The Hidden Child (35 page)

Suddenly Mellberg saw that his feet had carried him to Rita’s building while he was lost in thought. Ernst was standing at the door, eagerly wagging his tail. Mellberg glanced at his watch. Eleven o’clock. The perfect time for a little coffee break, if she was at home. He hesitated for a moment, then rang the intercom. No answer.

‘Hello there.’

The voice behind him made Mellberg jump. It was Johanna. She swayed a bit from side to side, holding one hand pressed to the small of her back.

‘Hard to believe it could be so damn hard just to go out for a short walk,’ she said, sounding frustrated as she stretched out her back with a grimace. ‘I’m going nuts just staying at home waiting, but my body doesn’t really want to do the same thing as my mind.’ She sighed, running her hand over her huge stomach. ‘I assume that you’re looking for Rita?’ she said, giving him a coy smile.

‘Er, well, yes . . .’ said Mellberg, suddenly embarrassed. ‘We . . . that is, Ernst and I, are just out for a little walk, and Ernst wanted to come over to see . . . er . . . Señorita, so we . . .’

‘Rita’s not home,’ said Johanna, the smile still on her lips. She apparently found his confusion amusing. ‘She’s visiting a friend of hers this morning. But if you’d like to come upstairs for some coffee . . . I mean, if Ernst would like to come upstairs, Señorita is home.’ She gave him a wink. ‘And you can keep me company. I’m feeling a bit down in the dumps.’

‘Oh, ah, of course,’ said Mellberg and followed her in.

Once inside the flat, Johanna sat down on a kitchen chair to catch her breath.

‘Why don’t you just relax?’ said Mellberg. ‘I saw where Rita keeps everything, so I’ll make the coffee. It’s better if you rest.’

Johanna looked at him in surprise as he began opening cupboards, but she gratefully remained seated.

‘That must be awfully heavy,’ said Mellberg, casting a glance at her stomach as he poured water into the coffee-maker.

‘Heavy is just one word for it. I have to say that being pregnant is highly overrated. First you feel like shit for three or four months and have to stay near the toilet in case you need to throw up. Next there are a couple of months when you feel okay, and occasionally even quite good. But then it’s as if overnight you turn into Barbapapa in the French kids’ books. Or maybe Barbamama.’

‘And after that?’

‘Don’t even go there,’ said Johanna sternly, shaking her finger at him. ‘I haven’t dared think that far ahead. If I start thinking about the fact that there’s only one way out for this kid, I’m really going to panic. And if you tell me “women have been giving birth to children for eons and survived and even wanted to have more, so it can’t be all that bad,” then I may have to punch you.’

Mellberg held up his hands in protest. ‘You’re talking to somebody who has never even been close to a maternity ward.’

He served the coffee and then sat down at the table.

‘It must be nice to eat for two, at any rate,’ he said with a grin as she stuffed the third biscuit in her mouth.

‘That’s one benefit I’m enjoying to the hilt,’ Johanna laughed, reaching for another. ‘Although it looks like you’ve adopted the same philosophy, without having pregnancy as an excuse,’ she teased, pointing at Mellberg’s sizable paunch.

‘I’ll be dancing this off in no time.’ He patted his stomach.

‘I’d like to come over and watch you sometime,’ said Johanna, giving him a friendly smile.

For a moment Mellberg was amazed that someone actually seemed to appreciate his company – he wasn’t used to that. But then he realized to his great surprise that he was enjoying spending time with Rita’s daughter-in-law. After taking a deep breath he dared to ask the question that had been nagging at him ever since their lunch, when all the pieces had fallen into place.

‘What about . . . the father? Who . . .?’ He could hear that this might not be the most articulate moment in his life, but Johanna seemed to have no trouble understanding what he meant. She gave him a sharp look and for several seconds considered how to answer him. Finally her expression softened as she seemed to decide that it was only curiosity that had prompted his question.

‘A clinic. In Denmark. We’ve never met the father. So I didn’t pick up some guy in a pub, if that’s what you were thinking.’

‘Er, no . . . I wasn’t thinking that,’ said Mellberg, but he had to admit to himself that the thought had definitely occurred to him.

He glanced at his watch. He was going to have to leave for the station. It was almost time for lunch, and he didn’t want to miss it. He got up to carry the cups and plate over to the counter. Then he paused for a second. Finally, he took out his wallet from his back pocket, got out a business card, and handed it to Johanna.

‘If you . . . should need any assistance, or . . . Well, I assume that Paula and Rita are on standby for you until . . . but, ah . . . just in case . . .’

Johanna accepted the card with a surprised expression, and then Mellberg dashed for the door. He didn’t really know why he’d given Johanna his card. Maybe it had to do with the fact that he could still remember how it felt when the baby had kicked against his hand when he placed it on her stomach.

‘Ernst, come here,’ he called brusquely, herding the dog ahead of him. Then he closed the door behind them, without saying goodbye.

Martin was staring at the phone lists. They revealed nothing to confirm his gut feeling, nor did they contradict it. Right before Erik Frankel was murdered, someone had phoned the Frankel house from the home of Britta and Herman. Two calls to the number were on the list. And another one from only a couple of days ago, indicating that either Britta or Herman must have called Axel. There was also a phone call to Frans Ringholm’s number.

Martin stared out the window, then shoved back his chair and propped his feet up on his desk. He’d devoted the morning to going through the documents, the photos and all the other material that they’d gathered during the investigation into Erik’s death. He had decided not to give up until he found some connection between the two murders. But so far, there was nothing. Except for this: the phone calls.

Frustrated, Martin tossed the lists on to his desk. It felt as though he’d come to a dead end. And he knew that Mellberg had only given him permission to look into the circumstances surrounding Britta’s death in order to shut him up. Like everyone else, Mellberg seemed convinced that the husband was guilty. But they hadn’t yet been able to interview Herman. According to the doctors, he was still in a state of deep shock, and he’d been admitted to the hospital. So they would have to wait until the doctors thought he was strong enough to tolerate an interrogation.

The whole thing was such a mess, and Martin had no idea what direction to take. He stared at the case file containing the investigation documents, as if beseeching them to speak, and then he had an idea.

Of course. Why hadn’t he thought of it before?

Twenty-five minutes later, he drove up to Patrik and Erica’s house. He’d phoned ahead to tell Patrik he was coming and to make sure his colleague was at home. Patrik opened the door after the first ring, holding Maja in his arms. She immediately began waving her hands when she saw who was standing on the doorstep.

‘Hi, sweetie,’ said Martin, waving back. She replied by stretching out her arms to him, and since she refused to let go of him, he soon found himself sitting on the sofa with Maja on his lap. Patrik sat in the armchair, leaning over the papers and photographs and pensively stroking his chin.

‘Where’s Erica?’ asked Martin, looking around.

‘Hmm?’ said Patrik absentmindedly. ‘Oh, she left for the library a couple of hours ago. More research for her new book.’

‘I see,’ said Martin. Then he went back to entertaining Maja so that Patrik could read through everything undisturbed.

‘So you think Erica is right?’ he asked at last, looking up. ‘You agree that there may be a connection between the two murders?’

Martin paused for a moment before nodding. ‘Yes, I do. I don’t yet have any concrete proof, but if you’re asking me what I think, I have to say that I’m practically convinced there’s a connection.’

Patrik nodded. ‘Well, it’s undeniably a strange coincidence.’ He stretched out his legs. ‘Have you asked Axel Frankel and Frans Ringholm about the phone calls they received from Britta and Herman’s house?’

‘No, not yet.’ Martin shook his head. ‘I wanted to talk to you first, make sure I wasn’t crazy because I’m looking for some other solution when we actually have a suspect who has confessed.’

‘Her husband, right . . .’ said Patrik. ‘The question is: why would he say that he killed her if he didn’t do it?’

‘I have no idea. Maybe to protect somebody else?’ Martin shrugged.

‘Hmm . . .’ Patrik continued leafing through the documents on the coffee table.

‘What about the investigation of Erik’s murder? Are you making any progress?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it progress,’ said Martin, sounding discouraged as he bounced Maja on his knee. ‘Paula is working on finding out more about Sweden’s Friends, and we’ve talked to all the neighbours, but no one remembers seeing anything out of the ordinary. The Frankel house is in such a secluded location that we didn’t really have much hope that anyone would have noticed anything, and unfortunately that seems to be the case. Otherwise, that’s all we have.’ He pointed to the documents spread out like a fan on the table in front of Patrik.

‘What about Erik’s finances?’ He shuffled through the papers, pulling out some from the very bottom. ‘Anything seem odd?’

‘No, not really. Mostly just the usual bill payments, some small withdrawals, that sort of thing.’

‘No large sums moved in or out?’ Patrik studied the columns of figures.

‘No. The only thing that caught our eye was a monthly transfer that Erik made. The bank says that he’d been making the transfer payments regularly for almost fifty years.’

Patrik gave a start and stared at Martin. ‘Fifty years? Did he transfer the money to a person or a company?’

‘A private individual in Göteborg, apparently. The name is on one of the pieces of paper in the folder,’ said Martin. ‘We’re not talking large sums of money. Of course, the amounts increased over the years, but the most recent payments were around two thousand kronor, and that doesn’t sound like anything major. I mean, it couldn’t be blackmail or anything like that, because who would keep making payments for fifty years?’

Martin could hear how lame that sounded, and he felt like slapping his hand to his forehead. He should have checked up on those transfers. Well, better late than never. ‘I can call him today and find out what it was about,’ he said, moving Maja on to his other knee.

Patrik was silent for a moment. Then he said, ‘You know what? I need to get out of the house and take a drive.’ He opened the case file and took out the piece of paper. ‘Wilhelm Fridén. Apparently he’s the one who received the money. I can go over there tomorrow and talk with him in person. This address –’ he waved the piece of paper – ‘is it current?’

‘Yes, that’s the address I got from the bank. So it should be up to date,’ said Martin.

‘Good. I’ll go over there tomorrow. It may be a sensitive matter, so I think that would be better than phoning.’

‘Okay. If you’re willing to do that, I’d be really grateful,’ said Martin. ‘What about . . .?’ He pointed at Maja.

‘I can take her with me,’ said Patrik, giving his daughter a big smile. ‘Then we can drop by and see Aunt Lotta and the cousins too, all right, sweetheart? It’ll be fun to see your cousins.’

Maja gurgled in agreement and clapped her hands.

‘Could I keep this for a few days?’ asked Patrik, pointing at the folder. Martin paused to think about it. He had copies of most of the documents, so it shouldn’t be a problem.

‘Okay, keep it. And let me know if you discover anything else that you think we should look into. While you’re checking on things in Göteborg, I’ll have a talk with Frans and Axel to find out why Britta or Herman phoned them.’

‘Let’s not ask Axel about the payments for the time being. Not until I have a little more information.’

‘Of course.’

‘Don’t be discouraged,’ said Patrik as he and Maja walked Martin to the door to say goodbye. ‘You know from experience how it goes. Sooner or later a little piece will slide into place and end up solving the whole puzzle.’

‘Sure, I know that,’ said Martin, but he didn’t sound convinced. ‘I just think that it’s a hell of a time for you to be on leave right now. We could have used your help.’ He smiled to take away the sting of his words.

‘Believe me, you’ll be in the same boat someday. And when you’re washing nappies, I’ll be back at the station, working my head off.’ Patrik winked at Martin before closing the door behind him.

‘So, we’re off to Göteborg tomorrow, you and I,’ he said to Maja, dancing around with his daughter in his arms.

‘We just have to sell the idea to your mother first.’

Maja nodded her agreement.

Paula felt exhausted. Exhausted and disgusted. She’d been surfing the Internet for hours, looking for information about Swedish neo-Nazi organizations, and Sweden’s Friends in particular. It still seemed likely that they’d had something to do with Erik Frankel’s death, but the problem was that the police had nothing concrete to go on. They hadn’t found any threatening letters. All they had were the hints in the letters from Frans Ringholm, saying that Sweden’s Friends didn’t appreciate Erik’s activities and that Frans could no longer shield him from these forces. Nor was there any technical evidence linking any of them to the crime scene. All the board members had voluntarily, albeit without disguising their contempt, provided their fingerprints, with the kind assistance of the police in Uddevalla. But the National Crime Lab had concluded there were no matches with any of the fingerprints found in the Frankel library. The matter of alibis hadn’t given them any leads either. None of the board members could offer an airtight alibi, but most had one that wouldn’t be worth challenging unless the police found evidence that pointed in their direction. Several of them had confirmed that Frans had been visiting a sister organization in Denmark during the relevant days, and that gave him an alibi too. Another problem was that the organization was so big, much bigger than Paula had imagined, and they couldn’t very well check up on the alibis and take fingerprints of everyone associated with Sweden’s Friends. That was why they had decided, for the time being, to focus their attention on the board members. But so far without results.