The Hidden Child. Camilla Lackberg
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other all our lives. But … how should I put it? We chose one path and Frans chose another.’
‘Frans is a right-wing extremist?’ Again Martin met Axel’s gaze in the mirror.
Axel nodded. ‘Yes, I don’t really know in what way or to what extent, but all through his adult life he’s mixed in those circles, and he even helped to start that group called Sweden’s Friends. He probably picked up a lot of his views from home, although back when I knew him he never showed any such sympathies. But people change.’ Axel shook his head.
‘Why would this organization feel threatened by Erik? From what I understand, he wasn’t politically active. He was a historian specializing in the Second World War, right?’
Axel sighed. ‘It’s not that easy to remain neutral. You can’t research Nazism and at the same time remain, or be viewed as, apolitical. For instance, many neo-Nazi organizations dispute that the concentration camps existed, and all attempts to describe the camps and investigate what happened are regarded as a threat or an attack on their group. As I said, it’s complicated.’
‘What about your own involvement in the issue? Have you ever received any threats?’ Paula studied him closely.
‘Of course I have. To a much greater extent than Erik. My life’s mission has been working with the Simon Wiesenthal Center.’
‘And what exactly does the Center do?’ asked Martin.
‘The organization tracks down Nazis who have fled and gone underground. And it sees that they’re brought to justice,’ Paula explained.
Axel nodded. ‘That’s right, among other things. So yes, I’ve received my share of threats.’
‘Do you still have any of the actual letters?’ Martin asked.
‘The Center has them. Those of us who work for the Center send in any letters we get so they can be kept in the archives. If you contact them they’ll give you access to everything.’ He handed his business card to Paula, who put it in her jacket pocket.
‘And Sweden’s Friends? Have you received any threats from them?’
‘No … I don’t think so. No, not that I can recall. But as I said, you should check with the Center. They have everything.’
‘Frans Ringholm. How does he fit into the picture? You said he was a childhood friend?’ Martin enquired.
‘To be precise, he was Erik’s childhood friend. I was a couple of years older, so we didn’t really have the same circle of friends.’
‘But Erik knew Frans well?’ Paula’s brown eyes again studied Axel intently.
‘Yes, but that was ages ago. We’re going back sixty years here.’ Axel didn’t seem very comfortable with the topic of conversation. He kept shifting position on the back seat. ‘Even without dementia, the old memory starts to get a bit murky.’ He smiled wryly as he tapped his head.
‘But there’s been more recent contact, judging by the letters we found. Frans has been in touch with your brother repeatedly, at least by letter.’
Axel ran his hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration. ‘I’ve lived my life, and my brother has lived his. And it was only three years ago that we both settled in Fjällbacka permanently – well, semi-permanently, in my case. Erik had a flat in Göteborg during all the years he worked there, and I’ve spent my time more or less travelling around the world. Of course we’ve always had the house here as our base, and if anyone asks me where I live, I tell them Fjällbacka. But in the summertime I always flee to my flat in Paris. I can’t take all the hustle and bustle that comes with the tourists. For the most part we live a rather quiet and isolated life, my brother and I. The cleaning lady is the only one who ever visits us. We prefer … preferred it that way.’ Axel’s voice broke.
Paula caught Martin’s eye, and he shook his head slightly before returning his gaze to the motorway. Neither of them could think of anything else to ask. They spent the rest of the drive to Fjällbacka chatting tensely about trivial matters. Axel looked as if he might fall apart at any moment, and he seemed visibly relieved when they finally pulled up in front of his house.
‘Do you have any problem with … staying here now?’ Paula asked.
Axel stood in silence for a moment, his eyes fixed on the big white house, his carry-on bag in his hand. Finally he said:
‘No. This is my home, and Erik’s. We belong here. Both of us.’ He smiled sadly and shook hands with them before heading for the front door. To Paula, gazing after him, it seemed that he exuded loneliness.
‘So, did she rake you over the coals when you got home yesterday?’ Karin laughed as she pushed Ludde in his pushchair. She was walking at a brisk pace, and Patrik was panting with the effort of keeping up.
‘You might say that.’ He winced at the thought of the reception he’d had when he got home. Erica had not been in the sunniest mood. And to some extent, he could understand why. He was supposed to be taking responsibility for Maja during the daytime so that Erica could work. At the same time, he couldn’t help feeling that she’d overreacted. He hadn’t been out on some fun expedition; he was busy doing household errands. And how could he know that Maja wasn’t going to take her nap the way she usually did? It had seemed a bit unfair that he ended up in the doghouse for the rest of the day. But the good thing about Erica was that she never held a grudge for long, so this morning she’d given him a kiss, as usual, and the events of yesterday seemed forgotten. Although he hadn’t dared tell her that he was going to have company on his walk today. Of course he planned to tell her eventually; he was just putting it off for the moment. Even though Erica wasn’t a particularly jealous person, taking a walk with his ex-wife was not a subject that Patrik wanted to broach while he was already in the doghouse. As if Karin could read his mind, she said:
‘Is Erica okay with the idea that we spend time together? It’s years ago that we got divorced, but some people are a little more … sensitive.’
‘Sure, of course it’s okay,’ said Patrik, unwilling to admit to his cowardice. ‘It’s fine. Erica has no problem with it.’
‘That’s great. I mean, it’s nice to have company, but not if it causes problems on the home front.’
‘What about Leif?’ asked Patrik, eager to change the subject. He leaned over the pushchair to straighten his daughter’s cap, which was sitting askew. Maja didn’t pay any attention because she was fully occupied communicating with Ludde in the pushchair moving alongside her own.
‘Leif?’ Karin snorted. ‘You might say it’s a miracle that Ludde even knows who Leif is. He’s always out on the road.’
Patrik nodded sympathetically. Karin’s new husband was a singer with a dance band called Leffes. He could see how it might be a strain to be a dance band ‘widow’.
‘No serious problems between the two of you, I hope.’
‘No, we see each other too seldom for any problems to arise,’ replied Karin, laughing. But the laugh sounded bitter and hollow. Patrik sensed that she wasn’t telling the whole truth, and he didn’t know what to say. It felt a little strange to be discussing relationship problems with his ex-wife. Thankfully the ringing of his mobile saved him.
‘Patrik Hedström.’
‘Hi, it’s Pedersen. I’m ringing with the post-mortem results for Erik Frankel. We’ve faxed over the report, as usual, but I thought you’d want to hear the main points on the phone.’
‘Sure, of course,’ Patrik said hesitantly, casting a glance at Karin, who had slowed her pace to wait for him. ‘But the thing is, I’m actually on paternity leave at the moment.’
‘Is that right? Congratulations! Oh, you’ve got a wonderful time ahead of you. I stayed home for six months with both of my children, and those were the best months of my life.’
Patrik