She really didn’t want to go back there and bother the confused old woman, but how else would she find out what lay behind that angry look in her eyes? Maybe if she could explain to Britta’s husband why she needed to talk to his wife, he would understand. Tomorrow, Erica decided. Tomorrow she would grab the bull by the horns and go back there.

If she could just catch Britta in one of her more lucid moments she was convinced she would fine the answers she needed.

It had taken its toll on Elof Moström, the war. All those trips across the water, which was no longer his friend but his enemy. He’d always loved the sea off Bohuslän. Loved the way it moved, the way it smelled, the way it sounded when it surged against the bow of his boat. But ever since the war started, he and the sea had not had the same sort of friendship. The sea had become hostile. It hid dangers beneath the surface, mines that at any moment could explode, blowing him and his entire crew sky high. And the Germans who patrolled the area weren’t much better. He never knew what they might be up to. The sea had become unreliable in a whole different way than it used to be. Storms, shoals – those were things they had learned to handle, that they could deal with after generations of experience. And if nature sometimes got the better of them, it was accepted with equanimity and composure.

This new capriciousness was much worse. If they survived the crossing, there were other dangers when they docked to unload their cargo. Every time he pulled into harbour, he was reminded of how they’d lost Axel Frankel to the Germans. He stared out at the horizon, allowing himself to think about the boy for a few minutes. So brave. Seemingly so invincible. Now nobody knew where he was. He’d heard rumours that the boy had been taken to Grini, but he didn’t know whether that was true. And even if it was, there was no way of knowing whether he was still there. He’d heard that they had started shipping prisoners to Germany. Maybe that was where the boy was now. Or maybe he was no longer alive. Six months had gone by since the Germans had taken him, and there’d been no word of him in all that time. So it was hard not to think the worst. Elof sighed heavily. Occasionally he ran into the boy’s parents, Dr and Mrs Frankel. But he never dared meet their gaze. He would cross to the other side of the street, and hurry past with his eyes averted. He felt that he should have been able to do something. But what? Maybe he should have refused to take the boy along in the first place.

His heart ached whenever he saw Axel’s brother. That small, serious boy named Erik. Not that he’d ever been much of a talker, but since his brother had disappeared he’d grown even quieter. Elof had thought of having a word with Elsy. He didn’t like her spending so much time with Erik and the other boy – Frans. Not that he had anything against Erik. Frans was a different story; ‘hooligan’ was the word that came to mind when he tried to describe that boy. But neither of them was suitable company for Elsy. The Moströms just weren’t in the same class as the Frankels and the Ringholms. They might as well have been born on a different planet, and nothing good would ever come of their two worlds meeting. Maybe it was all right back when they were kids playing tag and capture the flag. But they were older now. And nothing good would come of it.

Hilma had pointed this out to him on numerous occasions. Asked him to talk to the girl. But so far he hadn’t had the heart to do so. The war had made everything more difficult. Friends were practically the only luxuries the young people had left, and who was he to rob Elsy of her friends? But sooner or later he’d be forced to do it. Boys will be boys, after all. Games of tag and capture the flag would soon turn to secret embraces. He knew that from personal experience. He’d been young once himself, even though that now seemed so very long ago. The time had come for the two worlds to be separate once more; that was how things were, and how they would always be. It was impossible to change the natural order of things.

‘Captain! You’d better come and have a look.’

Startled out of his musings, Elof turned towards the source of the interruption. One of his crew was urgently motioning for him to come over. Elof frowned in surprise and then went to join him. They were in open water and still had a few hours left before arriving at Fjällbacka harbour.

‘We’ve got a stowaway,’ said Calle Ingvarsson, pointing at the cargo hold. Elof looked where he was pointing. A young boy was huddled behind the sacks of cargo. Now he crept out from his hiding place.

‘I discovered him when I heard a sound coming from inside there. He was coughing so hard, it was a wonder we didn’t hear him up on deck,’ said Calle, sticking a pinch of snuff in his mouth. He grimaced. The snuff available during the war years was a poor substitute for the real thing.

‘Who are you? And what are you doing on my boat?’ asked Elof brusquely. He considered calling for reinforcements from his crew up above.

‘My name is Hans Olavsen, and I came on board in Kristiansand,’ said the youth, speaking a lilting Norwegian. He stood up and held out his hand. After a moment of hesitation, Elof shook hands with him. The boy looked him in the eye and said, ‘I was hoping to go to Sweden with you. The Germans have… well, let’s just say that if I value my life, I can no longer remain on Norwegian soil.’

Elof was silent for a long time, thinking about what the boy had said. He didn’t like being tricked in this manner. But on the other hand, what else could the boy have done? It wasn’t as if he could approach the boat openly, in full view of all the Germans patrolling the harbour, and ask for transport to Sweden.

‘Where are you from?’ he asked at last, looking the boy up and down.

‘Oslo.’

‘And what have you done that makes it impossible for you to stay in Norway?’

‘People don’t talk about what they’ve been forced to do during the war,’ said Hans, a dark shadow passing over his face. ‘Let’s just say that the underground movement no longer has any use for me.’

He probably took people over the border, thought Elof. It was a dangerous job, and once the Germans were on to you, it was wise to get out while you still could. Elof felt himself relenting. He thought about Axel, who’d made the trip to Norway so many times without ever thinking about his own safety. And he’d paid the price. Could he do less than the doctor’s nineteen-year-old son? He made up his mind then and there.

‘All right, we’ll take you along. We’re heading for Fjällbacka. Have you had anything to eat?’

Hans shook his head and swallowed hard. ‘No. Not since the day before yesterday. The trip from Oslo was… difficult. I couldn’t take a direct route.’ He looked down.

‘Calle, get the boy some food. I need to get back on deck – it’s my job to see that we get home in one piece, which means navigating round those damn mines the Germans insist on spreading all over these waterways,’ he explained as he started up the companionway. When he glanced back, he met the boy’s eyes. The sympathy he felt surprised him. How old could he be? Eighteen, no more than that. And yet Elof could read so much in his eyes that shouldn’t be there. Lost youth and the accompanying innocence. The war had undeniably claimed many victims. And not just those who had died.

Gösta felt somehow to blame. If he’d been doing his job, maybe Mattias wouldn’t have ended up in the hospital. Possibly it wouldn’t have made any difference, but he might have found out that Per had broken into the Frankels’ house a few weeks before the boys did, and that could have changed the course of events. When Gösta had gone to Adam’s house to take his fingerprints, the boy had actually mentioned that someone at school had talked about the cool stuff the Frankels owned. That was what had been eating at Gösta’s subconscious, teasing him, eluding him. If only he’d paid more attention. Been more careful. In short, done his job properly. He sighed. It was that special sigh that Gösta had perfected after years of practice. Now it was time for him to put things right as best he could.