Buried Angels (36 page)

Kjell leafed through his notes. Naturally it had gone against all his journalistic principles to give up the story, but his fight against the anti-immigrant organizations was more important. If he had to sacrifice a scoop in order to root out the truth about the Friends of Sweden and John Holm, he was prepared to do it.

It was all he could do to stop himself phoning Sven Niklasson to find out how it had gone. Most likely he wouldn’t find out much until he read about it in the newspaper, but he still couldn’t help brooding over the possible meaning of ‘Gimle’. He was convinced that Sven’s voice had changed when he heard about the note that Erica had found at Holm’s house. It sounded as if Sven had heard of Gimle before and already knew something about it.

Kjell opened his copy of
Expressen
and read what they’d written about the discovery on Valö. The paper had devoted four pages to the story, and it would probably be followed up with more articles over the next few days. The police in Tanum had called a press conference for the afternoon, and Kjell was hoping to hear something that would serve as a basis for his article. But there were still several hours to go, and the challenge was not to make use of the same information that the other reporters would have, but to come up with a fresh lead. Kjell leaned back in his chair to think. Locals had always been fascinated by the mysterious events on Valö, and in particular the role of the boys who had been staying at the school that Easter holiday. Over the years there had been a lot of speculation about what the boys knew or didn’t know, and whether they’d had anything to do with the family’s disappearance. If he dug up as much information as he could find about the five boys, he might be able to write an article that none of the other newspapers could match.

He turned to his computer and began entering data into a search engine. It should be possible to find out a lot about the men that the boys had become by combing through public records. He’d already interviewed Holm; the next step would be to contact the other four. It was going to require a lot of work in a short period of time, but if he managed to find out anything new, it would be worth it.

Something else occurred to him, and he quickly jotted a memo to himself. He needed to talk to Gösta Flygare, who had been involved in the original investigation. If he was lucky, Gösta might be prepared to share his thoughts on the boys, maybe recall his first impressions after interviewing them. That would add some weight to the article.

The word ‘Gimle’ kept popping up in his mind, but Kjell resolutely pushed it aside. That was no longer his responsibility, and maybe it didn’t mean anything. He picked up his mobile to start making calls. He had no time to sit around brooding.

Slowly Percy packed his suitcase. He would not be attending the sixtieth birthday party of their friend. After a few phone calls he’d found out that not only had Pyttan left him, but she’d moved in with the man whose birthday was being celebrated.

Early in the morning Percy would get into the Jaguar and drive to Fjällbacka. He wasn’t sure it was a good idea, but his conversation with Leon had served to confirm that his whole life was on the verge of collapse. So what did he have to lose?

As always, when Leon commanded, he obeyed. Even back then Leon had been in charge, and it was both strange and rather frightening to realize that he’d had the same authority at the age of sixteen as he had today. Perhaps his life would have turned out different if Percy hadn’t followed Leon’s orders, but he wasn’t going to think about that now. He’d spent years suppressing what happened on Valö, and he’d never returned to the island. As they sat in the boat on that Easter eve, he hadn’t given it so much as a backward glance.

Now he was going to be forced to remember. He knew that he ought to stay in Stockholm, get thoroughly drunk, and then sit and watch life pass by on Karlavägen as he waited for the creditors to knock on the door. But Leon’s voice on the phone had stripped him of all willpower, just as it had back then.

He gave a start when the doorbell rang. He wasn’t expecting visitors, and Pyttan had already taken everything of value. He had no illusions that she might regret her actions and come back to him. She wasn’t that stupid. She knew he was about to lose everything, so she’d made her escape. And when it came right down to it, he understood. He had grown up in a world where people married spouses who had something to offer – a form of aristocratic barter.

He opened the door. There stood Attorney Buhrman.

‘Do we have an appointment?’ asked Percy, trying to remember.

‘No, we don’t.’ The attorney took a step forward, forcing Percy to back up and allow him in. ‘I had a number of errands here in town, and I was supposed to head home this afternoon. But this can’t wait.’

Buhrman was avoiding meeting his eye, and Percy felt his knees begin to tremble. This was not good.

‘Come in,’ he said, fighting to keep his voice under control.

In his mind he heard his father saying: ‘No matter what happens, never show any sign of weakness.’ Memories flooded over him from the time when he failed to follow this advice and had fallen to the floor in tears, begging and pleading. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes for a moment. This was not the time to allow the past to intrude. He’d have to endure enough of that tomorrow. Right now he had to deal with Buhrman.

‘Would you like a whisky?’ he asked, going over to the drinks cart and pouring one for himself.

With an effort the attorney slowly sank to the sofa. ‘No, thank you.’

‘Coffee?’

‘No, thank you. Now sit down.’ Buhrman thumped his cane on the floor, and Percy did as he was told. He sat in silence as the attorney talked, merely nodding occasionally to show that he understood. His expression gave no clue to what he was thinking. He father’s voice echoed louder in his head: ‘Never show any sign of weakness.’

After Buhrman had left, Percy resumed packing. There was only one thing he could do. He’d been weak then, so long ago. He had allowed evil to triumph. Percy zipped up the suitcase and sat on the bed, staring straight ahead. His life was in ruins. There was no meaning to anything. But he would never again show that he was weak.

Laura studied her husband as he sat at the breakfast table. They’d been married a year. The day that Laura turned eighteen she had accepted Sigvard’s proposal, and a month later they were married in a quiet ceremony in the garden. Sigvard was fifty-three, old enough to be her father. But he was rich, and she knew that she would never again have to worry about her future. She had sat down to make a list of arguments, for and against the marriage, and the positive side had won out. Love was for fools. It was a luxury that a woman in her situation could not afford.

‘The Germans have invaded Poland,’ said Sigvard, sounding agitated. ‘Mark my words, this is only the beginning.’

‘I can’t be bothered with politics.’

Laura made herself half a sandwich. She didn’t dare eat more than that. Constant hunger was the price she had to pay for being perfect, and at times she struggled with how absurd this was. She had married Sigvard for security, for the knowledge that she’d always have food on the table. And yet she went hungry as often as she had when she was a child and Dagmar was spending her money on booze instead of food.

Sigvard laughed. ‘Your father is mentioned here too.’

She gave him a frosty look. She was willing to put up with a lot, but she had repeatedly asked him not to speak of anything having to do with her lunatic mother. She needed no reminders of what her life had once been. Dagmar was safely locked up in St Jörgen Hospital, and if Laura was lucky, she would stay there for the rest of her miserable life.

‘Must you talk about that?’ she said.

‘Forgive me, darling. But there’s no need to be ashamed. On the contrary. Göring is Hitler’s favourite, and he’s head of the Luftwaffe. Not bad.’ He nodded pensively and then went back to his newspaper.

Laura sighed. She wasn’t interested. For years she’d had to put up with her mother’s demented fantasies, and now she was forced to hear about that man all the time, simply because he was one of Hitler’s closest associates. Good Lord, what did it matter to them in Sweden if the Germans invaded Poland?

‘I was thinking of redecorating the drawing room. May I?’ she asked, using her softest tone of voice. It hadn’t been long since she’d had the entire room redone. It had turned out lovely, but it still wasn’t perfect. Not like the drawing room in the dollhouse. The fancy sofa that she’d bought didn’t quite fit, and the prisms in the crystal chandelier were not as shiny and sparkling as she’d expected.

‘You’re going to drive me to rack and ruin,’ said Sigvard, but he gave her an adoring look. ‘Do whatever you like, sweetheart. As long as it makes you happy.’

‘Anna is coming over, if that’s okay.’ Erica cast a hesitant glance at Ebba. The moment she’d invited her sister, she realized it might not be such a good idea, but Anna had sounded as if she needed company.

‘That’s fine.’ Ebba smiled but she still seemed exhausted.

‘What did your parents say? Patrik felt terrible that they had to hear about the fire and the shooting in that way, but he assumed you’d already told them.’

‘I should have done, but I was putting it off. I know how worried they get. They would have wanted us to give up and move back.’

‘Have you considered doing that?’ said Erica as she put in the
Lotta on Bråkmakargatan
DVD. The twins were asleep, worn out from the expedition to Gösta’s house, but Maja was sitting on the sofa, waiting for the movie to begin.

Ebba paused to think before answering. Then she shook her head. ‘No, we can’t go back home. If this doesn’t work out, I don’t know what we’ll do. I know it’s idiotic to stay here, and I
am
scared, but at the same time … the worst thing that could happen to us has already happened.’

‘What …’ Erica began. She had finally gathered her courage to ask about their son, but at that moment the front door opened and Anna walked in.

‘Hello!’ she called.

‘Come on in. I’m just putting in the Lotta DVD for the thousandth time.’

‘Hi,’ said Anna, nodding to Ebba. She gave a cautious smile, as if not sure how to act after what they’d been through the previous day.

‘Hi, Anna,’ said Ebba, equally hesitant. But in her case, the wariness seemed part of her personality, and Erica wondered whether she’d been a more open sort of person before her son died.

The movie started playing, so Erica stood up. ‘Head on into the kitchen, and I’ll be right there.’

Anna and Ebba went into the kitchen and sat down at the table.

‘Did you get some sleep?’ asked Anna.

‘Yes, I slept more than twelve hours, but I feel as if I could sleep for another twelve.’

‘It’s probably the shock.’

Erica came in to join them, carrying a stack of papers.

‘What I’ve collected isn’t comprehensive, by any means, and you’ve probably already seen some of it,’ she said, setting the papers on the table.

‘I haven’t seen anything,’ said Ebba, shaking her head. ‘This may sound odd, but I never thought much about my background until I took over the house and we moved here. I had a good life, and it all seemed a little … absurd.’ Her eyes fell on the pile of papers as if she might absorb the information merely by staring at it.

‘Right then.’ Erica opened a notebook and cleared her throat. ‘Your mother, Inez, was born in 1951 and was only twenty-three when she disappeared. I haven’t been able to find out much about her before she married Rune. She was born and raised in Fjällbacka, got average grades in school, but that’s all I could find in the archives. She married your father, Rune Elvander, in 1970, and you were born in January 1973.’

‘January third,’ Ebba added with a nod.

‘Rune was significantly older than Inez, as I’m sure you know. He was born in 1919 and had three children from a previous marriage: Johan, who was nine; Annelie, who was sixteen; and Claes, who was nineteen when they disappeared. Their mother, Carla, who was Rune’s first wife, died one year before Rune and Inez got married. And according to the people I’ve talked to, it wasn’t exactly easy for your mother to become part of that family.’

‘I wonder why she married a man who was so much older,’ said Ebba. ‘Pappa must have been …’ she silently did the calculation in her head, ‘fifty-one when they were married.’

‘Your maternal grandmother seems to have had a lot to do with it. She was clearly – how should I put this …’

‘I have no relationship with my grandmother, so I won’t mind if you speak bluntly. My family is in Göteborg. This part of my life is purely of academic interest so far as I’m concerned.’

‘Then you won’t be offended if I say that your grandmother was considered a real bitch.’

‘Erica!’ said Anna reproachfully.

For the first time since they’d met Ebba, she laughed heartily.