Camilla Läckberg - The Hidden Child

‘So he never left Fjällbacka after all,’ said Kjell, unable to take his eyes off the work going on in the grave.

‘No, he didn’t. So the question is: how did he end up here?’

‘I presume that Erik and Britta knew he was here.’

‘Yes, and they were both murdered.’ Erica shook her head, as if that might make all the pieces fall into place.

‘He’s been here for at least sixty years. So why now? Why did he suddenly become so important?’ Kjell wondered.

‘You didn’t get anything out of your father?’ asked Erica, turning to look at him.

He shook his head. ‘Not a thing. And I don’t know whether that’s because he doesn’t know anything, or because he doesn’t want to tell me.’

‘Do you think he could have…?’ She didn’t really dare finish the sentence, but Kjell understood what she was getting at.

‘My father is capable of just about anything. Of that I’m certain.’

‘What are you two talking about?’ asked Patrik, coming over to stand next to Erica.

‘We’re discussing the possibility that my father may have committed murder,’ said Kjell calmly.

Patrik was startled by his honesty. ‘And what did you decide?’ he said. ‘We’ve had our suspicions, but your father has an alibi for the time when Erik was killed.’

‘I didn’t know that,’ said Kjell. ‘But I hope you’ve double-and triple-checked your information, because an old jailbird like my father would have no difficulty arranging a false alibi.’

Patrik realized he was right and made a note to ask Martin how closely they had scrutinized Frans’s alibi.

Torbjörn joined them, greeting Kjell with a nod of recognition. ‘So, I see that the fourth estate has been granted permission to attend.’

‘I have a personal interest,’ said Kjell.

Torbjörn shrugged. If the police wanted to allow a journalist to be present, he wasn’t going to interfere. That was their problem. ‘We’ll be done here in about an hour,’ he said. ‘And I know that Pedersen is standing by to start the post-mortem.’

‘Yes, I’ve already talked to him,’ said Patrik, nodding.

‘All right then. We’ll be getting him out of there, and then we’ll see what sort of secrets the lad is hiding.’ He turned and went back to the grave.

‘Yes, let’s see what secrets he has,’ said Erica quietly, staring at the grave. Patrik put his arm round her shoulders.

The months following her father’s death were confusing and painful. Elsy’s mother continued to tend to her daily tasks and do was what was required of her, but something was missing. It was as if Elof had taken part of Hilma with him, and she no longer recognized her mother. In that sense, she had lost not only her father, but her mother too. The only solace she could find was in the nights that she and Hans shared. As soon as her mother had gone to bed, she would slip downstairs to his room and crawl into his embrace. She knew that it was wrong. She knew that there could be consequences she wouldn’t be able to ignore. But she couldn’t stay away. During those hours when she lay beside him under the covers, his arm around her, his hand gently stroking her hair – during those hours the world became whole again. When they kissed and the passion, by now so familiar and yet still surprising, overtook them, she couldn’t understand how it could be wrong. In a world that could so suddenly and brutally be shattered by a mine, how could love possibly be wrong?

Hans had also been a blessing when it came to practical matters. Their finances were a big worry now that her father was dead; they only managed to scrape by because Hans took on extra shifts on the boat and gave them every krona of his wages.

Sometimes Elsy wondered whether her mother knew that she was sneaking downstairs to see him at night but decided to turn a blind eye because she couldn’t afford to do otherwise.

Elsy ran her hand over her stomach as she lay in bed next to Hans, listening to his steady breathing. She had realized one week ago that she was pregnant. In spite of everything she’d been taught about shame and its consequences, a great calm had come over her. After all, it was Hans’s child she was carrying, and there was no one in the world that she trusted more. She hadn’t told him yet, but deep inside she knew that it wouldn’t be a problem. He would be happy to hear the news. And they would help each other and somehow make things work.

She closed her eyes, leaving her hand resting on her stomach. Somewhere inside was a small creature that was the product of their love. Hers and Hans’s. How could that be wrong? How could a child that belonged to them ever be wrong?

Elsy fell asleep with her hand on her stomach and a faint smile on her lips.

A tense feeling of anticipation had settled over the station following the events at the cemetery. Mellberg, of course, was taking full credit for the discovery, but nobody paid much attention to him. Even Gösta had a gleam in his eye as he joined in the speculation. Though they didn’t yet know exactly how yesterday’s discovery fit in with the two recent murders, everyone was certain it marked a major breakthrough in the investigation.

‘The question is,’ mused Paula, ‘why start killing people over a murder that happened sixty years ago? I mean, we almost have to assume that Britta and Erik were killed because of some link to the “alleged”’ – here she drew quote marks in the air – ‘murder of that boy. But why now? What sparked the renewed interest?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Martin, who’d been sitting at his desk wondering the very same thing when Paula dropped by. ‘Let’s hope the post-mortem will give us something concrete to go on.’

‘What if it doesn’t?’ said Paula, voicing the thought that he’d been trying to avoid.

‘Let’s just take it one step at a time,’ he said quietly.

‘That reminds me,’ said Paula, ‘aren’t we supposed to get back the DNA profile results today? It won’t do us much good unless we’ve got something to compare them to.’

‘You’re right,’ said Martin, pushing back his chair. ‘Let’s take care of that right now.’

‘Who should we take first? Axel or Frans? Those are the two we should focus on, right?’

‘Let’s take Frans,’ said Martin, and he put on his jacket.

With the summer tourist season over, Grebbestad was just as deserted as Fjällbacka, and they saw only a few residents as they drove through town. Martin parked the police vehicle in the small car park in front of the Telegraph restaurant, and they walked across the street to Frans’s flat. No one answered when they rang the bell.

‘Damn. He’s not at home. We’ll have to come back later,’ said Martin, turning away.

‘Wait a minute,’ said Paula. ‘The door’s open.’

‘But we can’t just…’ Martin’s objection came too late. His colleague had already opened the door and stepped inside.

‘Hello?’ he heard her calling, and reluctantly he followed her down the hall. They peeked into the kitchen and the living room. No Frans. And not a sound.

‘Come on, let’s check the bedroom,’ said Paula. Martin hesitated. ‘Oh, come on,’ she said. With a sigh he let her lead the way.

The bedroom was also empty, the bed neatly made up and no Frans in sight.

‘Hello?’ called Paula again when they returned to the hall. No answer. They made their way to the last room in the flat.

They saw him as soon as the door swung inwards. The room was a small office, and Frans had collapsed forward on to the desk, the gun still in his mouth and a gaping hole in the back of his head. Martin felt all the blood drain from his face; for a moment he swayed on his feet and had to swallow hard. Paula, on the other hand, seemed totally unfazed. She pointed at Frans, forcing Martin to look, even though he would have preferred not to.