‘Who?’ Lasse said.
‘Samson and Goldmann.’
‘So they got rid of the kid so they could make a fresh start? Is that what you’re saying?’
Was it that simple? Alex hesitated. ‘Something along those lines.’
‘But why take Simon Eisenberg as well? And what about Polly?’
Alex had no answer to that, but his brain had gone into overdrive. If he could just gather together all the scraps of information and odd circumstances that had rained – or snowed – down on them over the past few days, a clear picture would emerge. Because the Eisenbergs and the Goldmanns had a history that they were keeping from the police. A reason why they no longer spent time together, in spite of the fact that the men had been in close proximity for decades.
Alex had no idea how deep the conflict was, but he sincerely hoped that Fredrika would have found out something about their background in Israel. Because by now Alex was certain they were close to a resolution of the case.
Very close.
If they could just work out why Simon and Polly Eisenberg had to die as well.
ISRAEL
The rain had stopped, but the cloud cover remained. They were walking through the kibbutz as Gali and David Eisenberg took Fredrika on a guided tour of Gideon and Saul’s youth.
‘Gideon was always so cautious,’ his mother said. ‘Anxious and nervous. He was an easy target for Saul’s vivid imagination.’
David Eisenberg shook his head.
‘If I’d realised Saul was the one filling his head with rubbish I would have done something about it earlier.’
‘This is where the Goldmanns lived,’ Gali said, pointing to a house only fifty metres from their own.
The kibbutz was idyllic, with its lush greenery. A little community cut off from the rest of the world. Fredrika couldn’t work out how they supported themselves; fruit cultivation might have carried the economy in years gone by, but these days they must have another income stream.
So this was where Saul and Gideon had spent their childhood, crawling among the plants and shrubs, running from one house to the other.
‘Does Saul have any brothers or sisters?’ Fredrika asked.
‘No,’ Gali said. ‘And that was a great source of sorrow, above all to his mother.’
Fredrika could understand that. She was very glad she had two children, even though her son had been unplanned. But no less welcome for that.
‘The Paper Boy,’ she said. ‘Where does the story come from?’
She could see by the look on Gali and David’s faces that this was a sensitive subject. Gali slipped her hand into her husband’s.
‘It was Avital, Saul’s father, who told me the story first,’ David explained. ‘When we were children. We didn’t live here then, we lived in a village in the south of Israel. The story grew and became a legend, and after a few years its origins were forgotten. And eventually Saul told Gideon the tale. When we heard about it, we thought it was a very practical idea, to be honest. You’re familiar with the history of Israel – full of conflicts and difficulties, in spite of the fact that the state has existed only since 1948.’
‘You mean it was useful if the boys stayed indoors after dark?’ Fredrika said.
‘Not necessarily indoors, but we didn’t want them going off on night-time excursions outside the kibbutz with the older kids,’ David said. ‘Teenagers can be incredibly irresponsible. Once two of them hitched from the kibbutz to Netanya. It could have ended very badly, because it turned out that the guy who picked them up was a wanted criminal.’
‘We were keen to make sure that our boys stuck to the rules when it came to late evenings and nights, so we didn’t dispute the story of the Paper Boy, who came and took children while they were sleeping,’ Gali said. ‘It sounds stupid now, but as we said, at the time it was practical.’
‘The myth spread to the neighbouring kibbutz,’ David went on.
That was where Daphne Goldmann had grown up. Unlike Carmen Eisenberg, she had heard about the Paper Boy when she was a child.
‘But then something dreadful happened,’ Gali said, an anguished expression on her face.
‘Children actually began to disappear,’ she said in a voice that was no more than a whisper. ‘One from our community first of all, then one from the neighbouring kibbutz.’
Fredrika shuddered, pulling her jacket closer around her body.
‘Were they found?’
‘Yes,’ David said. ‘Each of them was missing for only a few days, then they were found naked by the roadside, with severe lacerations. It looked as if someone had simply pulled up in a car, thrown them out and driven off.’
Children disappearing. One at a time. Found naked by the roadside.
Fredrika ran her fingers through her hair; she was finding it difficult to breathe.
‘Do you know what had happened to them?’
Gali couldn’t speak. She was weeping silently, her head resting on David’s shoulder.
‘It looked as if an animal had tried to rip them to pieces,’ David said, his voice breaking. ‘I was there when the first child was found. Someone had attacked him with a knife – not deep stab wounds, but scratches and slashes. It almost had a ritualistic feel. But the actual cause of death was a bullet in the chest, fired from a distance. It was eventually established that the children had run for their lives before they died. The murderer first caught his prey, abused it, then let it go in order to hunt it down and kill it.’
Fredrika’s head was spinning.
The only thing she could think about was the children who had been shot on Lovön; who had been chased barefoot in the snow in freezing temperatures.
‘The police and the press called the killer the Hunter, but the children on the kibbutzim believed it was the Paper Boy who had taken them.’
The Hunter and the Paper Boy. Fredrika blinked up at the sun, which had broken through the cloud cover for a little while. She chose her words with care.
‘When the children were found, were they marked in any way? Apart from their injuries, I mean.’
Gali straightened up and wiped her eyes.
‘Both children had a paper bag over their head, with a face on it,’ David said. ‘The police kept that detail to themselves at first, but the rumour spread in no time because so many of us had been involved in the search. Needless to say, that fuelled the children’s fear of the Paper Boy.’
The strain was clear in every line of his face.
‘Did they catch the killer?’ Fredrika asked, thinking back to a case she had worked on a few years ago. The murderer had used a grave site in Midsommarkransen, returning to it over a period of many years. God forbid the same thing was happening again: a killer who had moved from Israel to Sweden. Please let it not be true.
‘They did,’ David said.
She let out a long breath. Thank goodness.
‘He made a mistake,’ Gali said. ‘Another child went missing, a boy. He managed to get away, and was able to tell the police what had happened to him, and who had taken him.’
‘He came staggering in through the gate,’ David said. ‘The guard took care of him and made sure the police were called right away.’
‘He was from this kibbutz?’ Fredrika asked.
A shadow passed across David’s face. His eyes filled with tears, and he could barely speak.
‘Yes. And he was never the same again. He said he was fine, but we could see the change. But at least they caught the person responsible, which was a blessing in the midst of all the sorrow.’
He fell silent, watching a bird as it flitted from tree to tree.
Gali didn’t say anything either; she waved to a neighbour passing by.
They had more to tell, Fredrika could feel it. A lot more. She waited until the neighbour was out of earshot.
‘So what happened to the murderer? I assume he got a long prison sentence.’
Gali looked as if she was about to start crying again.