understood why they had agreed to meet. It would serve no purpose. Nor would it change anything. Yet they had both felt a need to see each other. It was like a mosquito bite that needed to be scratched. And even though they knew that, just as in the case of a mosquito bite, it would only make matters worse, they had given into temptation.
‘I suppose the whole point is that no one knows ahead of time,’ said Frans, gazing out at the water. ‘If a person had a crystal ball that revealed everything he would experience during his lifetime, he would probably never even get out of bed. People should take life in small doses. Encounter sorrows and problems in portions that are small enough to swallow.’
‘Sometimes life has a way of serving up pieces that are too big to swallow,’ said Axel, kicking away yet another stone.
‘Perhaps that’s true of others, but not you or me,’ said Frans, turning to look at Axel. ‘We may seem very different in other people’s eyes, but you and I are alike. You know that. We never retreat. No matter how big a portion is handed to us.’
Axel merely nodded. Then he looked at Frans again. ‘Do you have any regrets?’
Frans pondered the question for a long time. Then he said, ‘What is there to regret? What’s done is done. We all make our choices. You’ve made yours. And I’ve made mine. Do I have any regrets? No. What purpose would that serve?’
Axel shrugged. ‘I suppose regret is an expression of humanity. Without regret… what would we be then?’
‘But the question is, does regret change anything? And the same is true of the work that you’ve been doing – revenge. You’ve devoted your whole life to hunting criminals, and your only goal has been revenge. There is no other goal. Has it changed anything? Six million people still died in the concentration camps. How is that changed by your tracking down some woman who was a prison guard during the war, but who has since spent her life as a housewife in the United States? If you drag her before a tribunal and put her on trial for the crimes that she committed more than sixty years ago, what will that change?’
Axel swallowed. Mostly he believed in the meaning of the work he did. But Frans had hit a sensitive spot. He was asking the question that Axel had asked himself more than once in weak moments.
‘It brings peace to the families of the victims. And it’s a signal that we won’t condone those acts as acceptable human behaviour.’
‘Bullshit,’ said Frans, stuffing his hands in his pockets. ‘Do you really think it will scare anyone off, or send any sort of signal when the present is so much stronger than the past? It’s human nature for people not to see the consequences of their actions, not to learn from history. And peace? If someone hasn’t found peace after sixty years, he never will. It’s every individual’s responsibility to find his own peace – you can’t expect any sort of retribution, or believe that it will be delivered some day.’
‘Those are cynical words,’ said Axel. The wind was getting colder, and he was shivering.
‘I just want you to realize that, behind all the noble deeds you think you’ve devoted your life to, there is a highly primitive and fundamental human emotion: the desire for revenge. I don’t believe in revenge. I believe that the only thing we should focus on is doing what we can to change the present.’
‘And that’s what you think you’re doing?’ said Axel, his voice tense.
‘We stand on opposite sides of the barricades, you and I, Axel,’ replied Frans drily. ‘But yes, that’s what I think I’m doing. I’m changing something. I’m not seeking revenge. I have no regrets. I am looking forward, and acting according to my beliefs. That’s completely different from what you’re doing. But we’re never going to agree. Our paths diverged sixty years ago, never to meet again.’
‘How did things turn out this way?’ asked Axel quietly, swallowing hard.
‘That’s just what I’m saying: it doesn’t matter how. This is the way it is. And the only thing we can try to do is to change, to survive. Not look back. Not wallow in regrets or speculations about how things might have been.’ Frans stopped and forced Axel to look at him. ‘You can’t look back. What’s done is done. The past is the past. There is no such thing as regret.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong, Frans,’ said Axel, bowing his head. ‘That’s where you’re very wrong.’
It was with the greatest reluctance that Herman’s doctor had agreed to let them speak with his patient for a few minutes. Only when Martin and Paula had agreed that two of Herman’s daughters could sit in on the interview had the doctor relented.
‘Hello, Herman,’ said Martin, speaking gently and holding out his hand to the man lying in the bed. Herman shook his hand, but his grip was weak. ‘We met at your house, but I’m not sure you’ll remember. This is my colleague, Paula Morales. We’d like to ask you a few questions, if we may.’ He took a seat next to Paula, beside the bed.
‘All right,’ said Herman, who now seemed a bit more aware of his surroundings. His daughters were seated on the other side of the bed, and Margareta was holding her father’s hand.
‘Please accept our sincere condolences,’ said Martin. ‘I understand that you and Britta were married a long time, is that right?’
‘Fifty-five years,’ said Herman, and for the first time since their arrival, they saw a glint of life in his eyes. ‘We were married for fifty-five years, my Britta and I.’
‘Could you tell us what happened? When she died?’ said Paula, trying for the same gentle tone as Martin.
Margareta and Anna-Greta stared at them nervously and were just about to protest when Herman waved his hand dismissively.
Martin, who had already noted that there were no scratches on Herman’s face, was doing his best to peek under the sleeves of his hospital gown in search of tell-tale scratch marks. He couldn’t see anything, but decided to wait to confirm this observation until after they had finished the interview.
‘I went over to Margareta’s house to have coffee,’ said Herman. ‘They’re so sweet to me, my girls. Especially since Britta has been sick.’ Herman smiled at his daughters. ‘We had a lot to talk about. I… had decided that it would be better for Britta if she lived someplace where someone could look after her more.’ He was having a hard time speaking.
Margareta patted his hand. ‘It was the only thing you could do, Pappa. There was no alternative. You know that.’
Herman, seeming not to hear her, went on: ‘I was worried because I’d been gone so long. Almost two hours. I’m never usually gone for more than an hour, while she’s taking her afternoon nap, so she doesn’t know I’m not there. I’m so afraid…
‘Is this really necessary?’ she pleaded, looking at Martin and Paula. ‘Pappa is still in a state of shock, and -’
‘It’s all right, Margareta,’ said Herman. ‘It’s all right.’
‘Okay, but only a few more minutes, Pappa. Then I’m going to physically throw them out if I have to, because you need to rest.’
‘She’s always been the feisty one,’ said Herman, a wan smile appearing on his face. ‘A real shrew.’
‘Hush, now. You needn’t be so impudent,’ said Margareta, but she seemed happy that he had the energy to tease her.
‘So what you’re saying is that she was already dead when you went into the room?’ asked Paula, surprised. ‘So why did you say that you killed her?’
‘Because I did kill her,’ replied Herman, a closed expression on his face again. ‘But I never said that I murdered her. Although I could have done that too.’ He looked down at his hands, unable to meet the eyes of the police officers or his daughters.
‘Pappa, what do you mean?’ Anna-Greta looked bewildered, but Herman refused to answer.
‘Do you know who murdered her?’ asked Martin, instinctively grasping that Herman was not going to explain why he had so stubbornly insisted that he had killed his wife.
‘You heard what my father said,’ Margareta told Martin as she stood up. ‘He’s said all he’s going to say. The
