Buried Angels (39 page)

‘You come running over here even though you’re on leave, and then you ride all the way out to Göteborg and back. If anything goes wrong, just remember that I …’

‘I think we have the situation under control,’ said Patrik, trying to avert the quarrel that was brewing. ‘Right now those boys are going to be feeling the heat.’

It was absurd to use the term ‘boys’ for men who were now well over fifty. But when Patrik thought about them, he always pictured the five boys in the photograph, wearing seventies clothing and with slightly wary expressions on their faces.

‘You’re right about that. Especially John Holm,’ said Mellberg, scratching Ernst behind the ear.

‘Patrik?’ Annika stuck her head in the kitchen and motioned for him to come with her. He got up and followed her out to the hall, where she handed him a cordless phone. ‘It’s Torbjörn. They’ve found something.’

Patrik felt his pulse quicken. He took the phone and went into his office, closing the door behind him. For almost fifteen minutes he listened to Torbjörn, asking him several follow-up questions. When he ended the call, he hurried back to the kitchen where Paula, Mellberg, Gösta, and Annika were all waiting. Even though it was late, no one showed any sign of wanting to go home.

‘What did he say?’ asked Annika.

‘Hold your horses. First I need some coffee.’ Moving with exaggerated slowness, Patrik went over to the coffee maker and reached for the pot, but before he could get to it, Annika stood up. She grabbed the pot, filled a cup so abruptly that the coffee sloshed over the side, and then set it down on the table in front of Patrik’s empty chair.

‘All right. Now sit down and tell us what Torbjörn said.’

Patrik grinned but did as he was told. He cleared his throat.

‘Torbjörn found a clear fingerprint on the back of the stamp on the card from “G”. So now we have a chance to match the print with a potential suspect.’

‘That’s great,’ said Paula, propping her swollen legs on a chair. ‘But you look like the proverbial cat that swallowed a canary, so there must be even bigger news.’

‘You’re right.’ Patrik took a sip of the scalding coffee. ‘It has to do with the bullet.’

‘Which one?’ asked Gösta, leaning forward.

‘That’s the thing. The bullet that was found under the floorboards and the bullets that were, contrary to regulations, prised out of the kitchen wall after the attempt on Ebba’s life …’

‘Okay, okay,’ said Mellberg, waving his hand. ‘I get the message.’

‘Well, they were probably fired from the same gun.’

Four pairs of eyes stared at him. Patrik nodded.

‘It sounds incredible, but it’s true. An unknown number of members of the Elvander family were murdered in 1974, and they were most likely shot with the same gun that was used yesterday in an attempt to kill Ebba Stark.’

‘Could it really be the same perpetrator after so many years?’ Paula shook her head. ‘That’s hard to believe.’

‘I’ve always thought that the attacks on Ebba and her husband had something to do with the family’s disappearance. And this proves it.’

Patrik threw out his hands. In his head he heard the echo of similar questions from the press conference. He hadn’t been able to provide any answers, other than to acknowledge that it was one of their theories. Only now did the police have some proof to go on.

‘Based on the bullet’s grooves, Forensics have also been able to ascertain the type of gun used,’ he went on. ‘So we need to find out whether anyone in the area owns or has owned a Smith & Wesson .38.’

‘If we look at the bright side, this means that the gun used to murder the Elvander family isn’t lying at the bottom of the sea,’ said Mellberg.

‘At least not yesterday when the shots were fired at Ebba. Of course, it might have ended up there afterwards,’ Patrik pointed out.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Paula. ‘If someone has been saving that gun all this time, it’s hard to imagine them getting rid of it now.’

‘You could be right. Maybe this person regards the gun as some sort of trophy and is keeping it as a souvenir. Whatever the case, we need to focus our efforts on establishing what happened in 1974. We’ll have to re-interview the four men we’ve already talked to, see if we can’t clarify the precise sequence of events on the day in question. And we need to locate Percy von Bahrn ASAP. We should have done so already, and I’ll take full responsibility for failing to interview him. We also need to talk to that teacher, the one who’s still alive. What’s his name? You know, the one who was on holiday during Easter …’ Patrik snapped his fingers.

‘Ove Linder,’ said Gösta. His voice had taken on an anxious note.

‘Exactly. Ove Linder. Doesn’t he live in Hamburgsund now? We’ll go out there and have a talk with him tomorrow morning. He might have valuable information about what went on in that school. You and I will go out there together.’ He reached for pen and paper, which were always at hand on the table, and began making a list of the most urgent tasks.

‘Well, er …’ said Gösta, rubbing his chin.

Patrik went on writing.

‘Tomorrow we need to meet with all five of the boys. We’ll divide them up among us. Paula, do you think you could do some more digging into where the money came from that was deposited in the bank for Ebba?’

Paula’s face lit up. ‘Absolutely. I’ve already contacted the bank to ask for their help.’

‘Er, Patrik?’ Gösta ventured again, but his colleague was too busy doling out assignments to hear. ‘Patrik!’

All eyes turned to Gösta. It wasn’t like him to raise his voice.

‘Yes, what is it? What did you want to say?’ Patrik studied Gösta’s face, and realized all at once that he wasn’t going to like what he was about to hear.

‘Well, the thing is, that teacher named Ove Linder …’

‘Yes?’

‘Somebody has already talked to him.’

‘Somebody?’ Patrik repeated, and then waited to hear more.

‘I thought it might be smart to have more people working the case. And you can’t deny that she’s good at digging up information, and we have such limited resources. So I thought it wouldn’t hurt to get some help. And as you just said, it’s something that we ought to have done by now, which in a sense we already have. So it’s actually all fine.’ Gösta paused to catch his breath.

Patrik stared at him. Was the man out of his mind? Was he trying to make excuses for having gone behind the backs of his colleagues? Was he attempting to put a positive spin on his actions? Then Patrik was seized with a suspicion that he hoped would not be confirmed.

‘When you say “she” – are you referring to my dear wife? Did Erica go out to talk to that teacher?’

‘Er … yes,’ said Gösta, eyes downcast.

‘Oh, Gösta,’ Paula said reproachfully, sounding as if she were talking to a child who had been caught stealing a biscuit.

‘Is there anything else I should know?’ asked Patrik. ‘You might as well tell me. What has Erica been up to? And you too, for that matter.’

With a heavy sigh Gösta began recounting what Erica had told him about her visits with ‘Liza’ and John Holm, about what Kjell had said about John’s background, and about the note that she’d found. Then he seemed to hesitate for a moment before he finally told everyone about the break-in at Erica and Patrik’s house.

Patrik’s expression turned icy cold. ‘What the hell are you saying?’

Gösta stared down at the floor in shame.

‘Never mind, I’ve heard enough!’ Patrik leaped to his feet, dashed out of the station, and jumped into his car. He could feel his blood boiling. As he turned the key in the ignition and the engine started up, he forced himself to take several deep breaths. Then he floored the accelerator.

Ebba couldn’t stop looking at the pictures. She had asked for some time alone and had taken all the material about her family up to Erica’s work room. After casting a glance at the cluttered desk she had simply sat down on the floor and spread out the copies of the photos in a fan-shape in front of her. These were her family members, her roots. Even though she’d had a good life with her adoptive family, she had sometimes been envious that they had blood relatives to whom they were connected. The only thing she was connected to was a mystery. She thought about all the times she’d studied the framed photos on top of the large bureau in the living room: maternal grandparents, paternal grandparents, aunts and cousins – all of them related, so that their descendants felt that they were links in a long chain. Now she was studying pictures of her own relatives, and she was filled with a feeling both wondrous and strange.

Ebba picked up the photo of the Angelmaker. What a beautiful name for something so ghastly. She held the picture closer, trying to see if there was anything in Helga’s eyes that would reveal the evil she had done. Ebba didn’t know whether the photo had been taken before or during the period when all the children were murdered, but the little girl in the picture, who had to be Dagmar, was so young that it must have been taken around 1902. Dagmar was wearing a light-coloured dress with flounces, and she had no idea of the fate that awaited her. What had happened to her? Had she drowned in the sea, as so many apparently believed? Had her disappearance been a natural end to a life that was already shattered when the crime that her parents had committed was discovered? Had Helga felt remorse? Did she understand the effect it would have on her daughter when her crime was discovered? Or was she convinced that no one would ever miss those unwanted children? The questions began to pile up inside Ebba’s head, but she knew that she would never learn the answers. Yet she felt such a connection to these women.

She examined the other picture of Dagmar. Her face bore clear traces of a hard life, but it was obvious that she had once been beautiful. What had happened to her daughter Laura on those occasions when the police had arrested Dagmar, or when she was taken to the hospital? From what Ebba understood, Laura had no other relatives. Had friends taken care of her, or had she ended up in an orphanage or foster home?

Suddenly Ebba remembered that she had found herself wondering about her roots when she was pregnant with Vincent. It was his past too, after all. Strangely enough, those speculations had ceased as soon as he was born. Partly because she hadn’t had time to spare for any sort of pondering, and partly because he had taken her over so completely – she was consumed by his scent, the fine down on the nape of his neck, and the dimples on his little knuckles. Everything else seemed utterly unimportant. She herself had become unimportant. She and Tobias had been reduced, or perhaps elevated, to mere extras in the film about Vincent. She had loved her new role, but it had made the void even greater when he was gone. Now she was a mother without a child, a meaningless extra in a film that suddenly lacked its star. But the pictures spread out in front of her gave her a renewed sense of continuity.

She could hear Erica moving around in the kitchen downstairs, with the children playing and shouting, while here she sat, surrounded by her relatives. All of them were dead, but she still felt an enormous solace in the knowledge that they had once existed.

Ebba drew her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs. She wondered how Tobias was doing. She had barely given him a thought since she’d come here, and if she was perfectly honest, she hadn’t really cared much for him after Vincent died. How could she, when she was immersed in her own grief? But somehow this new sense of family connection was now making her realize for the first time in a while that Tobias was a part of her. Who could she share her memories with other than Tobias? He had been at her side, caressed her stomach as her pregnancy progressed, and watched Vincent’s heartbeat on the ultrasound monitor. He had wiped the sweat from her brow, massaged her back, and brought her water during the birth – that long, terrible and yet amazing twenty-four hours when she had fought to bring Vincent into the world. The baby had resisted, but when he finally opened his eyes to the light and peered at them cross-eyed, Tobias had grabbed her hand and squeezed it tight. He’d made no effort to hide his tears, merely wiped his cheeks on his shirtsleeve. And later they had shared all those wakeful nights when Vincent cried, and his first smile, and the appearance of his first teeth. They had cheered him on as he wobbled back and forth when he was learning to crawl, and Tobias had filmed the first faltering steps he took. Their son’s first word, first sentence, and his first day at the day-care centre; laughter and tears; good days and bad. Tobias was the only person who truly understood when she talked about any of these things. There was no one else.

As she sat there on the floor, Ebba felt her heart growing warmer. That tiny piece that had been so cold and hard was starting to thaw. She would stay here one more night, but then she would go back home. To Tobias. It was time to let go of the guilt and start living again.

Anna steered the boat out of the harbour and lifted her face to the sun. To be without her husband and children filled her with an unexpected sense of freedom. She had borrowed Erica and Patrik’s boat since there was no more petrol in the Finnish Buster motorboat, and she was enjoying driving the familiar
snipa
. The evening light made the cliffs surrounding Fjällbacka harbour shimmer like gold. She heard laughter coming from the Café Bryggan, and music playing. No one seemed to have ventured out on the dance floor yet, but after a few beers, it would undoubtedly get quite crowded.

She cast a glance at her bag holding the fabric samples. It was on the floor in the middle of the boat, and she checked to see that the zipper was securely closed.

Ebba had already seen the samples and immediately selected several favourites that she wanted Tobias to approve. Her comments had prompted Anna to consider going out to Valö that very same evening. At first she had hesitated. The island was not a safe place, as she had so dramatically discovered the day before, and an impulsive trip out there seemed more like something she would have done in her old life, when she seldom thought about consequences. But for once she decided to follow up on her initial inclination. What could possibly happen? She would go out there, show Tobias the samples, and then return home. It was just a way of passing the time, she told herself. And maybe Tobias would be happy for some company. Ebba had decided to spend another night at Erica’s house in order to take a closer look at the materials about her family, although Anna suspected that was just a pretext. Ebba seemed reluctant to return to the island, and understandably so.