Buried Angels (28 page)

‘I’m coming with you,’ said Paula. Breathing hard, she sat down on a stool to put on her shoes.

‘Out of the question,’ said Bertil. ‘Besides, you’re on holiday.’

Rita came rushing out of the kitchen to back him up.

‘Are you crazy!’ she cried, so loudly that it was a miracle she didn’t wake Leo, who was taking a nap on the spare bed in Rita and Bertil’s bedroom. ‘You can’t go, not in your condition.’

‘Right. Talk some sense into your daughter.’ Mellberg reached for the door handle, trying to slip away.

‘You’re not going anywhere without me. If you do, I’ll hitchhike to Fjällbacka and make my way out to the island alone.’

Paula had made up her mind. She was tired of having to sit still, tired of doing nothing. Her mother kept on yelling, but she waved away all objections.

‘Damnit, I’m surrounded by crazy women,’ said Mellberg.

Defeated, he went out to his car. By the time Paula had made her way downstairs, he had started up the engine and turned on the air conditioning.

‘Promise me you’ll take it easy and keep out of the way if there’s trouble.’

‘I promise,’ said Paula, climbing into the passenger seat. For the first time in months she felt like herself instead of a walking incubator. As Mellberg rang Victor Bogesjö at the Coast Guard to tell him they needed transport, Paula wondered what they would encounter out on the island.

School was a torment. Each morning Laura tried to put off leaving for school until the very last second. In the playground the ugly words and names would rain down on her, and of course it was all her mother’s fault. Everyone in Fjällbacka knew who Dagmar was: a crazy woman, the town drunk. Sometimes on her way to school Laura would see her mother wandering around the marketplace, howling at people and raving about Göring. Laura just kept walking. Pretending not to see her, she would hurry past.

Her mother was seldom home. She stayed out late at night and was usually asleep when Laura left for school. Then she’d be gone when her daughter came home. The first thing Laura would do was tidy up the flat. Only after she’d removed all traces of her mother’s presence would she feel any sense of calm. She gathered up the clothes that had been tossed on the floor, she put away the butter that had been left out, and she examined the bread to see if it was still edible after her mother had neglected to put it in the bread bin. Then Laura would dust and clear up. When everything was in its proper place and all the surfaces gleamed, she finally allowed herself to play with her dollhouse. It was her dearest possession. One day when her mother wasn’t home a nice neighbour had knocked on the door and given her the dollhouse.

Sometimes people were kind and brought her things: food, clothing, toys. But most of them just stared and pointed. Ever since the time when her mother had left her alone in Stockholm, Laura had learned not to ask for help. On that occasion, the police had come to fetch her, and for two days it had felt as if she’d ended up in heaven. A family had taken her in, and both the mother and father had such kind eyes. She may have been only five at the time, but she could still remember every detail of those two days. The mother had made the biggest stack of pancakes that Laura had ever seen and urged her to eat more until her stomach was so full that she thought she’d never be hungry again. From a chest of drawers they had taken out lovely floral dresses for her to wear – dresses that were not ragged or dirty. She’d felt like a princess in her finery. For two nights she was tucked into a beautiful bed and given a kiss on the forehead. She had slept so soundly between those clean sheets. The mother with the kind eyes had smelled wonderful, not boozy and musty like her own mother. And they had the nicest house, with porcelain figurines and tapestries hanging on the wall. On the very first day Laura had begged to be allowed to stay. The mother didn’t say a word as she hugged the little girl close in her soft arms.

But all too soon Laura and her mother were back home together. It was as if nothing had happened except that her mother was angrier than ever. Laura received thrashing after thrashing, till she could hardly sit down. That was when she made a decision: She would no longer dream about the mother who had been kind to her. No one was going to rescue her, and there was no use struggling. Regardless what happened, she would only end up back with her mother in the dark, cramped flat. But when she grew up, she would have a beautiful home with little porcelain cats sitting on crocheted doilies and embroidered tapestries in every room.

She knelt down in front of the dollhouse. The flat was clean and tidy, and she had folded and put away the laundry. Then she’d eaten a sandwich, and now she could allow herself to enter a different and better world. In her hand she held the mamma doll, who was so light and beautiful. Her dress was white, with lace and a high collar, and her hair was gathered in a knot. Laura loved the mamma doll. With her finger she stroked the doll’s cheek. She was lovely, just like the mother who had smelled so good.

Gently Laura set the doll on the sofa in the parlour. That was the room she liked best. Everything was perfect. There was even a little crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Laura could spend hours staring at those tiny prisms, amazed that anyone could make something so perfect and small. She squinted her eyes to inspect the room. Was it really perfect, or was there anything she could improve? She tried moving the dining table a bit to the left. Then one by one she moved the chairs, and it took a while to get them to line up properly at the table. Finally everything met with her approval – until she noticed there was an empty spot in the middle of the parlour. She couldn’t have that. Picking up the mamma doll with one hand, she moved the sofa with the other. Satisfied, she put the sofa back down and then searched the dollhouse for the two children. They could come in too, as long as they behaved themselves. There was to be no running around or creating a mess in the parlour. They had to be polite and sit still. She was very firm about that.

She set the children on either side of the mamma doll. When Laura tilted her head at an angle, it was almost as if the mamma doll was smiling. She was so lovely and perfect. When Laura grew up, she was going to be exactly like her.

Patrik was breathing hard by the time they reached the front door. The house was beautifully situated on a hill near the sea, and he had parked the car on Brandparken so they could walk up the path. It bothered him that he sounded like a bellows after climbing the winding path, while Gösta seemed completely unaffected.

‘Hello?’ said Patrik, poking his head in the open door. It was not unusual to do that in the summertime. Everybody left their doors and windows open, and instead of knocking or ringing the bell, visitors would simply yell a greeting.

A woman appeared wearing a sunhat, sunglasses, and some sort of fluttery, colourful tunic. In spite of the heat she had on thin gloves.

‘Yes?’ Her tone of voice suggested that she would have preferred not to speak to them.

‘We’re from the Tanum police. We’re looking for Leon Kreutz.’

‘That’s my husband. I’m Ia Kreutz.’ She shook hands without taking off her gloves. ‘We’re just having lunch.’

She clearly wasn’t happy about them showing up. Patrik and Gösta exchanged glances. If Leon was as standoffish as his wife, this was going to be hard work. They followed her out to the balcony where a man was sitting in a wheelchair at the table.

‘We have visitors. The police.’

The man nodded. He didn’t seem at all surprised to see them.

‘Have a seat. We’re just having a light salad. My wife likes this kind of food.’ Leon gave them a wry smile.

‘My husband would prefer to skip lunch and smoke a cigarette instead,’ said Ia. She sat down and spread a napkin on her lap. ‘Do you mind if I finish eating?’

Patrik motioned for her to continue with her salad while they talked to Leon.

‘I assume you’re here to talk about Valö?’ Leon had stopped eating and placed his hands in his lap. A wasp landed on a piece of chicken on his plate and was allowed to feast in peace.

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘What’s going on out there anyway? We’ve been hearing wild rumours.’

‘We’ve made certain discoveries,’ replied Patrik, not wanting to say too much. ‘I understand that you’ve recently returned to Fjällbacka.’

He studied Leon’s face. One side was smooth with no trace of injury, while the other side was scarred and the corner of his mouth was permanently pulled upward, revealing his teeth.

‘Yes. We bought the house a few days ago, and we moved in yesterday,’ said Leon.

‘What made you come back here after so many years?’ asked Gösta.

‘I suppose the yearning to return grows stronger as the years pass.’ Leon turned his head to gaze out over the water. Patrik now saw only the good side of his face, and it was painfully obvious how handsome Leon must have once been.

‘I would have preferred to stay in our house on the Riviera,’ said Ia. She and her husband exchanged an inscrutable glance.

‘Normally she gets what she wants.’ Again Leon gave them that odd smile of his. ‘But in this case, I insisted. I’ve been longing to come back.’

‘Your family had a summer place here, didn’t they?’ said Gösta.

‘Yes. A house on the island of Kalvö. Unfortunately, my father sold it. Don’t ask me why. He had his whims, and he was a bit eccentric in his old age.’

‘I heard that you were involved in a car accident,’ said Patrik.

‘If Ia hadn’t saved me, I wouldn’t be here today. Right, darling?’

Her fork and knife clattered so loudly that Patrik gave a start. She stared at Leon in silence. Then her expression softened.

‘That’s true, darling. Without me, you wouldn’t be alive today.’

‘And you never let me forget it.’

‘How long have you been married?’ asked Patrik.

‘Almost thirty years.’ Leon turned to face them. ‘I met Ia at a party in Monaco. She was the most beautiful girl there. And she played hard to get. I had to really work at it.’

‘It’s not so strange that I was sceptical, considering your reputation.’

Their bickering reminded Patrik of a well-rehearsed dance, but it seemed to calm them both down. For a moment he thought he glimpsed a hint of a smile on Ia’s lips. He wondered what she looked like without the huge sunglasses. Her skin was stretched tight over her jaw, and her lips were so unnaturally full that he suspected her eyes would merely confirm the impression that here was someone who had paid a fortune to enhance her appearance.

Patrik again turned to Leon. ‘We’ve come here to talk to you because, as I mentioned, certain discoveries have been made out on Valö. They indicate that the Elvander family was murdered.’

‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ said Leon after a pause. ‘I’ve never understood how a whole family could simply disappear.’

Ia started coughing. Her face had turned pale.

‘You’ll have to excuse me. There’s really nothing I can contribute, so I think I’ll go inside to finish my lunch in peace and let you carry on your discussion without me.’

‘That’s fine. Leon is the one we came to talk to.’ Patrik moved his feet to allow Ia to pass. Carrying her plate, she swept past in a cloud of perfume.

Leon squinted at Gösta. ‘I have the impression I know you from somewhere. Weren’t you the officer who came out to Valö? The one who took us to the police station?’

Gösta nodded. ‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘I remember how nice you were. Your colleague, on the other hand, was quite gruff. Is he still on the force?’

‘Henry transferred to Göteborg in the early eighties. I lost contact with him, but I heard that he passed away a few years ago,’ replied Gösta. Then he leaned forward. ‘From what I recall, you were the kind of kid who took charge.’

‘I don’t know about that. But it’s true that I’ve always been able to get people to listen to me.’

‘The other boys seemed to look up to you.’

Leon nodded. ‘You’re probably right about that. What a group that was!’ He laughed. ‘Only at a boarding school for boys would you ever find such an odd bunch.’

‘But didn’t you have a lot in common? You all came from well-to-do families,’ said Gösta.

‘Not Josef. He was there only because of the grand ambitions of his parents. It was as if they’d brainwashed him to believe his Jewish heritage involved certain obligations. They seemed to expect some kind of major achievement from him, to make up for everything they’d lost during the war.’

‘No small task for a young boy,’ said Patrik.

‘He took it very seriously. To this day, he’s still trying to meet their expectations. Have you heard about the Jewish museum?’

‘I believe I read something about it in the newspaper,’ Gösta said.

‘Why does he want to build that sort of museum here?’ asked Patrik.

‘This area has numerous associations with the war. In addition to presenting the history of the Jews, the museum will also highlight Sweden’s role during the Second World War.’