Buried Angels (2 page)

Then she heard Tobias’s voice. It was filled with reproach. He hated her because she couldn’t save Vincent, because she was standing there watching as he was burned alive right before their eyes.

‘Ebba! Ebba!’

His voice made her try again. She had to run forward and break the glass. She had to …

‘Ebba, wake up!’

Someone was tugging at her shoulders and forcing her to sit up. Slowly the dream faded. She wanted to hold on to it, throw herself into the flames, and maybe for one brief moment hold Vincent’s little body in her arms before they both perished.

‘You have to wake up. Fire!’

Suddenly she was fully awake. The smell of smoke prickled her nostrils, making her cough so hard that her throat hurt. When she looked up she saw that smoke was billowing through the doorway.

‘We have to get out!’ shouted Tobias. ‘Crawl underneath the smoke. I’ll follow you. I’m going to see if I can put out the fire.’

Ebba rolled out of bed and dropped to the floor. She could feel the heat of the floorboards against her cheek. Her lungs were burning, and she felt so terribly tired. How could she possibly manage to move? She wanted to surrender, to sleep. She shut her eyes and felt a heavy lethargy spread through her body. She would rest here for a moment. Just sleep for a while.

‘Get up! You have to get up!’ Tobias’s voice was shrill, rousing her from her torpor. He wasn’t usually scared of anything. Now he was yanking on her arm, hauling her on to all fours.

Reluctantly she began crawling forward. Fear had begun to take hold of her too. With every breath she could feel more smoke filling her lungs, like a slow-acting poison. But she’d rather die from smoke than from fire. The thought of her skin burning was enough to make her move faster as she crawled out of the room.

All of a sudden she got confused. She ought to know which way the stairs were, but it felt as though her brain had stopped functioning. The only thing she could see was a thick grey fog. Panicking, she started crawling straight ahead, so that at least she wouldn’t get stuck in the smoke.

As she reached the stairs, Tobias raced past, holding a fire extinguisher in his hands. He ran down the stairs in three bounds, as Ebba stared after him. It was like in her dream – her body no longer seemed willing to obey her, and her joints refused to move. Helplessly she stayed where she was, down on all fours, as the smoke got thicker and thicker. She was coughing again. One fit of coughing followed another. Her eyes were running, and her thoughts shifted to Tobias, but she didn’t have the energy to worry about him.

Again she felt an overwhelming urge to give up. To disappear, to rid herself of the grief that was tearing her apart, body and soul. She felt that she was on the verge of fainting, so she lay down, resting her head on her arms, and closed her eyes. Everything around her was soft and warm. A great lethargy again came over her, welcoming her. It meant her no harm, it wanted only to receive her and make her whole.

‘Ebba!’ Tobias was pulling on her arm but she resisted. She wanted to be carried off to that beautiful, quiet place she was heading towards. Then she felt a slap on her face, a blow that made her cheek sting. Shaken, she pulled herself up and looked into Tobias’s face. His expression was both worried and angry.

‘The fire’s out,’ he said. ‘But we can’t stay here.’

He made an attempt to pull her up, but she pushed him away. He had taken from her the one opportunity for rest that she’d had in a long time. Furious, she pounded her fists against his chest. It was a huge relief to let loose all her rage and disappointment, and she kept on striking him as hard as she could, until he finally caught hold of her wrists. Gripping them tight, he drew her towards him. He pressed her face against his chest, held her close. She could hear his heart beating fast, and the sound made her cry. Then she let him lift her up. He carried her out, and when the cold night air filled her lungs, she let go and sank into a daze.

They arrived early in the morning. Her mother was already up with the little ones, while Dagmar still lolled in bed, savouring the warmth under the covers. That was the difference between being her mother’s real child and one of the bastard kids that she cared for. Dagmar was special.

‘What’s going on?’ shouted her father from the bedroom. Both he and Dagmar had been awakened by an insistent pounding on the door.

‘Open up! It’s the police!’

Then whoever it was evidently lost all patience because the door was torn open, and a man wearing a police uniform stormed into the house.

Frightened, Dagmar sat up in bed, trying to hide behind the blankets.

‘The police?’ Her father came into the kitchen, fumbling to button up his trousers. His sunken chest was sparsely covered with grey hair. ‘If you’ll just let me put on a shirt, I’m sure I can straighten everything out. There must be some misunderstanding. This is the home of respectable people.’

‘Does Helga Svensson live here?’ asked the policeman. Two more officers were waiting behind him. They had to stand close together because the kitchen was cramped and filled with beds. At the moment they had five young children living in the house.

‘My name is Albert Svensson and Helga is my wife,’ said Pappa. By now he had put on his shirt and was standing there with his arms folded.

‘Where is your wife?’ There was a note of urgency in the policeman’s voice.

Dagmar saw the worried furrow that had appeared on her father’s brow. He was so easily upset, her mother always said. Delicate nerves.

‘Mamma is in the yard out back. With the children,’ said Dagmar. Only now did the policemen notice her.

‘Thank you,’ said the officer who had done all the talking. He turned on his heel and left the room.

Her father followed close behind. ‘You can’t come storming into the home of decent people, scaring the life out of us. You have to tell us what this is all about.’

Dagmar threw off the bedclothes, set her feet on the cold kitchen floor and dashed after them, wearing only her nightgown. She came to an abrupt stop behind the men. Two of the officers were gripping her mother by the arms. She was struggling to get free, and the men were straining with the effort to hold on to her. The children were shrieking, and the laundry that her mother had been hanging on the line had fallen off in all the commotion.

‘Mamma!’ cried Dagmar, running towards her.

Then she threw herself at the legs of one of the policemen and bit him in the thigh. He screamed and let go of Helga, turning around to punch Dagmar so hard that the child fell to the ground. In surprise, she sat there on the grass, her hand pressed to her stinging cheek. In the eight years of her life, no one had ever hit her. She’d seen her mother give the children a swat now and then, but she had never raised a hand to Dagmar. And for that reason her father had never dared strike her either.

‘What are you doing! Did you hit my daughter?’ Helga kicked out at the men in fury.

‘That’s nothing compared to what you’ve done.’ The policeman again gripped Helga’s arm. ‘You are accused of killing a child, and we have the right to search your house. And believe me, we plan to make a thorough job of it.’

Dagmar watched as her mother seemed to collapse. Her cheek still felt as if it was on fire, and her heart was racing in her chest. All around her the children were screaming as though it was Judgement Day. And perhaps it was. Because even though Dagmar didn’t understand what was happening, the expression on her mother’s face told her that their world had just been torn apart.

‘Patrik, can you head out to Valö? A report’s come in of a fire out there, and they think it might be arson.’

‘What? Sorry, but what did you say?’

Patrik was already getting out of bed, clasping the phone between ear and shoulder as he pulled on his jeans. Still bleary with sleep, he glanced at the clock. Seven fifteen. For a second he wondered what Annika was doing at the station so early in the day.

‘There’s been a fire on Valö,’ Annika repeated patiently. ‘The fire brigade was called out early this morning, and they suspect it might be arson.’

‘Where on Valö?’

Erica turned over in bed. ‘What is it?’ she murmured.

‘Police business. I have to go out to Valö,’ he whispered. For once the twins were sleeping past six thirty, so he didn’t want to wake them.

‘It’s out at the summer camp,’ said Annika on the phone.

‘Okay. I’ll take the boat and head out there. I’ll ring Martin. He’s on duty today too, isn’t he?’

‘That’s right. I’ll see you both back at the station later on.’

Patrik ended the call and put on a T-shirt.

‘What’s happened?’ asked Erica, sitting up in bed.

‘The fire brigade thinks someone has set a fire over at the old summer camp.’

‘The summer camp? Someone’s trying to burn it down?’ Erica swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

‘I promise to tell you all about it later,’ said Patrik with a smile. ‘I know it’s one of your pet projects.’

‘What a strange coincidence that someone would try to burn down the place now, just when Ebba has come back to live there.’

Patrik shook his head. He knew from experience that his wife liked to get herself mixed up in things that were not her concern. She was always jumping to outlandish conclusions. It was true that occasionally she turned out to be right – that much he had to admit – but sometimes she also made a real mess of things.

‘Annika said they suspect arson. That’s all we know at this stage, and it might not be arson at all.’

‘But still,’ said Erica. ‘It’s odd that it should happen now. Can I come with you? I was planning to go out there anyway to have a little talk with Ebba.’

‘And who’s going to take care of the kids? Have you thought about that? I think Maja’s still too young to heat up the formula for the boys.’

He kissed Erica on the cheek and then raced downstairs. Behind him he heard the twins start to cry, right on cue.

Patrik and Martin exchanged only a few words on their way out to Valö. The suggestion that this could be arson was both unsettling and hard to believe. As they approached the island and surveyed the idyllic setting, it seemed more unlikely than ever.

‘It’s so beautiful out here,’ said Martin, lost in admiration as they walked up the path from the dock where Patrik had tied up the boat.

‘You’ve been out here before, haven’t you?’ said Patrik without turning around. ‘At least that one Christmas.’

Martin muttered something in reply. He didn’t want to be reminded of that fateful Christmas when he had been drawn into a family drama on the island.

A large expanse of lawn stretched out before them. They stopped to look around.

‘I have some wonderful memories of this place,’ said Patrik. ‘We used to come here on school outings a few times a year, and in the summertime when I was at sailing camp. I’ve kicked a lot of balls across that lawn. And played a lot of games of rounders.’

‘I know. Who hasn’t been to camp out here? Strange how it’s always been called the summer camp.’

Patrik shrugged and started up the path towards the house. ‘I suppose the name stuck. It was only a boarding school for a short time, and nobody wanted to name the place after old man von Schlesinger who lived here before.’

‘Oh, right. I’ve heard about that lunatic,’ said Martin, cursing as a branch slapped him in the face. ‘Who owns the place now?’

‘I assume the couple who live here own it. After what happened in 1974, it’s been administered by the local council, at least as far as I know. Too bad that the house has been allowed to fall into such disrepair, but it looks like they’re starting to fix it up.’

Martin peered up at the scaffolding that covered the entire front of the building. ‘They seem to be putting a lot of work into it. I hope the fire didn’t cause too much damage.’

They made their way to the stone stairway that led up to the front door. The Fjällbacka Volunteer Fire Brigade were gathering up their equipment, going about their work in a calm, methodical manner. They must be sweating buckets in those heavy uniforms, thought Patrik. The heat was already oppressive, in spite of the early hour.

‘Hi!’ Östen Ronander, chief of the fire brigade, came over and nodded a greeting. His hands were black with soot.

‘Hi, Östen. So what happened here? Annika said you suspect the fire might have been deliberately set.’

‘It certainly appears that way. But we’re not qualified to make that judgement, from a technical point of view. We’re hoping that Torbjörn will get here soon.’

‘I phoned him on our way over, and they expect to be here in …’ Patrik glanced at his watch, ‘about half an hour.’

‘Good. Want me to show you around, in the meantime? We’ve tried not to disturb anything. The owner had already put out the flames with a fire extinguisher by the time we arrived, so we’ve just made sure that nothing is still smouldering. There wasn’t really much else we could do. Take a look over there—’