Buried Angels

Frightened, Dagmar sat up in bed, trying to hide behind the blankets.

‘The police?’ Her father came into the kitchen, fumbling to button up his trousers. His sunken chest was sparsely covered with grey hair. ‘If you’ll just let me put on a shirt, I’m sure I can straighten everything out. There must be some misunderstanding. This is the home of respectable people.’

‘Does Helga Svensson live here?’ asked the policeman. Two more officers were waiting behind him. They had to stand close together because the kitchen was cramped and filled with beds. At the moment they had five young children living in the house.

‘My name is Albert Svensson and Helga is my wife,’ said Pappa. By now he had put on his shirt and was standing there with his arms folded.

‘Where is your wife?’ There was a note of urgency in the policeman’s voice.

Dagmar saw the worried furrow that had appeared on her father’s brow. He was so easily upset, her mother always said. Delicate nerves.

‘Mamma is in the yard out back. With the children,’ said Dagmar. Only now did the policemen notice her.

‘Thank you,’ said the officer who had done all the talking. He turned on his heel and left the room.

Her father followed close behind. ‘You can’t come storming into the home of decent people, scaring the life out of us. You have to tell us what this is all about.’

Dagmar threw off the bedclothes, set her feet on the cold kitchen floor and dashed after them, wearing only her nightgown. She came to an abrupt stop behind the men. Two of the officers were gripping her mother by the arms. She was struggling to get free, and the men were straining with the effort to hold on to her. The children were shrieking, and the laundry that her mother had been hanging on the line had fallen off in all the commotion.

‘Mamma!’ cried Dagmar, running towards her.

Then she threw herself at the legs of one of the policemen and bit him in the thigh. He screamed and let go of Helga, turning around to punch Dagmar so hard that the child fell to the ground. In surprise, she sat there on the grass, her hand pressed to her stinging cheek. In the eight years of her life, no one had ever hit her. She’d seen her mother give the children a swat now and then, but she had never raised a hand to Dagmar. And for that reason her father had never dared strike her either.

‘What are you doing! Did you hit my daughter?’ Helga kicked out at the men in fury.

‘That’s nothing compared to what you’ve done.’ The policeman again gripped Helga’s arm. ‘You are accused of killing a child, and we have the right to search your house. And believe me, we plan to make a thorough job of it.’

Dagmar watched as her mother seemed to collapse. Her cheek still felt as if it was on fire, and her heart was racing in her chest. All around her the children were screaming as though it was Judgement Day. And perhaps it was. Because even though Dagmar didn’t understand what was happening, the expression on her mother’s face told her that their world had just been torn apart.

Chapter Two (#ulink_e0e3bd5b-4966-5e59-84f3-b5ea26133a91)

‘Patrik, can you head out to Valö? A report’s come in of a fire out there, and they think it might be arson.’

‘What? Sorry, but what did you say?’

Patrik was already getting out of bed, clasping the phone between ear and shoulder as he pulled on his jeans. Still bleary with sleep, he glanced at the clock. Seven fifteen. For a second he wondered what Annika was doing at the station so early in the day.

‘There’s been a fire on Valö,’ Annika repeated patiently. ‘The fire brigade was called out early this morning, and they suspect it might be arson.’

‘Where on Valö?’

Erica turned over in bed. ‘What is it?’ she murmured.

‘Police business. I have to go out to Valö,’ he whispered. For once the twins were sleeping past six thirty, so he didn’t want to wake them.

‘It’s out at the summer camp,’ said Annika on the phone.

‘Okay. I’ll take the boat and head out there. I’ll ring Martin. He’s on duty today too, isn’t he?’

‘That’s right. I’ll see you both back at the station later on.’

Patrik ended the call and put on a T-shirt.

‘What’s happened?’ asked Erica, sitting up in bed.

‘The fire brigade thinks someone has set a fire over at the old summer camp.’

‘The summer camp? Someone’s trying to burn it down?’ Erica swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

‘I promise to tell you all about it later,’ said Patrik with a smile. ‘I know it’s one of your pet projects.’

‘What a strange coincidence that someone would try to burn down the place now, just when Ebba has come back to live there.’

Patrik shook his head. He knew from experience that his wife liked to get herself mixed up in things that were not her concern. She was always jumping to outlandish conclusions. It was true that occasionally she turned out to be right – that much he had to admit – but sometimes she also made a real mess of things.

‘Annika said they suspect arson. That’s all we know at this stage, and it might not be arson at all.’

‘But still,’ said Erica. ‘It’s odd that it should happen now. Can I come with you? I was planning to go out there anyway to have a little talk with Ebba.’

‘And who’s going to take care of the kids? Have you thought about that? I think Maja’s still too young to heat up the formula for the boys.’

He kissed Erica on the cheek and then raced downstairs. Behind him he heard the twins start to cry, right on cue.

Patrik and Martin exchanged only a few words on their way out to Valö. The suggestion that this could be arson was both unsettling and hard to believe. As they approached the island and surveyed the idyllic setting, it seemed more unlikely than ever.

‘It’s so beautiful out here,’ said Martin, lost in admiration as they walked up the path from the dock where Patrik had tied up the boat.

‘You’ve been out here before, haven’t you?’ said Patrik without turning around. ‘At least that one Christmas.’

Martin muttered something in reply. He didn’t want to be reminded of that fateful Christmas when he had been drawn into a family drama on the island.

A large expanse of lawn stretched out before them. They stopped to look around.

‘I have some wonderful memories of this place,’ said Patrik. ‘We used to come here on school outings a few times a year, and in the summertime when I was at sailing camp. I’ve kicked a lot of balls across that lawn. And played a lot of games of rounders.’

‘I know. Who hasn’t been to camp out here? Strange how it’s always been called the summer camp.’

Patrik shrugged and started up the path towards the house. ‘I suppose the name stuck. It was only a boarding school for a short time, and nobody wanted to name the place after old man von Schlesinger who lived here before.’

‘Oh, right. I’ve heard about that lunatic,’ said Martin, cursing as a branch slapped him in the face. ‘Who owns the place now?’

‘I assume the couple who live here own it. After what happened in 1974, it’s been administered by the local council, at least as far as I know. Too bad that the house has been allowed to fall into such disrepair, but it looks like they’re starting to fix it up.’

Martin peered up at the scaffolding that covered the entire front of the building. ‘They seem to be putting a lot of work into it. I hope the fire didn’t cause too much damage.’

They made their way to the stone stairway that led up to the front door. The Fjällbacka Volunteer Fire Brigade were gathering up their equipment, going about their work in a calm, methodical manner. They must be sweating buckets in those heavy uniforms, thought Patrik. The heat was already oppressive, in spite of the early hour.

‘Hi!’ Östen Ronander, chief of the fire brigade, came over and nodded a greeting. His hands were black with soot.