‘Have a seat and I’ll do a search,’ he said.

She sat down, mentally crossing her fingers, but her hopes faded when she saw no reaction on Christian’s face as he examined the results of his search.

‘I’m afraid I can’t find anything,’ he said at last, shaking his head apologetically. ‘Nothing in our archives or databases, at any rate. But you could do a search on the Internet. I suspect, though, that these are rather common names in Germany.’

‘Okay,’ said Erica, disappointed. ‘So there’s no connection between the names and the local area?’

‘Afraid not.’

Erica sighed. ‘Oh, well. I suppose that would have been too easy.’ Then her face lit up. ‘Could you check if there’s anything in the archives about a person who was mentioned in the articles that you found for me last time I was here? We didn’t do a search for him in particular, just for my mother and some of her friends. It’s a Norwegian resistance fighter named Hans Olavsen, and he was here in Fjällbacka…’

‘Around the end of the war. Yes, I know,’ said Christian laconically.

‘You know about him?’ said Erica, her eagerness somewhat deflated.

‘No, but this is the second time someone has asked me about him in the past few days. Seems to be a popular guy.’

‘Who else was looking for information about him?’ asked Erica, holding her breath.

‘I’ll have to check,’ replied Christian, rolling his desk chair over to a small file box. ‘He left his business card in case I found out anything more about the boy. If I did, I was supposed to give him a call.’ He hummed softly as he looked through the box, at last finding what he was looking for.

‘Aha. Here it is. It says Kjell Ringholm.’

‘Thanks, Christian,’ said Erica, smiling. ‘Now I know who I have to have a little chat with.’

‘Sounds serious,’ Christian chuckled, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

‘Not really. It’s just that I’m curious why he would be interested in Hans Olavsen.’ Erica was thinking aloud. ‘So did you find anything out about him when Kjell Ringholm was here?’

‘Just the same materials that I gave you last time. I’m afraid there’s nothing more.’

‘All right. Rather lean pickings today,’ said Erica with a sigh. ‘Do you mind if I write down the number from his business card?’

‘Be my guest,’ said Christian, handing her the card.

‘Thanks,’ she said, giving him a wink. He winked back, though he still looked tired.

‘So,’ she said, ‘are you continuing to make progress on your book? Are you sure I can’t help you with anything? The Mermaid – that’s the title, right?’

‘Oh, sure, it’s going fine,’ he said, although the enthusiasm in his voice didn’t sound genuine. ‘And yes, it’s going to be called The Mermaid. But if you’ll excuse me now, there’s something I’ve got to do.’ He turned his back to her and began typing on the computer keyboard.

Erica was disconcerted at Christian’s attitude. She’d never known him to behave like that before. Oh well, she rallied herself as she walked out of the library, there were other things she had to attend to. And top of the list was a conversation with Kjell Ringholm.

They had agreed to meet out at Veddö. There was little risk that anyone would see them there at this time of year, and if someone did happen to notice them, they would merely take them for two old men having a walk.

‘Just imagine if a person was able to see what lay ahead,’ said Axel as he kicked a stone that rolled away across the beach. In the summertime swimmers shared the beach with a herd of cows here, and it was just as common to find a long-haired cow cooling off in the water as children going in for a swim. But right now the beach was deserted, and the wind was picking up dried pieces of seaweed, sending them whirling through the air.

Without actually mentioning the subject, they had agreed not to talk about Erik. Or Britta. Neither of them fully 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.’