Erica stopped thinking about dinner and reached for her mother’s diaries. She really ought to sit down and read through all of them at once, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do that. She’d have to do it in small doses. Little glances into her mother’s world. She propped her feet up on the desk and began the laborious task of trying to decipher the old-fashioned, ornate handwriting. So far she’d mostly read about daily life in her mother’s home, the chores she’d helped out with, minor meditations about the future, their worry about Elsy’s father who spent all his time out at sea, even on the weekends. The descriptions of life were filled with the naïveté and innocence of a teenager, and Erica had a hard time associating the girlish voice evident in the text with the mother she remembered. She had seemed so remote, so stern and forbidding; Erica and Anna had never known her to speak a tender word or display any affection for them.
After reading partway down the second page, Erica suddenly sat up straight. A familiar name had appeared. Or rather, two names. Elsy wrote that she’d been over to Erik and Axel’s house while their parents were away. The text was mostly a lyrical description of their father’s library, which had impressed Elsy enormously, but Erica saw only the two names: Erik and Axel. It had to be Erik and Axel Frankel. Eagerly she read through the whole passage about the visit, realizing from the tone that they must have spent a lot of time together, Elsy and Erik, and two other youths named Britta and Frans. Erica searched her memory. No, she’d never heard her mother mention any of them. She was quite sure about that. And Axel was depicted in Elsy’s diary as almost a mythical, heroic figure. Elsy described him as ‘infinitely brave, and nearly as stylish as Errol Flynn’. Had her mother been in love with Axel Frankel? No, that wasn’t the feeling Erica got from reading her words; it was more as if Elsy had harboured a deep admiration for him.
Erica set the diary on her lap as she brooded over what she’d just read. Why hadn’t Erik Frankel mentioned that he’d known her mother when they were young? Erica had told him where she’d found the Nazi medal, and who it had belonged to. Yet he hadn’t said a word. Again Erica recalled the strange silence that had ensued. She was right. There was something that he’d been keeping from her.
The shrill sound of the doorbell interrupted her thoughts. With a sigh she swung her legs down from the desk and pushed back her chair. Who could that be? Her question was immediately answered by someone calling ‘Hello?’ in the hall. Erica sighed again, now with even greater emphasis. Kristina. Her mother-in-law. She took a deep breath, opened the door, and went over to the staircase. ‘Hello?’ she heard again, the tone of voice even more insistent, and Erica felt herself clenching her jaw with annoyance.
‘Hello,’ she said, as cheerfully as she could manage, although she was aware how false it sounded. Thank goodness Kristina was not particularly attuned to nuances.
‘Just popped into say hello!’ replied her mother-in-law happily as she hung up her jacket. ‘I brought along some cookies for coffee. Baked them myself. Thought you’d appreciate it, since you career girls don’t have time for such things.’
Erica was gnashing her teeth. Kristina had an unbelievable talent for issuing veiled criticisms. Was she born that way or was it something she’d perfected through long years of practice?
‘Oh, that sounds nice,’ she said politely as she went into the kitchen where Kristina was already making coffee, as if it were her house and not Erica’s.
‘Sit down. I’ll fix the coffee,’ she said. ‘I know where everything is.’
‘You certainly do,’ said Erica, knowing that Kristina wouldn’t pick up on the sarcasm.
‘Patrik and Maja are out taking a walk. They probably won’t be back for a while,’ she said, hoping that might make her mother-in-law cut her visit short.
‘I know,’ said Kristina as she measured out scoops of coffee. ‘Two, three, four…’ She put the scoop back in the tin and then turned her attention to Erica. ‘They’ll be home any minute. I drove past them on the way over. It’s so nice that Karin has moved back, and that Patrik has some company in the daytime. It’s boring to go out walking all alone, especially for someone like Patrik, who’s used to working and being productive. It looked as though they were enjoying each other’s company.’
Struggling to process this information, Erica stared at Kristina. What was she on about? Karin? Karin who?
The moment Patrik stepped through the door, a light went on in Erica’s head. Oh, that Karin.
Patrik smiled sheepishly, and after a strained pause he said, ‘How nice – coffee.’
They’d gathered in the kitchen for a run-through of the case. It was getting close to lunchtime, and Mellberg’s stomach was growling loudly.
‘Okay then, what do we have so far?’ He reached for one of the buns that Annika had set out on a platter. Just a little appetizer before lunch. ‘Paula and Martin? You talked to the victim’s brother this morning – did you find out anything interesting?’ He chewed on the bun as he talked, dropping crumbs on to the table.
‘That’s right, we picked him up at Landvetter airport,’ said Paula. ‘But he doesn’t seem to know very much. We asked him about the letters from Sweden’s Friends, but the only thing he was able to clarify was that Frans Ringholm was apparently one of Erik’s childhood friends. Axel didn’t know about any specific threats from that organization; it seems that threats were something of an occupational hazard, given the work that he and Erik did.’
‘Axel received threats?’ asked Mellberg, spraying more crumbs across the table.
‘Quite a few, from what he said,’ said Martin. ‘They’re all on file with the organization that he works for.’
‘Had he received any from Sweden’s Friends?’
Paula shook her head. ‘He couldn’t tell us whether he had or not. And I can understand that. He must get so much of that junk in the post, why would he pay any attention to it?’
‘What was your impression of him? I’ve heard that he was something of a hero in his youth.’ Annika gave Martin and Paula an inquisitive look.
‘Stylish, distinguished…’ said Paula, ‘but very subdued, which is only natural in the circumstances. He definitely seemed upset by his brother’s death. Did you have the same impression?’ She turned to Martin, who nodded.
‘Yes, I thought so too.’
‘I assume that you’re going to question him again,’ said Mellberg, looking at Martin. ‘And I understand you’ve been in touch with Pedersen, is that right?’ He cleared his throat. ‘A bit odd that he didn’t want to talk to me.’
Martin coughed. ‘I think you must have been out walking the dog when he called. I’m sure you were at the top of his list.’
‘Hmm, well, you’re probably right. Okay, go on. What did he say?’
Martin summarized Pedersen’s findings. Then he told them: ‘Apparently Pedersen rang Patrik first. Sounds as though he isn’t entirely happy about being a stay-at-home father: he got Pedersen to give him a full report. Considering how easy it was to entice him over to the crime scene, I bet we’ll be seeing him and Maja here at the station very soon.’
Annika laughed. ‘Yes, I talked to him yesterday. He was trying to be diplomatic, saying that it would probably take him some time to get adjusted.’
‘I believe it,’ snorted Mellberg. ‘What a stupid idea: grown men changing nappies and making baby food! My generation didn’t have to put up with that sort of rubbish. We could devote ourselves to things we were better suited for, while the women took care of the kids.’