Kjell took back the folder. ‘That’s a good idea. There’s no reason to assume that he returned to Norway. A lot of people stayed in Sweden after the war.’

‘Did you send a picture to Eskil Halvorsen?’ asked Erica.

‘No, as a matter of fact, I didn’t,’ said Kjell, leafing through the articles. ‘But you’re right – I should do that. The smallest detail could prove helpful. I’ll phone him as soon as you leave and see if I can send him one of these pictures. Or, even better, I could fax it to him. What about this one? It’s the clearest. What do you think?’ He slid across the desk the article with the group photo that Erica had studied a few days earlier.

‘I agree. That would be good. Plus it shows the whole group. That’s my mother there.’ She pointed at Elsy.

‘So you say that they spent a lot of time together back then?’ Kjell cursed himself for not making the connection between the Britta in the photograph and the Britta who was murdered. But he told himself that most people would have missed the link. It was hard to see any similarity between the fifteen-year-old girl and the seventy-five-year-old woman whose picture had been in the papers.

‘Yes, from what I understand, they were a close-knit group, even though their friendship wasn’t entirely accepted back then. There was such a divide between the classes in Fjällbacka, and Britta and my mother belonged to the poorer social echelon, while the boys, Erik Frankel and, well… your father, belonged to the “upper crust”.’ Erica used her fingers to draw quote marks in the air.

‘Oh, right, very upper crust,’ Kjell muttered, and Erica sensed that there was a lot of hostility concealed below the surface of his words.

‘You know, I hadn’t thought about talking to Axel Frankel,’ said Erica excitedly. ‘He might know something about Hans Olavsen. Even though he’s a bit older, he must have been around, and he might…’ Her thoughts and expectations took off, but Kjell held up his hand to stop her.

‘I wouldn’t get your hopes up. I had the same idea, but luckily I did some research about Axel Frankel first. I suppose you know that he was captured by the Germans while on a trip to Norway?’

‘Yes, but I don’t know much about it,’ said Erica, looking at Kjell with interest. ‘So if you’ve found out anything…’ She threw out her hands and waited.

‘Well, as I said, Axel was taken prisoner by the Germans when he took delivery of some documents from the resistance movement. He was taken to Grini prison outside of Oslo, and he was held there until the beginning of 1945. Then the Germans shipped him and a lot of other prisoners to Germany. Axel first ended up in Sachsenhausen, which was where many of the Nordic prisoners were taken, and then, towards the end of the war, he was taken to Neuengamme.’

Erica gasped. ‘I had no idea. So Axel Frankel was in concentration camps in Germany? I didn’t know that any Norwegians or Swedes ended up there.’

Kjell nodded. ‘Mostly Norwegian prisoners. And some from other countries who fell foul of a decree issued by Hitler in 1941, which stated that civilians in occupied territories who were caught participating in resistance activities against the Germans could not be tried and sentenced by a court in their homeland. Instead, they were to be sent to Germany, where they would disappear into the Nacht und Nebel – “night and fog”. Hence they were known as NN prisoners. Some were executed. The rest were sentenced to forced labour and worked to death in the camps. At any rate, Axel Frankel was in Germany, not Fjällbacka, during the period Hans Olavsen was there.’

‘But we don’t know the exact date the Norwegian left Fjällbacka,’ said Erica, frowning. ‘At least, I haven’t found any information about that. I have no idea when he left my mother.’

‘Ah, but I do know when Hans Olavsen left town,’ said Kjell triumphantly, and he rummaged through the papers on his desk. ‘Approximately, at least,’ he added. ‘Here -’ He pulled out an article and placed it in front of Erica, pointing to a passage in the middle of the page.

Erica leaned forward and read aloud: ‘This year the Fjällbacka Association organized with great success -’

‘No, no, the next column,’ said Kjell, pointing again.

‘Oh, okay.’ Erica started over. ‘It surprised one and all to learn that the Norwegian resistance fighter who found refuge with us here in Fjällbacka has abruptly left us. Many residents of Fjällbacka regret that they were not able to say goodbye and thank him for his efforts during the war, which we have now seen come to an end.’ She glanced at the date at the top of the page and then looked up. ‘Nineteenth of June 1945.’

‘So he disappeared right after the war ended, if I’m interpreting this correctly,’ said Kjell, taking back the article and placing it on top of the pile.

‘But why?’ Erica tilted her head as she pondered what she’d read. ‘I still think it might be an idea to talk to Axel. His brother may have told him something. I’ll give it a shot. You wouldn’t by any chance be willing to talk to your father, would you?’

Kjell was silent for a moment, then he said, ‘Of course. And I’ll let you know if I hear anything from Halvorsen. Be sure to get in touch with me if you find out anything, okay?’ He raised an admonitory finger. He wasn’t used to working collaboratively, but in this case he apparently saw an advantage in having Erica’s assistance.

‘I’ll check with the Swedish authorities too,’ said Erica, getting up. ‘And I promise to let you know the minute I hear anything.’ She started to put on her jacket but stopped suddenly.

‘By the way, Kjell, there’s one other thing. I don’t know if it’s important, but…’

‘Tell me. Anything could be valuable at this point,’ he said, looking up at her.

‘Well, I talked with Britta’s husband, Herman. He seems to know something about all of this. Or at least, I’m not positive, but I got that feeling. Anyway, when I asked him about Hans Olavsen he reacted really strangely. He told me that I should ask Paul Heckel and Friedrich Hück. And I’ve tried to check up on the names, but couldn’t find anything. But…’

‘Yes?’ said Kjell.

‘Oh, I don’t know. I could swear that I’ve never met either of them, yet there’s something familiar…’

Kjell tapped his pen on the desk. ‘Paul Heckel and Friedrich Hück?’ When Erica nodded, he wrote down the names. ‘Okay, I’ll check on them too. But the names don’t ring a bell.’

‘Looks as if we both have something to do now,’ said Erica, smiling as she paused in the doorway. ‘I feel much better knowing that there are two of us working on this.’

‘That’s good,’ said Kjell, sounding distracted.

‘I’ll be in touch,’ said Erica.

‘All right,’ said Kjell, picking up the phone without looking at her as she left his office. He was eager to get to the bottom of this. His journalist’s nose had picked up the unmistakable scent of rat.

‘Shall we go sit down and review everything?’ It was Monday afternoon, and calm had descended over the station.

‘Sure,’ said Gösta, getting up reluctantly. ‘Paula too?’

‘Of course,’ said Martin. He went to get her. Mellberg was out taking Ernst for a walk, and Annika appeared to be busy in the reception area, so it was just the three of them who sat down in the kitchen with all the existing investigative materials in front of them.

‘Erik Frankel,’ said Martin, setting the point of his pen on a fresh page of his notepad.

‘He was murdered in his home, with an object that has already been found on the scene,’ said Paula, as Martin feverishly started writing.

‘That seems to indicate that it was not premeditated,’ said Gösta, and Martin nodded.

‘There were no fingerprints on the bust that was used as the murder weapon, but it doesn’t seem to have been wiped clean, so the killer must have been wearing gloves, which actually contradicts the idea that it was not premeditated,’ interjected Paula. She glanced at the words that Martin was writing on the notepad.