Smack! Carina slapped her son, and in the ensuing silence mother and son stared at each other with both surprise and hatred. Then Carina’s expression softened. ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to… I… I’m sorry.’ She tried to give her son a hug, but he pushed her away.

‘Get away from me, you fucking drunk. Don’t you dare touch me!’

‘Okay, everybody, calm down.’ Gösta rose from his chair, glowering at Carina and Per. ‘I don’t think we’re going to get much further at the moment. You can leave now, Per. But…’ He looked at Martin, who nodded almost imperceptibly. ‘But we’re going to have to contact the social services office about this. We’ve seen enough to cause concern, and we will recommend that social services take a closer look. In the meantime we’ll be carrying on our own investigation.’

‘Is that necessary?’ asked Carina, her voice quavering, but her question lacked any real force. Gösta had the impression she was relieved that somebody was going to take control of their situation.

After Per and Carina left the station, walking side by side without looking at each other, Gösta followed Martin to his office.

‘Well, that certainly gave us something to think about,’ said Martin as he sat down.

‘It certainly did,’ said Gösta. He bit his lip, rocking back and forth on his heels.

‘You look like you have something to say. What is it?’

‘Hmm… well, it might not be important.’ Then Gösta made up his mind. It was something that had been gnawing at his subconscious for a few days, and during the interview with Per, he’d realized what it was. Now the question was how he should put it into words. Martin was not going to be happy.

Axel stood on the porch for a long time, hesitating. Finally he knocked. Herman opened the door almost immediately.

‘So, it’s you.’

He nodded. He stayed where he was, making no attempt to enter.

‘Come in. I didn’t tell her you were coming. I didn’t know if she’d remember.’

‘Is she that bad?’ Axel looked with sympathy at the man standing in front of him. Herman looked tired. It couldn’t be easy.

‘Is this the whole clan?’ asked Axel, nodding at the photos in the hall as he stepped inside.

Herman’s face lit up. ‘Yes, that’s everybody.’

Axel studied the photographs, hands clasped behind his back. Midsummer and birthday celebrations, Christmas gettogethers and ordinary days. A swarm of people, including children and grandchildren. For a moment he allowed himself to reflect on how his own wall of photos would have looked, if he’d had one. Pictures from his days at the office. Endless piles of documents. Countless dinners with politicians and others with the power to wield influence. Few, if any, would be pictures of friends. There weren’t many who had the energy to keep up with him, who could stand the constant drive to track down yet another war criminal who’d managed to live an undeservedly comfortable life. Another former Nazi with blood on his hands who was free to enjoy the privilege of using those soiled hands to pat the heads of his grandchildren. How could family members, friends, or an ordinary life compete with that quest? For long periods of his life he hadn’t even allowed himself to consider whether he was missing out on anything. And the reward when his efforts bore fruit, when those years of searching archives and interviewing survivors with failing memories finally resulted in exposing the guilty and bringing them to justice, the reward at such times was so great that it pushed aside any longing for an ordinary life. Or at least, that was what he’d always believed. But now, as he stood in front of these family photographs, he wondered whether he’d been wrong to put death ahead of life.

‘They’re wonderful,’ said Axel, turning his back on the pictures. He followed Herman into the living room, stopping abruptly when he saw Britta. Even though he and Erik had never abandoned their home in Fjällbacka, it had been decades since he’d last seen her. There had been no occasion for their lives to intersect in all that time.

Now the years fell away with cruel force, and he felt himself reeling. She was still beautiful. She’d actually been much lovelier than Elsy, who could better be described as pretty. But Elsy had possessed an inner glow, a kindness that Britta’s outward beauty could never match. Though he could see now that something about her had changed with the years. There was no trace of Britta’s former haughty demeanour; now she radiated a warm maternal glow, a maturity that the years must have bestowed on her.

‘Is that you?’ she said, getting up from the sofa. ‘Is that really you, Axel?’ She held out both hands towards him, and he took them. So many years had passed. Such an unbelievable number of years. Sixty years. A lifetime. When he was younger, he never would have imagined that time could pass so quickly. The hands he held in his own were wrinkled and covered with brown age spots. Her hair was no longer dark but a lovely silvery-grey. Britta looked calmly into his eyes.

‘It’s good to see you again, Axel. You’ve aged well.’

‘Funny, but I was just thinking the same thing about you,’ said Axel with a smile.

‘Well now, let’s sit down and have a little chat. Herman, could you bring us some coffee?’

Herman nodded and went into the kitchen to make coffee. Britta sat down again, still holding Axel’s hands as he took a seat next to her.

‘To think we’d ever be so old, Axel. I never dreamt that would happen,’ she said, tilting her head to look at him. Axel noted with amusement that she had retained some of the coquettishness of her younger days. ‘You’ve done a lot of good, over the years, from what I’ve heard,’ she said, studying him intently. He looked away.

‘I’m not sure what you mean by “doing good”. I’ve done what I had to do. Certain things just can’t be swept under the rug,’ he said, and then fell silent.

‘You’re right about that, Axel,’ said Britta solemnly. ‘You’re certainly right about that.’

They sat next to each other in silence, looking out at the bay, until Herman came back with the coffee service on a floral-painted tray.

‘I’ve made you some coffee.’

‘Thank you, dear,’ said Britta. Axel felt a pang in his heart when he saw the look they gave each other. He reminded himself that through his work he’d been able to contribute a sense of peace to scores of people, giving them the satisfaction of seeing their tormentors brought before a court of law. That was also a form of love. Not personal, not physical, but still a kind of love.

As if she could read his thoughts, Britta handed him a cup of coffee and said, ‘Have you had a good life, Axel?’

The question encompassed so many dimensions, so many levels, that he didn’t know how to answer it. In his mind he pictured Erik and his friends in the library of their house, light-hearted, carefree. Elsy with her sweet smile and gentle demeanour. Frans, who made everybody around him feel like they were tiptoeing around the edge of a volcano, yet beneath it all there remained something fragile and sensitive about him. Britta, who had seemed so different from the way she was now. Back then, she had carried her beauty like a shield, and he had judged her to be nothing more than an empty shell, with no substance worthy of notice. And maybe that’s how she was back then. But the years had filled up the shell, and now she seemed to glow from within. And Erik. The thought of Erik was so painful that his brain wanted to push it away. But as he sat there in Britta’s living room, Axel forced himself to picture his brother as he was back then, before the difficult times commenced. Sitting at his father’s desk, with his feet propped up. His brown hair tousled as always, wearing that absent expression that made him look much older than he was. Erik. Dear, beloved Erik.

Axel realized that Britta was waiting for his reply. He forced himself back from the past and tried to find an answer in the present. But as always, the two were hopelessly intertwined, and the sixty years that had passed merged in his memory into a muddle of people, encounters, and events. His hand holding the coffee cup began to tremble, and finally he said, ‘I don’t know. I think so. As good as I deserved.’