was impossible to hide. It was impossible to flee. They had foolishly believed that it was enough to live a good life, to be good people. To love their children and raise them so they would be capable of giving love, in turn. And finally, they had convinced themselves that the good they’d created had overshadowed the bad.
He had killed Britta. Why couldn’t they understand that? He knew that they would talk to him, ask him about things, question him. Why couldn’t they just accept the situation?
He had killed Britta. And now he had nothing left.
‘Do you have any idea who this person is? Or why Erik paid him money for all those years?’ asked Erica as they were approaching Goteborg. Maja had behaved beautifully, sitting on the back seat, and since they’d left home just before eight thirty, it was only ten o’clock by the time they drove into the city.
‘No, the only information we have is what you’ve already seen.’ Patrik nodded at the document in the plastic sleeve that Erica was holding on her lap.
‘Wilhelm Friden, Vasagatan 38, Goteborg. Born third of October 1924,’ Erica read aloud.
‘That’s all we know. I talked briefly to Martin last night, and he hadn’t found any connections to Fjallbacka, and no criminal record. Nothing. So it’s really a shot in the dark. Speaking of which, what time is your appointment to see that guy about the medal?’
‘At noon, in his antique shop,’ said Erica, touching the pocket in which she had put the medal for safekeeping, wrapped in a soft piece of cloth.
‘Do you and Maja want to stay in the car while I talk to Wilhelm Friden, or would you rather take a walk?’ asked Patrik as he pulled into a parking place on Vasagatan.
‘What do you mean?’ said Erica, sounding insulted. ‘I want to go with you, of course.’
‘But you can’t. What about Maja?’ Patrik replied awkwardly, even though he could already tell how this conversation was going to go. And how it would end.
‘If you can take her along to crime scenes and the police station, then she can come with us to talk to a man who is over eighty years old,’ she said, her tone of voice making it clear that there was no room for discussion.
‘Okay,’ said Patrik with a sigh. He knew when he was beaten.
The flat was on the third floor of a turn-of-the-century apartment building. The doorbell was answered by a man in his sixties. He gave them an enquiring look as he opened the door. ‘Yes? Can I help you?’
Patrik held out his police ID. ‘My name is Patrik Hedstrom, and I’m from the Tanumshede police. I have a few questions regarding a man named Wilhelm Friden.’
‘Who is it?’ They heard a faint female voice from inside the flat. The man turned around and shouted, ‘It’s the police. They want to ask some questions about Pappa!’
He turned back to Patrik. ‘I can’t imagine why on earth the police would be interested in Pappa, but come on in.’ He stepped aside to let them in and then raised his eyebrows in surprise when he saw Maja in Erica’s arms.
‘The police are starting them young these days,’ he remarked with amusement.
Patrik smiled, embarrassed. ‘This is my wife, Erica Falck, and our daughter Maja. They… er… my wife has a personal interest in the case that we’re investigating, and…’ He stopped. There didn’t seem to be any good way to explain why a police officer would drag along his wife and child to an interview.
‘I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself. I’m Goran Friden, and it’s my father that you’re asking about.’
Patrik studied him with curiosity. He was of medium height with grey, slightly curly hair and friendly blue eyes.
‘Is your father at home?’ asked Patrik as they followed Goran Friden down a long hall.
‘I’m afraid you’re too late if you want to ask my father any questions. He died two weeks ago.’
‘Oh,’ said Patrik, surprised. That wasn’t the answer he’d expected. He had been convinced that the man, in spite of his age, was still alive, since his name wasn’t on the list of deceased in the public registry. But that was no doubt because he’d died so recently. It was common knowledge that it took time before information was entered into the registry. He felt extremely disappointed. Had this lead, which his intuition told him was important, already gone cold?
‘But you could talk to my mother, if you like,’ said Goran, motioning them towards the living room. ‘I don’t know what this is about, but after you’ve told us, maybe she’ll be able to help.’
A small, frail woman with snow-white hair got up from the sofa and came across to shake hands.
‘Marta Friden.’ She studied them quizzically and then broke into a big smile when she saw Maja. ‘Hi, there! Oh, what an adorable little girl! What’s her name?’
‘Maja,’ said Erica proudly, taking an instant liking to Marta Friden.
‘Hi, Maja,’ said Marta, patting her cheek. Maja beamed happily at all the attention, but then started kicking to get down when she caught sight of an old doll sitting on the sofa.
‘No, Maja,’ said Erica sternly, trying to restrain her daughter.
‘It’s all right. Let her take a look at it,’ said Marta, with a wave of her hand. ‘There’s nothing here that she shouldn’t touch. Since Wilhelm passed away, I’ve realized that we can’t take anything with us when we die.’ Her eyes took on a sorrowful expression, and her son stepped close to put his arm around her.
‘Sit down, Mamma. I’ll make our guests some coffee while you have a talk with them in peace and quiet.’
Marta watched him as he left the room, heading for the kitchen. ‘He’s a good boy,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to be a burden to him; children should be allowed to live their own lives. But sometimes he’s too nice for his own good. Wilhelm was so proud of him.’ She seemed to get lost in her memories for a moment, but then turned to Patrik.
‘So, why would the police want to talk to my Wilhelm?’
Patrik cleared his throat. He felt that he was treading on thin ice. Maybe he was about to bring a lot of things into the light which this sweet old lady would rather not know about. But he had no choice. Hesitantly he said:
‘Well, the thing is, we’re investigating a murder up north in Fjallbacka. I’m from the Tanumshede police station, you see, and Fjallbacka belongs to the Tanum police district.’
‘Oh, good heavens. A murder?’ said Marta, frowning.
‘Yes, a man by the name of Erik Frankel was killed,’ said Patrik, pausing to see whether the name would prompt any reaction. But from what he could tell, Marta didn’t seem to recognize it.
‘Erik Frankel? That doesn’t sound familiar. What led you to Wilhelm?’ She leaned forward, looking interested.
‘Ah, er… you see,’ Patrik hesitated. ‘The thing is, for almost fifty years this Erik Frankel has been making monthly payments to Wilhelm Friden. Your husband. And of course we’re wondering why he did that, and what sort of connection there was between the two men.’
‘Wilhelm got money from… from a man in Fjallbacka by the name of Erik Frankel?’ Marta looked genuinely surprised. At that moment Goran came back, carrying a tray with coffee cups. ‘So what’s this all about?’ he asked, giving them an enquiring look.
His mother was the one who replied. ‘These officers say that a man by the name of Erik Frankel, who was found murdered, was paying your father money every month for the past fifty years.’
‘What’s this?’ exclaimed Goran as he sat down on the sofa next to his mother. ‘To Pappa? Why?’
‘Well, that’s what we’d like to find out,’ said Patrik. ‘We were hoping that Wilhelm could answer the question himself.’
‘Dolly,’ said Maja with delight as she held out the old doll towards Marta.
‘Yes, it’s a doll,’ said Marta, smiling. ‘It was mine when I was little.’
Maja gave the doll a tender hug. Marta could hardly take her eyes off the girl.
‘What an enchanting child,’ she said, and Erica nodded enthusiastically.
‘What kind of sums are we talking about?’ asked Goran, staring at Patrik.
‘Not large sums of money. Two thousand kronor a month during the past few years. But it had gradually increased over time, apparently keeping pace with inflation. So even though the amount changed, the actual value seems to have remained constant.’
‘Why didn’t Pappa ever tell us about this?’ Goran asked his mother. She shook her head.
