Buried Angels (15 page)

‘Yes, and who the hell made that phone call?’ Henry took off his cap and scratched his head.

‘Do you think they’ve gone out for a walk around the island?’ Gösta cast a sceptical glance at the table with the half-eaten Easter food. ‘But in the middle of lunch? They must be pretty odd to do something like that.’

‘That’s for sure.’ Henry put his cap back on. ‘And what’s this sweet little girl doing here all alone?’ he cooed, moving towards the child in Gösta’s arms.

She immediately started to cry, clinging so tightly to Gösta’s neck that he could hardly breathe.

‘Leave her alone,’ he said, taking a step back.

A sense of warm contentment filled his chest, and he wondered if this was what it would have been like if their boy had lived – the son that he and Maj-Britt had had. He quickly dismissed the thought. He had made up his mind not to think about what might have been.

‘Was their boat down there?’ he asked after a moment when the child had stopped crying.

Henry frowned. ‘There was a boat tied up at the dock, but don’t they have two? I think they bought Sten-Ivar’s boat last fall, and all I saw was the Fiberglas boat. But would they really set off in the boat and leave the little girl behind? Surely they can’t be that crazy, even if they are city folk.’

‘Inez is from here,’ Gösta automatically corrected him. ‘Her family is from Fjällbacka and goes back generations.’

Henry sighed. ‘Well, it’s definitely strange. I suppose we’ll have to take the child to the mainland with us and then wait for somebody to show up.’ He turned to leave.

‘The table is set for six,’ said Gösta.

‘Yes, but it’s the Easter holiday, so presumably only the family are here.’

‘Should we leave things like this?’ The situation was odd, to say the least, and the departure from routine made Gösta uneasy. He paused to think. ‘Okay, we’ll do as you suggest and take the girl with us. If we don’t hear from anyone, we’ll come out here tomorrow. If they’re not back by that time, we’ll have to assume that something has happened to them. And in that case, this is a crime scene.’

Still not sure that they were doing the right thing, they went outside, closing the front door behind them. They walked down towards the dock, and when they were only a short distance away, they saw a boat approaching on the water.

‘Look, there’s Sten-Ivar’s boat,’ said Henry, pointing.

‘I can see several people in the boat. Maybe that’s the rest of the family.’

‘If it is, I’m going to give them a piece of my mind. How could they leave this little girl here like this? They deserve a good thrashing.’

Henry strode down to the dock. Gösta had to jog to keep up, but he didn’t dare go any faster for fear of stumbling and dropping the child. The boat pulled up to the dock, and a boy who looked about fifteen jumped out. He had raven-black hair and he was glaring at them angrily.

‘What are you doing with Ebba?’ he snarled.

‘And who might you be?’ asked Henry when the boy took up position in front of him, his hands on his hips.

Four more boys climbed out of the boat and came over to Henry and Gösta, who had now joined his colleague.

‘Where are Inez and Rune?’ asked the boy with the black hair. The others stood behind him, silently waiting. It was clear that he was the leader of the group.

‘That’s what we’d like to know too,’ said Gösta. ‘Somebody rang the police station to say that something had happened here, and when we arrived, we found the girl all alone in the house.’

The boy stared at him in surprise. ‘Ebba was all alone?’

So her name is Ebba, thought Gösta. This little girl whose heart was beating fast against his own.

‘Are you Rune’s students?’ Henry now wanted to know, speaking with the voice of authority, but the boy didn’t seem intimidated. He calmly stared at the officer and replied politely:

‘We’re pupils at the school. We’re staying here over the holiday.’

‘Where have you been?’ Gösta gave them a stern glare.

‘We went out in the boat early this morning. The family was going to have Easter lunch, but we weren’t invited. So we went out fishing instead, to “build character”.’

‘Catch anything?’ Henry’s tone of voice showed that he didn’t believe the boy’s story.

‘We caught a whole shitload of fish,’ replied the boy, pointing at the boat.

Gösta looked in that direction and saw the towline tied firmly to the stern.

‘You’ll need to come with us to the station until we work out what’s going on,’ said Henry, leading the way to his own boat.

‘Can’t we wash up first? We’re filthy, and we stink of fish,’ said one of the boys, sounding alarmed.

‘Do as the officer said,’ snapped the boy who seemed to be in charge. ‘Of course we’ll go along. I apologize if we’ve been rude. It made us nervous to see strangers with Ebba. My name is Leon Kreutz.’ He reached out to shake hands with Gösta.

Henry had already gone on board the boat and was waiting for them. Holding Ebba in his arms, Gösta followed the boys. He cast one last glance up at the house. Where on earth was the family? What had happened here?

Gösta returned to the present. His memories were so vivid that he could almost feel the warmth of the little girl in his arms. He sat up straight and pulled a photo from the stack. The picture was taken at the station on that Easter eve. It showed the five boys: Leon Kreutz, Sebastian Månsson, John Holm, Percy von Bahrn, and Josef Meyer. Their hair was dishevelled, their clothes dirty, their expressions sombre. All except Leon. He was smiling cheerfully at the camera, and he looked older than his sixteen years. He was a handsome boy, almost beautiful, Gösta realized as he stared at the old photo. He hadn’t really given it much thought back then. He leafed through the investigative material. Leon Kreutz. I wonder what he’s done with his life? Gösta jotted down a note. Of the five boys, it was Leon who had left the strongest impression on his memory. He’d be a good person to start with.

The girl cried constantly, day and night, and even if Dagmar put her hands over her ears and roared, she couldn’t drown out the sound. All she heard was the child screaming and the neighbours pounding on the wall.

This was not how it was supposed to be. She could still feel his hands on her body, see his eyes as she lay naked in bed beside him. She was convinced that her feelings had been returned, so something must have happened to him. Otherwise he would not have left her to this life of poverty and degradation. Maybe he’d been forced to return to Germany. No doubt they needed him there. He was a hero who had dutifully responded when summoned by his homeland, regardless of the heartbreak he must endure at leaving her behind.

Before she realized that she was with child, she had searched for him, using every means possible. She’d written letters to the German legation in Stockholm and asked everyone she met whether they knew of the war hero Hermann Göring and what had happened to him. When he found out that she had given birth to his child, he was bound to return. No matter how important his work in Germany, he would drop everything to rescue her and Laura. He would never allow her to live in such misery, among these loathsome people who looked down on her and refused to believe her story when she told them who Laura’s father was. They would be surprised when Hermann stood outside her door, so handsome in his pilot’s uniform, holding his arms open wide and with a fancy automobile waiting.

The child cried louder and louder in her cradle, and Dagmar felt anger surge inside of her. She had no peace, not even for a few minutes. The baby was wilfully doing this, that was clear from the expression on her face. As tiny as she was, she displayed the same scorn for Dagmar as everyone else did. Dagmar hated them all. Let them burn in hell, every single gossip-monger and every lecherous bastard who, in spite of their jeers, came to her in the night, paying her a pittance to stick it inside her. They would lie on top of her, groaning and rooting around – she seemed to be good enough for that.

Dagmar threw off the blanket and went into the cramped kitchen. Every surface was covered with dirty dishes, and a fetid odour rose up from the rotting scraps of leftover food. She opened the door to the pantry. It was empty except for a bottle of rubbing alcohol that a chemist had given her. She picked it up and took it back to bed with her. The child was still crying, and the neighbours were again pounding on the wall, but Dagmar didn’t care. She coaxed the cork out, used the sleeve of her nightgown to wipe off the mouth of the bottle, and then took a good swig. If she drank enough, all the persistent sounds around her would disappear.

With a sense of anticipation, Josef opened the door to Sebastian’s work room. On the desk lay the drawings for the site where he hoped the museum would stand in the not too distant future.

‘Congratulations!’ said Sebastian, coming forward to greet him. ‘The local council has agreed to support the project.’ He slapped Josef on the back.

‘Good,’ said Josef. He really hadn’t expected anything else. How could they say no to such an amazing opportunity? ‘When can we make a start?’

‘Take it easy. I don’t think you realize how much work we’ve got ahead of us. We have to begin producing the peace symbols, plan the construction, draw up a budget. Above all, we have to raise plenty of cash.’

‘But the widow Grünewald is giving us the land, and we’ve had lots of donations. And since you’re the contractor, aren’t you the one who decides when work gets under way?’

Sebastian laughed. ‘Just because it’s my company, it doesn’t mean we can build it for free. I have to pay the workers’ wages, and we need to buy materials. This is going to be an expensive project.’ He tapped his finger on the drawings. ‘I’ll have to bring in subcontractors, and they won’t work for nothing. Not like me.’

Josef sighed and sat down on a chair. To say he was sceptical about Sebastian’s motives would be putting it mildly.

‘We’ll start with the granite,’ said Sebastian, propping his feet on the desk. ‘I’ve drawn up a few cool sketches of how the peace symbols could look. Then we need to produce some clever marketing materials and put together a good package, and then we can start selling the whole damn thing.’ He grinned when he saw Josef’s expression.

‘Go ahead and laugh. For you, it’s all about money. Don’t you understand the symbolic value of this? The granite was supposed to have been a part of the Third Reich, but instead it’s going to be a testimony to the Nazis’ defeat and the fact that the forces of good were victorious. We can make something out of that, and by extension create this—’ Josef pointed at the drawings. He was so angry that he was practically shaking.

Sebastian’s grin stretched even wider. He threw out his hands.

‘Nobody’s forcing you to work with me. We can tear up our agreement right here and now, and you’re free to go to anybody you like.’

The thought was tempting, and for a moment Josef considered doing just that. Then he slumped on his chair. He needed to complete this project. Up until now he’d wasted his life. He had nothing to show to the world, nothing that would honour the memory of his parents.

‘You know very well that you’re the only one I can turn to,’ he said at last.

‘And we’re going to stick together.’ Sebastian took his feet down from the desk and leaned forward. ‘We’ve known each other for a long time. We’re brothers, and you understand how I am. I always want to help out a brother.’

‘Sure, we’re going to stick together,’ said Josef. He gave Sebastian a searching look. ‘Did you hear that Leon is back?’

‘I heard a vague rumour. Imagine seeing him here again. And Ia. I never thought that would happen.’

‘Apparently they’ve bought a house that was for sale above Brandparken.’

‘They’ve got the cash, so why not? By the way, maybe Leon would like to invest. Have you asked him?’

Josef shook his head. He’d do anything to push forward the work on the museum. Anything except approaching Leon.

‘I saw Percy yesterday,’ said Sebastian laconically.

‘How’s he doing?’ Josef was happy to change the subject. ‘Does he still own the manor?’

‘Yes, he’s lucky that Fygelsta is an entailed estate. If he had to share the inheritance with his siblings, he’d have been broke long ago. But it sounds as though his funds have run out for good, and that’s why he contacted me. To ask for a little temporary help, as he put it.’ Sebastian sketched quote marks in the air. ‘Evidently the tax authorities are after him, and they’re not the sort that you can charm with noble ancestors and a fancy name.’

‘Are you going to help him out?’

‘Don’t look so worried. I haven’t decided yet. But as I said, I always like to help a brother, and Percy is my brother just as much as you are. Right?’

‘Of course,’ said Josef, gazing out of the window at the water. They were brothers for all eternity, united by darkness. His eyes returned to the drawings. The dark would be driven away by light. He would do it for his father’s sake, and his own.

‘What’s going on with Martin?’ Patrik was standing in the doorway to Annika’s office. He didn’t like to pry, but it was obvious something was wrong. It was making him uneasy.