch darkness.
‘Let us out of here!’ yelled Paula, and Martin could hear her pounding on the door. ‘Do you hear me? It’s the police! Open this door and let us out!’
But when she paused to catch her breath, they clearly heard a car door slam and an engine start up.
‘Shit!’ said Paula as she trudged back down the stairs.
‘We need to phone for help,’ said Martin, reaching for his mobile just as he remembered that it was in his jacket pocket. ‘We’ll have to use your mobile because I left mine in my jacket, which is hanging in the hall,’ said Martin.
The only reply from Paula was silence, which made him nervous.
‘Don’t tell me . . .’
‘Yes,’ said Paula miserably. ‘I left my mobile in my jacket pocket too.’
‘Damn it!’ Martin climbed the stairs and tried to ram the door open. The only result was a sore shoulder. Discouraged, he went back down to join Paula.
‘It won’t budge.’
‘So what do we do now?’ asked Paula gloomily. Then she gasped. ‘Johanna!’
‘Who’s Johanna?’ asked Martin in surprise.
Paula didn’t reply for a moment. Then she said, ‘My partner. We’re going to have a baby in two weeks. But you never know . . . and I promised to keep my mobile handy.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Martin, trying to process the information. ‘Babies are usually late when it’s the first one.’
‘I hope so,’ said Paula. ‘Otherwise she’s going to want my head on a platter. It’s a good thing that she can always get hold of my mother. In the worst case . . .’
‘Don’t even think about that,’ Martin told her. ‘We’re not going to be stuck down here for long. And as I said, if she still has two weeks to go, it’s probably all right.’
‘But nobody knows where we are,’ said Paula, sitting down on the bottom step. ‘And while we’re stuck here, the murderer is getting away.’
‘Look on the bright side. At least we know now that we were right,’ Martin said. Paula didn’t even deign to reply.
Upstairs in the entry hall, Paula’s mobile began ringing frantically.
Mellberg hesitated as he stood on the doorstep. Everything had felt so right at the dance class on Friday, but since then he hadn’t seen Rita, in spite of repeated walks along her usual route. And he missed her. It surprised him that his feelings were so strong, but he could no longer ignore the fact that he really and truly missed her. Ernst seemed to be thinking along the same lines, judging by the way he had tugged on his lead all the way to the building where Rita lived. While Mellberg hadn’t exactly resisted the pull, he was hesitant. Partly because he didn’t know if she’d be at home, partly because he felt uncharacteristically shy and afraid of seeming pushy. But he shook off this feeling and pressed the button on the intercom. No one answered, and he was just about to leave when he heard a crackling sound and a stressed voice gasping into the speaker.
‘Hello?’ he said, going back to the door. ‘It’s Bertil Mellberg.’
At first there was no answer; then came a barely audible ‘Come up.’ Followed by a groan. He frowned. How strange. But with Ernst in tow, Mellberg climbed the two floors to Rita’s flat. The door was ajar. Surprised, he stepped inside.
‘Hello?’ he called. Again no answer until he suddenly heard a groan quite nearby, and when he glanced towards the sound, he caught sight of someone lying on the floor.
‘I’m having . . . contractions . . .’ gasped Johanna, who was curled up in a ball as she panted to ride out the pain.
‘Oh, dear God,’ said Mellberg, feeling sweat break out on his forehead. ‘Where’s Rita? I’ll phone her! And Paula. We need to get hold of Paula, and an ambulance,’ he said, looking around the hall for the nearest phone.
‘I tried . . . couldn’t get . . . hold of . . .’ groaned Johanna, but couldn’t go on until the contraction diminished. Then she slowly hauled herself to her feet by holding on to the handle on the nearby wardrobe. She clutched at her stomach, staring panic-stricken at Bertil.
‘Don’t you think I’ve tried to phone them? Nobody is answering! How hard could it be to . . . Oh shit . . .’ Her curses were cut off by another contraction, and she dropped to her knees, breathing hard. ‘Drive me to . . . the hospital,’ she told Mellberg, pointing to a set of car keys lying on the bureau. He stared at them as if they might be transformed into a hissing snake at any moment, but then he saw his hand reach in slow motion for the keys. Without knowing how he did it, he found himself more or less carrying and dragging Johanna out to the car, and then shoving her on to the back seat. Ernst had to stay behind in the flat. Stomping down on the accelerator, Mellberg drove towards NÄL, the Norra Älvsborg County Hospital. He felt panic seize hold of him as Johanna started panting harder, and the drive from Vänersborg to Trollhättan seemed endless. But finally he was driving up to the entrance of the maternity ward, where he stopped and pulled Johanna out of the car. Her eyes were filled with terror as she followed him inside.
‘She’s going to have a baby,’ said Mellberg to the nurse behind the glass window. She glanced at Johanna, her expression showing that she thought his words were hardly necessary.
‘Come with me,’ she told them peremptorily, showing them to a nearby room.
‘I guess I’ll be . . . leaving now,’ said Mellberg nervously, when Johanna was told to start by taking off her trousers. But she grabbed his arm just as he was about to flee and hissed in a low voice as another contraction overtook her:
‘You’re not going . . . anywhere. I have no intention of . . . doing this . . . alone.’
‘But . . .’ Mellberg started to protest. Then he realized that he didn’t have the heart to leave her there all alone. With a sigh, he sank on to a chair and tried to look in a different direction as Johanna was examined.
‘Dilated seven centimetres,’ said the midwife, glancing at Mellberg, whom she assumed would want this information. He nodded, although he silently wondered what that could mean. Was it good? Bad? How many centimetres were required? And with growing amazement, he realized that he was bound to find out, along with a good deal of other facts, before this whole thing was over.
He took his mobile out of his pocket and again punched in Paula’s number. But he got only her voicemail. The same thing with Rita. What was wrong with them? Why didn’t they have their phones with them, since they knew that Johanna could give birth at any moment? Mellberg put his mobile back in his pocket and began pondering whether he could slip out unnoticed.
Two hours later, he was still there. They had been taken to a birthing room, and he was being kept firmly in place by Johanna, who had an iron grip on his hand. He couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. He had learned that those seven centimetres needed to be ten, but the last three seemed to be taking their time. Johanna was making good use of the nitrous oxide mask, and Mellberg almost wished he could try it himself.
‘I can’t take it any more,’ said Johanna, her eyes glazed from the gas. Her sweaty hair was plastered to her forehead, and Mellberg reached for a towel and wiped her brow.
‘Thanks,’ she said, looking at him with an expression that made him forget any thought of leaving.
Mellberg couldn’t help being fascinated by what was playing out right before his eyes. He had always known that giving birth was a painful process, but he had never witnessed what herculean efforts were required, and for the first time in his life, he felt a deep respect for the female sex. He could never have done it – that was one thing he knew for sure.
‘Try to . . . phone them again,’ said Johanna, breathing in nitrous oxide as the machine hooked up to her abdomen indicated that a major contraction was about to start.
Mellberg pulled loose his hand and again punched in the two numbers that he had been calling continuously the last few hours. Still nobody answered, and he sadly shook his head as he looked at Johanna.
‘Where the hell . . .’ she said, but then was overcome by the next contraction, and her words turned to moans.
‘Are you sure you don’t want that . . . pedisural, or whatever it was she asked you about?’ said Mellberg nervously, wiping more sweat from Johanna’s forehead.
‘No. I’m so close now . . . It might slow down . . . And by the way, it’s called an epidural.’ She began moaning again, arching her back.
The midwife came into the room to see how dilated Johanna was, and announced, ‘She’s all the way open now.’ She sounded pleased. ‘Do you hear that, Johanna? Good work. Ten centimetres. You’ll be able to push soon. You’re doing great. Your baby will be here very soon.’
Mellberg took Johanna’s hand and squeezed it. He had a strange feeling in his chest. The closest word he could find to describe it was ‘pride’. He was proud that the midwife had praised Johanna, that they had been working together, and that the baby would soon be here.
‘How long will the pushing take?’ he asked the midwife, and she patiently answered his question. No one had asked about his relationship to Johanna, so he assumed that they thought he was the father, albeit a rather old one. And he didn’t bother to disabuse them.
‘It varies,’ said the midwife, ‘but my guess is that we’ll have the baby here within half an hour.’ And she smiled encouragement at Johanna, who was resting for a few seconds between contractions. Then she contorted her face and tensed her body again.
‘It feels different now,’ she said between clenched teeth, reaching once more for the nitrous oxide.
‘It’s the bearing-down pains. Wait until you get a really strong one. I’ll help you. And when I tell you to push, draw up your knees and press your chin to your chest, and then bear down with all your might.’
Johanna nodded listlessly and squeezed Mellberg’s hand again. He squeezed back and then they both looked at the midwife, waiting tensely for further orders.
After a few seconds, Johanna began to pant. She cast an enquiring glance at the midwife.
‘Wait, wait, wait . . . not yet . . . wait until it’s really strong . . . Okay, NOW!’
Johanna did as she was told, pressing her chin to her chest, drawing up her knees, and then bearing down until she was bright red in the face and the pain subsided.
‘Good! Good job! You did great! Now let’s wait for the next one, and before you know it, it’ll be over.’
The midwife was right. Two contractions later, the baby slid out and was immediately placed on Johanna’s stomach. Mellberg stared with fascination. In theory, he knew how babies were born, but seeing it first-hand was . . . To think that a child actually came out, waving arms and legs and crying in protest, before starting to root around on Johanna’s breast.
‘Let’s help out your little boy. He’s trying to nurse,’ said the midwife kindly, helping Johanna so the infant found her breast and began to suckle.
‘Congratulations,’ said the midwife to both of them, and Mellberg felt himself beaming like the sun. He had never experienced anything like this before. He certainly hadn’t.
A short time later the baby was done nursing and the midwife cleaned him up and wrapped him in a blanket. Johanna sat up in bed with a pillow behind her back and looked at her son with adoring eyes. Then she glanced at Mellberg and said in a low voice:
‘Thank you. I could never have done it on my own.’
All Mellberg could manage was a nod. He felt a big lump in his throat that stopped him from speaking, and he kept on swallowing, trying to make it disappear.
‘Would you like to hold him?’ asked Johanna.
Again, Mellberg could only nod. Nervously he held out his arms, and Johanna carefully handed him her son, making sure that he supported the baby’s head properly. It was a strange feeling to hold that warm, new little body in his arms. He looked down at the tiny face and felt the lump in his throat getting bigger. And when he looked into the boy’s eyes, he knew one thing. From that moment forward, he was hopelessly, helplessly in love.