‘This is my only option,’ he said, nodding at the documents. ‘I’m lucky to have good friends who are willing to step up, and I’ll pay them back as soon as I’ve straightened out this unfortunate situation with the tax authorities.’
‘Well, do as you please, but you’re putting a great deal at risk.’
‘I trust Sebastian,’ said Percy. He only wished he was as confident as he sounded.
Kjell slammed down the phone on the desk so hard that the force reverberated up his arm. The pain merely increased his fury, and he swore as he massaged his elbow, clenching his hands into fists to stop himself from hurling something at the wall.
‘What’s going on?’ Rolf, his best friend and colleague, stuck his head in the door.
‘What do you think?’ Kjell ran his hand through his dark hair, which had begun acquiring the odd strand of silver a few years back.
‘Beata?’ said Rolf, coming into the room.
‘Who else? I’m sure you heard that at the last minute she stopped me from having the kids over the weekend, even though it was my turn. Now she’s on the phone, screaming and yelling that she won’t let them go with me to Mallorca. Apparently a week is too long for them to be away.’
‘But didn’t they have two weeks with her in the Canary Islands in June? And didn’t she book that trip without consulting you? Why shouldn’t they spend a week with their father?’
‘Because they’re “her” kids. That’s what she’s always saying. “My” children. Evidently I’m only allowed to borrow them.’
Kjell tried to force himself to breathe slower. He hated the fact that she still had the power to upset him. And that she didn’t care about what was best for the children. All she wanted was to make his life as miserable as possible.
‘But I thought the two of you were granted joint custody,’ said Rolf. ‘You should be allowed to have the kids more often than you do now, if that’s what you want.’
‘Yes, I know. At the same time I want them to have a stable life. I shouldn’t have to do battle every time it’s my turn to have the kids. One week’s holiday – is that too much to ask? I’m their father, and I have every bit as much right to be with them as Beata.’
‘They’re getting older, Kjell. Eventually they’ll understand. Try to be a better person, a better parent. They need peace and quiet. Make sure they have that when they’re with you, and things will work out. But don’t ever stop fighting to see them.’
‘I refuse to give up,’ said Kjell grimly.
‘Good,’ said Rolf. Then he waved the daily newspaper, which he was holding in his hand. ‘That was a great piece you wrote, by the way. You really pushed him hard. I think it’s the first article I’ve ever read where somebody actually dared to put John Holm and his party on the spot.’ He sat down in the visitor’s chair.
‘I can’t understand what’s wrong with the other journalists.’ Kjell shook his head. ‘There are such obvious holes in the rhetoric spouted by the Friends of Sweden. It shouldn’t be so hard.’
‘We can only hope more will follow your lead,’ said Rolf, pointing to the paper, which was open to Kjell’s article. ‘We need to show our readers what these people are like.’
‘The worst part is that some voters buy into their cheap propaganda. They put on those fancy suits, publicly kick out a few members who’ve attracted negative press, and try to talk about budget cuts and economizing. Behind the facade, they’re still the same old fascists. Only these days, if they give the Nazi salute and wave swastika flags, they make sure they do it under cover of darkness. Then they sit there on TV and moan that they’ve been vilified and unfairly attacked.’
‘You don’t need to preach to me. We’re on the same side,’ laughed Rolf, holding up his hands.
‘I’m convinced he’s hiding something else,’ said Kjell, massaging the bridge of his nose.
‘Who?’
‘John Holm. He’s too smooth, too polished. Everything’s too perfect. He hasn’t even bothered to cover up his past as a member of the skinhead movement. Instead he brazens it out, sitting on the studio sofa on morning TV shows, apologizing and lamenting. So none of that stuff is news to the voters. No, I need to dig deeper. He can’t have purged himself of all his sins.’
‘I agree. But his secrets aren’t going to be easy to uncover. Holm has put too much effort into the whitewash.’ Rolf tossed the newspaper aside.
‘At least I’ve got to-’ Kjell was interrupted by the phone ringing. ‘If that’s Beata again…’ He hesitated for a second and grabbed the phone. ‘Yes?’
When he heard who it was, his tone of voice changed at once. He noticed that Rolf was watching him with amusement.
‘Hi, Erica… No, no problem… Sure, of course… What did you say? You’re kidding, right?’
He cast a glance at Rolf and smiled broadly. A couple of minutes later he ended the conversation. He’d made a few hasty notes, and now he tossed down the pen, leaned back, and clasped his hands behind his head.
‘Looks as though things are starting to move.’
‘What is it? Who was that on the phone?’
‘That was Erica Falck. Apparently I’m not the only one interested in John Holm. She complimented me on the article and wondered whether I had any background material she could see.’
‘Why is she interested in him?’ asked Rolf. Then he opened his eyes wide. ‘Is it because he was on Valö? Is Erica writing about the family that disappeared?’
Kjell nodded. ‘Yes, that’s what it sounds like. But that’s not the best part. You won’t believe this.’
‘Come on, Kjell. Don’t keep me in suspense.’
Kjell grinned. He knew that Rolf was going to love what he had to say.
STOCKHOLM 1925
The woman who opened the door was not at all the way Dagmar had pictured her. She was neither beautiful nor seductive, but tired and haggard. She also appeared to be older than Hermann, and everything about her exuded an unexpected ordinariness.
Dagmar gawped at her in silence. Had she come to the wrong place? But it said ‘Göring’ on the doorplate, so she decided this woman must be the couple’s housekeeper. She took a firm grip on Laura’s hand.
‘I’ve come to see Hermann.’
‘Hermann isn’t here.’ The woman looked her up and down.
‘Then I’ll wait until he comes home.’
Laura was trying to hide behind Dagmar, and the woman gave the child a kind smile before she said:
‘I’m Mrs Göring. Is there something I can help you with?’
So this really was the woman that Dagmar hated. The woman who had been in her thoughts ever since she’d read her name in the newspaper. Dagmar regarded Carin Göring with surprise: the sturdy, practical shoes, the well-tailored ankle-length skirt, the blouse that was primly buttoned up to her throat, and her hair pulled back in a bun. Tiny lines were visible around her eyes, and her complexion had a sickly pallor. Suddenly everything fell into place. Of course, this was the woman who had duped her Hermann. An old spinster like her could never get a man like Hermann without some wicked trickery.
‘Well, we have a few things to talk about, you and I.’ Dagmar yanked on Laura’s hand and stepped inside.
Carin moved away, doing nothing to stop her. She merely nodded at the child. ‘Shall I take your coat?’