I'm Travelling Alone

Chapter 14

Gabriel Mørk felt vaguely twitchy as he waited to be met in Mariboesgate. As far as he knew, Oslo Police had its headquarters in Grønland, so that was where he had expected to go, but it turned out not to be the case. He had received a short text message. Go to Mariboesgate. Will pick you up at 11 a.m. No sender. Nothing. Strange, really. Come to think it, his whole week had been strange – entertaining up to a point, sure – but Gabriel Mørk still didn’t know just what exactly he had signed up for.

A job. He had never had one of those before. Reporting to a boss. Working as part of a team. Joining the real world. Getting up in the morning. Becoming a responsible member of society. Not something this twenty-four-year-old was used to.

Gabriel Mørk liked staying up at night when the rest of the world was asleep. Much easier to think then. With the dark night outside and just the light from the screens glowing in his bedsit. Calling it a bedsit was a slight embellishment. Gabriel Mørk was always reluctant to admit that he was still living at home. Yes, he had his own entrance and his own bathroom, but his mother lived in the same house. It was not very rock ’n’ roll and definitely not something he would bring up on the rare occasions he met new people or bumped into old schoolfriends. Not that it was a problem. He knew several hackers who did the same. Who still lived at home. But even so.

However, his situation was about to change. Completely out of the blue. It was all happening a little too quickly. Or was this what he had been waiting for his whole life? He had met her online only seven months ago, and already she was pregnant. They were looking for a place together and now he was standing in the street having got himself a job working for the police. Gabriel Mørk had never felt that he was very good at anything, except computers – then, few were better than him – but not in other aspects of life. At school he had kept mostly to himself. Blushed whenever a girl had come over to invite him to join in something. During sixth form, he had spent his evenings at home while his classmates had drunk themselves senseless at Tryvann. He had signed up for some computer courses after sixth form, but never attended any lectures. What would be the point of that? He already knew all there was to know.

He glanced around nervously, but there was no sign of anyone coming to meet him. Perhaps it had all been a joke? Working for the police? At first he had thought some of his cyber friends were messing with him. He knew a couple of people who would think a prank like this was hilarious. Wind people up. Hack their medical records. Hack solicitors’ offices. Send messages to strangers telling them they were pregnant. False paternity claims. Wreak as much havoc as possible. Gabriel Mørk was not that kind of hacker, but he knew many who were. It was possible that someone was setting him up, but he didn’t think so. The guy who had called him had seemed very credible. They had got his name from GCHQ in Great Britain. MI6. The intelligence service. Like most of his acquaintances, Gabriel Mørk had had a go at Canyoucrackit?, a challenge which had been posted on the Internet the previous autumn. To ordinary people, it was a seemingly unbreakable code. One hundred and sixty pairs of numbers and letters with a clock counting down to zero to increase the tension. He had not been the first to solve the code, but neither had he been very far behind. The first had been a Russian, a black hacker, who had cracked the code only a few hours after it had been uploaded to the Net. Gabriel Mørk knew that the Russian had not cracked the code itself, he had merely reversed engineered it by hacking the website, canyoucrackit.co.uk, and found the HTML file, which was supposed to contain the solution. Kind of fun, but not really the point of the challenge.

Gabriel Mørk had spotted straightaway that it was machine code, X86, and that it implemented the RC4 algorithm. It had not been a piece of cake – the creators of the code had put in place numerous obstacles, such as hiding a block of data inside a PNG file, so it was not enough merely to decrypt the numbers, but despite that it had taken him only a couple of nights. A fun challenge. The solution to the code itself was not quite as entertaining. The whole thing had turned out to be a PR stunt on behalf of GCHQ, a section of the British intelligence service, a test, a job application. If you can break this code you are smart enough to work for us.

He had entered his name and explained how he had cracked the code. Why not? He might as well. He had received a friendly reply that, yes, his solution was correct but, unfortunately, only British nationals could apply for jobs with the service.

Gabriel Mørk had thought nothing more of it. Not until his mobile had rung last Friday. Today was Thursday, and here he was with his computer under his arm, meeting a stranger before starting some kind of job. Working for the police.

‘Gabriel Mørk?’

Gabriel almost jumped, and turned around.

‘Yes?’

‘Hi, my name is Kim.’

The man who had spoken his name stuck out his hand. Gabriel had no idea where he had appeared from; he looked very ordinary, perhaps that would explain it. Somehow, he had been expecting flashing blue lights and sirens, or a uniform – at the very least, a brusque tone – but the man now standing in front of him could have been anyone. He was practically invisible. Ordinary trousers, ordinary shoes, an ordinary jumper in colours which did not stand out from the crowd in any way, and then it struck Gabriel that this was precisely the point. He was a plain-clothes police officer. He was trained to blend in. Not to stand out. Suddenly to appear out of nowhere.

‘Please follow me. It’s this way,’ said the man who was called Kim, and led Gabriel across the street to a yellow office block.

The police officer produced a card outside the front door and entered a code. The door opened. Gabriel followed the man to the lift: same procedure here, you needed a card to operate the lift as well. Gabriel watched the man furtively as he entered the code in the lift. He didn’t know exactly what to say, or if he should say anything at all. He had never had any dealings with the police. Nor had he ever taken a lift which required a code. The police officer called Kim looked completely at ease, as if he did this all the time. Met new, unknown colleagues in the street. Entered codes in lifts. The two men were the same height, but the police officer was of a slimmer build and, despite his invisibility, he looked in great physical shape. He had short, dark hair and had not shaved recently. Gabriel was unable to tell if this was on purpose or whether he had just not got round to it. He did not want to stare, but he noticed out of the corner of his eye how the police officer suppressed a small yawn, so it was probably the latter. Long days. Heavy caseload would be his guess.

The lift stopped on the third floor and the police officer got out first. Gabriel followed him down a long corridor until they reached another door, which also required a card and had a keypad. There were no explanatory signs anywhere. Nothing saying ‘Police’ or listing the names of any other agencies. Total anonymity. The man opened a final door, and they had arrived. The offices were not large, but they were open and light. Some desks put together in an open-plan office, some smaller, individual rooms here and there, most with glass walls, others with the blinds drawn. No one paid much attention to the two men who had just arrived; everyone was busy doing their own thing.

Gabriel followed the police officer through the open-plan office to a smaller room. One of those with glass walls. He would be on display, but at least he had his own office.

‘This is where you’ll be,’ Kim said, letting Gabriel enter first.

It was sparsely furnished. A desk, a lamp, a chair. Everything looked brand-new.

‘You submitted a list of the equipment you needed?’

Gabriel nodded.

‘And that was a desk and a lamp from IKEA?’

For the first time, the police officer called Kim showed signs of emotion. He winked and slapped Gabriel on the back.

‘Eh, no, there was more than that,’ Gabriel said.

‘I’m just pulling your leg. The IT guys are on their way. They’ll get you up and running in the course of the day. I would have shown you around and introduced you to everyone, but we have a briefing in five minutes, so we won’t have time for that. Do you smoke?’

‘Smoke?’

‘Yes, you know? Cigarettes?’

‘Er, no.’

‘Good for you. We don’t have many rules here, but there is one which is quite important. When Holger Munch goes outside to the smoking terrace, nobody joins him. That’s where Holger Munch thinks. That’s when Holger Munch does not want to be disturbed, get it?’

The police officer pulled Gabriel out of his new office and pointed towards the terrace. Gabriel could see a man standing there, presumably Holger Munch, his new boss. The man who had called him and casually, just ten minutes into the conversation, offered him a job. With the police. Don’t bother the boss when he’s smoking. No problem. Gabriel had no intention of disturbing anyone or doing anything except what he was told to do. Suddenly, he spotted the woman standing next to Holger.

‘Oh, wow!’ he exclaimed.

He thought he had said it to himself, but Kim turned around.

‘Eh?’

‘Is that Mia Krüger?’

‘Do you know her?’

‘What? No, not like that, but of course I have… Well… I’ve heard about her.’

‘Yes, who hasn’t.’ Kim chuckled. ‘Mia is brilliant, no doubt about it. She’s unique.’

‘Is it true that she only ever wears black and white?’

Gabriel had asked spontaneously – his curiosity had got the upper hand – but he regretted it immediately. Unprofessional. Like an amateur. He had forgotten that they had already hired him. Kim probably thought he was a fan or something, which was partly true, but this was not how Gabriel Mørk wanted to come across to a colleague on his first day at work.

Kim studied him briefly before he replied.

‘Well, I don’t remember ever seeing her in anything else. Why?’

Kim blushed faintly and stared at the floor for a moment.

‘Nothing, just something I read on the Net.’

‘You shouldn’t believe everything you read.’ Kim smiled and took an envelope from his jacket pocket. ‘Here is your card. The code is your birthday, the incident room is at the end of the corridor. We start in five or ten minutes. Don’t be late.’

Kim winked, slapped Gabriel on the shoulder once more and left him alone inside the small office.

Gabriel was at a loss. Should he stay where he was, or sit down, or maybe just run home and forget the whole thing ever happened? Find another job, do something else. He felt like a fish out of water. And how could you be on time for a meeting which started in five or ten minutes?

He opened the envelope and was surprised to see a photograph of himself on the card.

Gabriel Mørk.

Violent Crimes Section.

He felt a sudden surge of pride. Secret doors. Secret codes. Specialist units. And he was on the inside. And Mia Krüger herself was standing outside on the terrace. He decided to make his way to the incident room in a few minutes. Being early had to be better than being late, whatever that meant up here in this mysterious place.

Chapter 15

Tom Lauritz Larsen, a pig farmer from Tangen, had originally been dead set against the Internet. But when Jonas, the young farmhand, had moved into the spare bedroom, he had insisted that the sixty-year-old farmer got broadband, otherwise he would refuse to work for him. Tom Lauritz Larsen had been cross, that went without saying: being grumpy was his default setting, there was never anything to smile about. And now he had managed to get this sickness in his lungs. Going on sick leave? What kind of nonsense was that? No one in his family had ever been on sick leave. What was this idiot doctor telling him? Was he suggesting that Tom Lauritz Larsen couldn’t run his own farm? There had been three generations of pig farmers on Tangen, and no one had ever been on sick leave or taken sickness hand-outs from the state. What was the world coming to? But then he had started fainting without warning. Frequently, and all over the place. The last time, he had fainted in the pigsty with the doors open. When he regained consciousness, he was surrounded by his neighbours, the pigs were at large in the village and Tom Lauritz Larsen had been so embarrassed that he had taken his doctor’s advice the next day. Attended appointments at the hospital in Hamar. Gone on sick leave. And found a farmhand through the job centre.

Nineteen-year-old Jonas from Stange had proved to be an exceptional worker. Tom Lauritz Larsen had taken to the boy right from the start. He was not one of those of those hobby farmers who didn’t know the meaning of hard work; no, this boy had what it took. Except for this business with the Internet, with which Tom Lauritz Larsen would have no truck. But he had had it installed anyway, because of the nineteen-year-old lad in the spare bedroom. It was something about a girlfriend from Vestlandet and expensive telephone bills, and talking on the Internet was free, it would appear, they could even see each other and God knows what. What did he know? So Telenor had dispatched an engineer from Hamar, and now the Internet had been up and running on the small farm for several months.

Tom Lauritz Larsen poured himself another cup of breakfast coffee and searched the Norwegian Farmers Union’s website. There was a very interesting article which he had looked at briefly the night before, but he wanted to reread it in depth. According to Norsvin, as many as one in four pig farmers in Hedmark had quit farming since 2007, saying that pig-rearing was no longer profitable. The average amount of pigs owned by those who remained was 53.2, where, the year before, the figure had been 51.1. It didn’t take a genius to work out what was happening: the big farms grew bigger, and the small ones went out of business.

Tom Lauritz Larsen got up for a refill, but stopped at the kitchen window, still holding his cup and seeing Jonas run out of the pig barn as if the devil were at his heels. What was up with the boy this time? Larsen headed for the door and had just stepped outside when the young man reached him, sweating profusely, his face deathly pale and his eyes filled with panic, as if he had seen a ghost.

‘What on earth is the matter?’ Larsen said.

‘Youuu, itttt… Kristió… Kristió’

The lad was incapable of speech. He pointed and flapped his arms about like some lunatic. He dragged Larsen, who was still wearing his slippers, still with his coffee cup in his hand, across the yard. He did not let go of him until they were inside the barn, standing by one of the sties. The sight that met the pig farmer was so extreme that for several months afterwards he struggled to tell people what he had seen. He dropped his coffee cup and did not even feel the hot coffee scald his thigh.

One of his sows, Kristine, lay dead on the floor in the pen. Not the whole pig, though. Only her body remained. Someone had decapitated her. With a chainsaw. Severed her neck completely. The pig was headless. Only the body remained.

‘Call the police,’ Tom Lauritz Larsen managed to say to the lad, and that was the last he remembered before he fainted.

This time, it was not because of his lungs.

Chapter 16

Sarah Kiese was sitting in the reception area in her lawyer’s office in Tøyen, growing increasingly irritated. She had expressly told the lawyer that she wanted absolutely nothing to do with her late husband’s estate. What kind of inheritance was it, anyway? More kids with other women? More letters from debt collectors demanding money and threatening to seize her belongings? Sarah Kiese was not perfect, far from it, but compared to her late husband she was a saint. Having a child with that loser had been a massive mistake. She had been ashamed of it then, and she still was. Not only had she had a child with him, she had even gone and married him. Christ, how stupid could you get? He had charmed her; she remembered, the first time she saw him in a bar in Grønland she had not fancied him straightaway, but she had been weak. He had bought her beers, drinks… yes, she had been an idiot, but so what? It was over now. She would love her daughter for ever, but she wanted nothing to do with that prat. When had he ever visited her? Whenever he wanted money. A loan for one of his schemes. He had claimed to be a builder, but he never had a steady job, or started his own business. No, nothing like that: never any plans, no ambition either, just odd jobs here and there, a hand-to-mouth existence. And he would always come home smelling of other women. Didn’t even bother to shower before slipping between her freshly washed sheets. Sarah Kiese felt sick just thinking about it, but at least it was over now. He had fallen from the tenth floor of one of the new developments down by the Opera. She imagined he had got himself a job of some kind there, cash in hand, no doubt, that was how it usually was with him, casual night-time work. Sarah Kiese smirked when she thought how awful it must have been, falling ten floors on a construction site, she had chuckled with glee when she heard the news. A fifty-metre drop to his death? Served him right; surely he must have felt extreme terror while it happened. How long could that fall have lasted? Eight, ten seconds? Fantastic.

She glanced irritably at the clock in the reception, and then at the door to her lawyer’s office. ‘No, no, no,’ she had said when he had called, ‘I want nothing to do with that tosser,’ but the sleazy lawyer had insisted. Bunch of sharks, the lot of them. There would never be another man in her life unless he was the Crown Prince, perhaps not even him. No more men for her. Just her and her daughter, now in their small new flat in Carl Berner. Perfect. Just her own scent under the duvet, not fifty other cheap perfumes mixed with bad breath. Why had she even agreed to come here? She had said no, hadn’t she? Wasn’t that what they had practised on that course she had been offered through Social Services? ‘Say no, say no, build a ring around yourself, you’re your own best friend, you need no one else. No, no, no, no.’

‘Sarah? Hi? Thanks for coming.’

The dodgy lawyer with the combover stuck out his head and waved her into his office. He reminded her of a small mouse. Feeble, with tiny eyes and hunched shoulders. No, not a mouse, a rat. A disgusting, cowardly sewer rat.

‘I said no,’ Sarah said.

‘I know,’ the sewer rat fawned. ‘And I’m all the more grateful to you for making the trip. You see, it turns out…’

He cleared his throat.

‘That I had overlooked something when I settled the estate. A small detail, that’s all it is, my mistake, obviously.’

‘More debt collectors? More court summonses?’

‘He-he, no, no.’ The sewer rat coughed and pressed his fingertips together. ‘This is it.’

He opened a drawer and placed a memory stick in front of her.

‘What is it?’

‘It’s for you,’ the sewer rat said. ‘Your late husband left it with me some time ago, asked me to give it to you.’

‘Why didn’t he give it to me himself?’

The sewer rat offered her a faint smile.

‘Possibly because he got a hot iron in his face the last time he showed up at your flat?’

Sarah felt pleased with herself. Her husband had let himself into the flat. Startled her. Suddenly, he had appeared in her living room. Wanting to touch her, be all nice, like he always used to be shortly before asking her a favour. The iron had hit his gawping face with considerable force. He had not seen it coming and it had floored him on the spot. She had not seen or heard anything from him since that day.

‘I should have given it to you long ago, but we’ve been very busy,’ the rat said, sounding almost apologetic.

‘You mean he promised to pay you to do it, but you never saw the money?’ Sarah said.

The lawyer smiled at her.

‘At least that should conclude matters.’

Sarah Kiese took the memory stick, put it in her handbag and headed for the door. The rat half rose from his dusty chair and cleared his throat.

‘Quite, quite. And how are you doing otherwise, Sarah? You and your daughter are all right and-’

‘Fuck off,’ Sarah Kiese said, and left the office without closing the door behind her.

Several times on her way back to the new Housing Association flat in Carl Berner she considered chucking the memory stick. Toss it in a bin and she would be finished with him, but for some reason she did not. Not because she was curious – Sarah Kiese could not give a rat’s arse about its contents; it was more about tying up loose ends. The lawyer was a rat, but he was still a lawyer. Her husband had been an idiot, but he had had a last wish. Give that memory stick to Sarah, and only to her.

She let herself into the flat and turned on her computer. Might as well deal with it straightaway. The black laptop slowly roused itself. She inserted the memory stick and copied the contents to the computer’s hard drive. It contained only one file, which was called Sarah.mov. A film. Aha? So she would be forced to look at his ugly mug one more time, was that it? Even from beyond the grave he was bothering her. She double clicked the file to play the film.

He had recorded himself with a small camera. Possibly on his phone; she couldn’t be sure. His horrible face was close to the lens, but it had an expression she had not seen before. He seemed scared out of his wits.

Sarah, I don’t have much time, but I have to do this, I have to tell someone, because something here doesn’t feel right.

He filmed his surroundings.

I was offered a job and now I’ve built this. I’m far away in…

She heard noises, muffled, as if he were covering the microphone on his mobile; she couldn’t make out what he was saying. Her late husband continued filming his surroundings with trembling hands while he spoke, stuttering most of the time. So he had built something, so what?

… And I’m scared that, well, what did I actually build? Look at this. I’m deep underground. I thought that it might be a panic room, but it’s not. There’s a small hatch…

The voice disintegrated again but the filming went on. It was a kind of underground shelter.

… And no, it doesn’t feel right, something is going on here. Something… Take a look at this. Just look. You can hoist things up and down. Like an old service lift or…

Her late husband suddenly jerked and looked around. The whole scene reminded her of a film she had seen years ago, The Blair Witch Project, about some terrified teenagers running around the forest filming themselves.

… What the hell do I know, but I’m worried that something might happen to me. I can feel it. Have you any idea how far away I am? Please would you write down what I’m saying, Sarah? Where I am and how I got this job, and well, then you can go to the police if anything should happen to me? I got the job from someone who…

More scrambling. Sarah Kiese could not hear a word of what her late husband was saying, she could just see his frightened eyes and trembling lips as he babbled away. This lasted just over a minute. Then the film ended.

So who did you have to sleep with to get this job? she thought. Or was it a job in return for sex? I certainly never saw any of that money. Help you? I don’t think so.

The short film clip had been very unpleasant to watch, but she no longer had the energy to care. The whole thing could be nonsense for all she knew, some idiotic hoax. She had given up believing anything that idiot said a long time ago.

Sarah deleted the film from her computer, took out the memory stick, threw it in the bin, went out into the stairwell and threw the bin bag down the shaft. Just like that. The house was tidy once more. Just her. No trace of him.

Soon her daughter would come home from school. Life was wonderful. In this flat, she was in charge. She went outside on the terrace and lit a cigarette. Put her feet on the table, smiled to herself, closed her eyes and enjoyed a glimpse of the spring sunshine that had finally made an appearance.

Her life. No one else’s. At last.

Chapter 17

Gabriel Mørk was about to make his way to the incident room when there was a knock on his door.

‘Yes?’ he called out.

‘Hello, Gabriel.’

Holger Munch entered and closed the door behind him. Gabriel nodded hi and shook the large, warm hand.

‘Er, right,’ Holger said, scratching his head. ‘I see your stuff hasn’t arrived yet?’

‘No,’ Gabriel said. ‘But, that guy… he…’

‘Kim?’

‘Yes, Kim, he said it was on its way.’

‘Great, great,’ Holger Munch said, now scratching his beard. ‘We had another guy doing your job, but he succumbed to temptation. Pity, but that’s how it goes.’

Gabriel wondered if he could ask what kind of temptation his predecessor had succumbed to, but he decided against it. There was something in Munch’s eyes. He had seen the same expression in Kim’s. The heavy, burdened expression of someone with a lot on their mind.

‘I’m sorry about the somewhat unorthodox hiring process; I normally meet everyone I employ, but there was no time on this occasion, regrettably.’

‘It’s fine,’ Gabriel replied.

‘You came highly recommended,’ Munch nodded, and patted Gabriel on the shoulder. ‘Again, I’m sorry about the rush. It’s a bit, well, I don’t know, did Kim brief you?’

Gabriel shook his head.

‘OK, you’ll learn on the job. Have you read today’s papers?’

‘On the Net.’ Gabriel nodded.

‘Any particular news that stood out, in your opinion?’

‘The two dead girls?’

Munch nodded.

‘Mia and I will brief everyone shortly, so you’ll soon know what we’re talking about. You have no previous experience with police work?’

Gabriel shook his head.

‘Don’t worry about it. I picked you because of what you know already,’ Munch continued. ‘Like I said, if we had more time, we would have sent you on an induction course, a short version of Police College, but there isn’t, so it’ll be learning by doing and, if you have any questions, then just come to me, OK?’

‘Sure.’ Gabriel nodded.

‘Fine,’ Munch muttered, looking absent-minded again. ‘By the way, what did you think?’

‘About what?’ Gabriel said.

‘When you read the news today?’ Munch continued.

‘Oh, right,’ Gabriel replied, blushing slightly, feeling he should have realized what his new boss was asking him. ‘I guess I thought the same as everybody else, I presume. It was a bit of a shock. I’ve been following the case about the two missing girls. Hoping they would turn up alive.’

Gabriel thought about the headlines in the papers.

PAULINE AND JOHANNE FOUND KILLED…v

LIKE TWO DOLLS IN THE TREE…

FAMILIES IN DEEP MOURNING…

WHITE CITRO‘N SPOTTE…

HAVE YOU SEEN THESE CLOTHES…

‘Was that what you meant?’

‘What?’

Munch had been lost in thought.

‘Should I say anything else?’

‘No, that’s fine,’ Munch replied, placing his hand on his shoulder and turning to the door. ‘Or, no, tell me a bit more.’

Munch gestured for Gabriel to sit down, while he continued to lean against the glass wall.

‘Well, I don’t really know,’ Gabriel began. ‘When I woke up this morning I was an ordinary guy. I didn’t know that this was the case I’d be, well, working on.’

The words tasted strange in his mouth. Working. On a case. A murder investigation. The newspapers wrote of little else; same went for the TV channels. Everyone was talking about the discovery of the bodies of two girls who had been missing for weeks; all of Norway had been hunting high and low for them. It was obvious that the police knew more than they were saying, but they were asking anyone who had seen the clothes to come forward. The dresses. The girls had been found wearing doll’s clothes. Between the lines, a phrase was starting to appear, a phrase which had yet to be used, because this was Norway, not the US or some other country where such things happened, and that phrase was ‘serial killer’. It had not been printed anywhere, and yet it was what everyone thought.

‘I thought it must be the same killer,’ Gabriel said.

‘Aha, go on.’

‘I thought that it doesn’t seem very Norwegian.’

‘Exactly. Go on.’

‘I was pleased they were not the children of someone I knew,’ Gabriel continued.

Munch gestured for him to carry on talking.

‘It was strange that both of them were about to start school. At first, I wondered if it might be about a teacher. Then I feared that perhaps more girls will disappear. Then I thought that, if I had a six-year-old daughter, I would take extra care of her right now.’

‘What did you say?’ Munch said, and seemed to come round momentarily.

‘If I had a six-year-old daughter, I would take extra care of her.’

‘No, before that.’

‘Perhaps more girls will disappear?’

‘Before that.’

‘I thought it might be about a teacher.’

‘Hmmm,’ Munch said, scratching his beard again.

He reached for the door.

‘Incidentally, are you any good at code-breaking?’

Gabriel smiled faintly.

‘I thought that was why you hired me?’

‘Oh, yes, so it was.’ Munch smiled.

He stuffed his hand into his trouser pocket and produced a scrap of paper on which he had scribbled something.

‘This isn’t a priority, it’s a private matter, but I’m hoping you might be able to help me.’

Munch handed Gabriel the note.

‘I have several nerdy friends who like to challenge me. One of them sent me this, but I haven’t been able to crack it.’

Gabriel looked at the note Munch had just passed him.

Bwlybjlynwnztirkjoa=5

‘Can you tell what it is?’ Munch asked him with interest.

‘Not at first glance,’ Gabriel said.

‘He’s been testing me for a few days.’

Munch sighed. ‘But I think I’ll have to give up. Let me know if you make anything of it, would you? I hate it when these mates of mine get one over on me.’ Munch chuckled and patted Gabriel on the shoulder again.

‘But it’s not a priority, it’s just a private matter, OK?’

‘Sure.’ Gabriel nodded.

Munch finally left and, this time, Gabriel made it all the way out into the corridor before Munch popped his head round the door again.

‘Full briefing has been postponed. It’ll be in just under an hour, OK?’

‘Sure.’ Gabriel nodded and stayed in his chair, studying the challenge on the note Munch had just given him.

Chapter 18

Benjamin Bache could not hide his disappointment as he flicked through today’s edition of VG without spotting his name. The paper had crowned this year’s best-dressed men and, last year, he had come a respectable third, beaten only by Morten Harket and Ari Behn; this year, however, he had not even made the list. Dammit. The actor punched the wall in his dressing room, but regretted it immediately. It hurt and made a noise. A moment later, there was a knock on the door and Susanne, the assistant director, appeared.

‘Everything all right, Benjamin? I thought I heard something?’

Benjamin Bache stuck his still-aching hand into his pocket and put on his best smile. After all, he was an actor.

‘Everything is just peachy; perhaps it came from Trond-Espen?’

‘OK.’ Susanne smiled. ‘Rehearsals start in fifteen minutes, Act III from the beginning.’

‘To be or not to be, that is the question,’ Benjamin recited with a wink.

The assistant director giggled before she disappeared. Oh yes, he still had it. But, for the love of God, he had made the list last year – what had gone wrong this time? He had taken such care with his appearance. He had even hired a PR firm and a stylist to advise him. Making sure he looked good. Having his pictures taken at all the right events. From all the right angles. He heaved a sigh and sat down in front of his dressing table. He had not aged much in one year. A few tiny wrinkles around his eyes. His temples were possibly slightly higher. He leaned forward and examined his hairline. There was cause for concern: it looked as if it had receded by a few millimetres since the last time he checked. He swept his hair to the side; it looked thicker when he wore it like that. He began some vocal exercises. Warmed up his throat, pouted at himself in the mirror.

He had been hired by Nationaltheatret almost eight years ago. ‘A star is born,’ Dagbladet had written after his interpretation of Estragon in Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot, and from then on he had been cast almost exclusively in leading roles, at least initially. He had played Romeo. He had played Peer Gynt. And now Shakespeare’s Hamlet on the main stage. He had hoped for the title role. Hamlet. ‘To be or not to be.’ But, instead, he had been cast as Horatio. The part of Hamlet had gone to Trond-Espen because. well, it would, wouldn’t it? Though he didn’t really see why. He was obviously the better actor by far.

Oh, my lord…

He was most put out. Acting in the shadow of Trond-Espen. Bloody Horatio, a character ignored by practically everyone; it was pretty much only Hamlet who bothered to speak to him. Standing on stage, bowing his head, treating Trond-Espen like a king – no, that really went against the grain. Benjamin Bache got up and studied his body in the mirror. He really was very good-looking. It put him in a slightly better mood. His recent workout routine was producing results. The yoga, too. As were the skin treatments: he couldn’t see a flaw anywhere.

He returned to his chair and carried on with the vocal warm-up as the stage manager’s voice crackled through the intercom.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, we’re ready to run Act III. Hamlet. Hamlet, Act Three from the top starting in five minutes.’

Benjamin Bache finished his vocal exercises, left his dressing room and made his way to the main stage.

Chapter 19

Gabriel Mørk was sitting at the back of the incident room, waiting for the briefing to start. He had greeted everyone, shaken their hands in turn, said hi, hi, without being able to remember very many of their names. There was Kim, who had met him in the street, and a woman with long, blonde hair called Anette, then there were three younger men whose names he could not remember and an older man whose name was… Ludvig, was it?

Holger Munch entered the room, closely followed by Mia Krüger. Mia took a seat in a chair at the front, while Holger turned on the projector and connected it to his laptop.

‘Right, hello, everyone. Today is the first briefing with everyone present. Full team in place, and that’s what we need. We have some new faces – welcome to you; those of you who have done this before, please help the newcomers settle in so that we get the best out of everyone. It’s now ten days since we found the body of Pauline Olsen and eight days since we found Johanne Lange. After imposing a media blackout, we have decided to use the press to our advantage. As you have no doubt seen, we have today released pictures of the dresses the girls were found wearing.’

Holger paused briefly and looked across the assembly. Gabriel Mørk thought he could detect a faint smile behind the grave eyes.

‘We should really be celebrating being back here in Mariboesgate,’ Munch added. ‘But, as you know, we have more important things to do, so that will have to wait.’

Gabriel glanced around the room. Even though the mood was sombre, he saw smiles and a couple of contented faces around him. There was no doubt that this team was pleased to be back together again.

‘Some of you have been here from the start, but as we also have some new faces, I’m going to give you a full briefing. I would like to add that this briefing is available as a PDF file on the server, which will be up and running later today. We ask that you share all information, and by that I mean absolutely everything you discover in the course of the investigation; please upload it to the server so everyone has access to it. Things move faster this way and it makes it easier to write reports later.’

Munch hit a button on his laptop and the first slide of his PowerPoint presentation appeared. They were not the same photographs that had been on the front pages of the newspapers, the two doll’s dresses. These were of the missing girls wearing the same dresses and hanging from two separate trees. Gabriel Mørk had never seen anything like it. It was at this point he suddenly realized what he had signed up for. This was not a movie. This was not just another TV programme. This was real. The two little girls no longer existed. Someone had killed them. In real life. They were no longer breathing. They would never talk again. They would never smile again. They would never start school. Gabriel Mørk tried to stay calm and forced himself to look at the photographs, even though his stomach churned. He feared that he stood out enough as it was. Fainting during his first briefing would not look good.

‘Pauline Olsen and Johanne Lange,’ Munch said. ‘Both of them six years old. Due to start school this autumn. Pauline was reported missing four weeks ago. Johanne three weeks ago.’

More photographs, some maps.

‘Pauline disappeared from Skøyen Church Nursery and was found in Maridalen. Johanne disappeared from Lille Ekeberg Nursery and was found in Krokskogen, not far from Hadelandsveien. The times of their deaths have been difficult to pinpoint exactly, but evidence suggests that the girls were kept prisoner for a period of time before they were dressed in these costumes and left in a place where we would find them.’

Munch pressed the key on his computer again and fresh images appeared. Gabriel was unable to look at them and began glancing at the floor and at his shoes.

Dear God. What had he let himself in for? These girls were dead. In real life. The victims of some grotesque game.

He wished with all his heart he was back in his bed now; he felt that his life had changed in just a matter of minutes. He wished he had never seen these photographs. That he did not know that such people existed. People capable of such acts. Suddenly, he felt utterly despondent. He was overcome by a sadness he had never previously known. Of course, he knew that such things happened, and yet a part of him had refused to believe it. This was too unreal – no, it was far too real, it was reality bloody and brutal, that was what it was. Gabriel took a deep breath and concentrated very hard on sitting still.

‘There was no sign of sexual assault,’ Munch continued. ‘The girls had recently been washed, their nails trimmed and cleaned, their hair brushed. Both girls had a sign from Norwegian Airlines hanging around their neck. ‘I’m travelling alone.’ Both had satchels on their backs. Both were killed with an overdose of anaesthetics. There is no doubt that we are dealing with the same killer, and that both the abductions and the murders were carefully planned. Pauline was found by a man called Walter Henriksen – he has a record, but not for anything like this, two counts of driving under the influence some years ago – but we have no reason to think that he is involved. Johanne was found by two brothers, Tobias and Torben Iversen, aged thirteen and seven years old. The boys have a stepfather, Mikael Frank, who is also known to us. He served six months for minor offences, but again there is no reason to think that any of them is involved. Door-to-door inquiries carried out in the vicinity of the crime scenes have not produced many leads but, as you know, a car was spotted which might turn out to be of interest, a white Citro‘n, year unknown.’

Munch hit the keyboard again and the photographs from the newspapers appeared. Munch took a sip from a bottle of Farris mineral water on the desk and carried on.

‘The dresses are copies of doll’s clothes made especially to fit the girls. If the killer made them himself, we probably won’t get any useful leads from them, but there is a chance that he or she had the job done by a third party who did not know what the clothes were intended for. That’s why we went to the newspapers, in the hope that someone might recognize them. We haven’t heard anything so far, Anette, is that right?’

Munch turned to the blonde woman.

‘Nothing,’ Anette said. ‘But it’s early days yet.’

‘Absolutely.’ Munch nodded. ‘For those of you who don’t know, Anette is the link between us and Police Headquarters at Grønland. All communication with them must go through her; we don’t want any leaks our end. There’s a reason we’re hiding up here, isn’t that right, Kim?’

‘I thought it was so that you can smoke on the terrace?’

There was muffled laughter among the small gathering.

‘Thank you, Kim. Don’t get hit by the door on your way out. But, seriously, and I cannot stress this enough: we don’t talk to anyone. Not to the press. Not to our colleagues down at Grønland. Not to family, friends, wives, girlfriends, flatmates, mistresses or, in your case, Kim, your dog.’

There was scattered laughter once more. Gabriel Mørk looked around, he couldn’t see how anyone could laugh in these circumstances, but then it struck him that that was all they could do. Distance themselves emotionally. They had to detach themselves. If they didn’t, then they wouldn’t be able to think straight and do their job properly.

Don’t feel too much. Don’t get emotionally involved.

He took a deep breath and tried to join in the laughter, but did not manage to utter a sound.

‘What we know,’ Munch continued, ‘we keep to ourselves. We’ll get all the help we need. Just ask Anette over there. Whatever you want, talk to Anette. We’ve been allocated unlimited resources for this.’

‘What you mean by ìunlimitedî?’ Kim asked.

‘I mean no limits at all,’ Munch said. ‘Overtime, vehicles, tech, manpower – this investigation is not only a priority for us and Grønland, it’s a case which concerns the whole nation. The orders are coming from the highest level, and I’m not talking about Mikkelson.’

‘The justice secretary?’ asked one of the men whose name Gabriel did not think he had caught.

His head was shaved and he looked like a thug. He could easily play the villain in a movie.

‘Among others,’ Munch nodded.

‘The prime minister?’ the man continued.

‘The prime minister’s office has been informed,’ Munch said.

‘Isn’t this year an election year?’ The man with the shaved head grinned.

‘It’s always an election year, Curry.’ Kim smiled.

Curry. So that was his name. Gabriel had thought the man had said Kari.

‘I don’t give a toss what the two of you think about the prime minister,’ Munch went on in a more brusque tone of voice. ‘Those two girls could be our daughters, and we aren’t the only one who feel that way – the whole country does, look at the Net, at the news. We’re a nation in mourning, in shock. We’re not just solving this case to deliver justice to the girls’ families. It’s a state of emergency out there, people fear for their children’s lives, so I couldn’t care less where you stand politically, Curry: a united government is backing this investigation with unlimited resources. It isn’t our job to question political motives, we have to find the killer. That’s our job, do you understand?’

For a moment, the mood in the room was rather strained. Curry said nothing more, bowed his head slightly and played with his fingers in his lap. Gabriel had not seen this side of Munch yet. On the telephone and in his office he had seemed incredibly kind and calm, affable, like a big teddy. Now he looked more like a grizzly bear. Dark were his eyes and dark was his purpose. Slowly, he began to understand why Munch was the boss here, rather than any of the others.

‘As you can all see, Mia is back,’ Munch continued, in his usual pleasant mood this time.

‘Hello again,’ said Mia Krüger, who had been sitting quietly during the whole presentation but who now got up and walked up to the screen.

There was scattered applause and the odd whistle from the room.

‘Thank you, everyone. It’s good to be back.’

Gabriel glanced furtively at Mia; he was frightened of looking at her too often, scared that he would not be able to stop staring. It was all getting too much for him. Pauline and Johanne hanging dead from the trees, and now Mia Krüger herself was standing only a few metres away from him. Gabriel Mørk was not the only person who had a crush on Mia Krüger. Mia Krüger had her own fan pages on Facebook. Or perhaps she didn’t these days, he wasn’t quite sure, but she used to have. He had considered ‘liking’ some of them but, as a hacker, Gabriel Mørk knew that all your online activity could be traced down to a single click, so he was very careful with anything he did. Rumours had it that Mia Krüger had set out to shoot and kill her sister’s boyfriend, a junkie; the newspapers had been all over the case for a few weeks, until it had been overtaken by other events. He believed the final police report had concluded that Mia Krüger had done nothing wrong but, even so, she had clearly been away for a while.

The skinny girl with the jet-black hair was wearing a black-and-white roll-neck jumper and tight black trousers with zips on the thighs. She looked exhausted, her eyes were dull, and she was much thinner than she had looked in the photographs in the papers. Mia Moonbeam. That was what they had called her on the Net. It was taken from a cartoon Gabriel did not know, it was before his time, but he believed it was called ‘The Silver Arrow’. One of the characters had been a very beautiful Native American girl, Moonbeam, and during the 1980s all the boys were supposed to have had a secret crush on her.

Even so, he couldn’t help staring at her. Mia Krüger. There were not many famous Norwegian crime investigators, perhaps that explained it. A beautiful, young, talented, blue-eyed Norwegian girl who look like an American Native, caught up in a huge scandal: perfect tabloid fodder. He couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for her now. She really did look exhausted. Her thin legs ended in a pair of big biker boots with buckles that rattled whenever she moved. She wore a silver charm bracelet around one wrist and a leather cord around the other. In chat forums on the Net, stories had been circulating about both items. The silver bracelet was supposedly a present from her sister, who had died from a drugs overdose. She was said to have taken the leather cord from a Latvian man who was suspected of having murdered a young girl he had trafficked to Norway as a sex slave. It had been early in her career, and the Latvian man had made her feel sorry for him. She had allowed him to be interviewed without being handcuffed. He had attacked her with a craft knife concealed in one of his boots. With blood all over her face, she had managed to overpower him, and then used his own craft knife to cut the leather cord off his wrist. It was said that she wore it to remind herself never to be weak. She had almost lost an eye in the attack. Gabriel could see the scar from where he was sitting. Rumours and stories. He didn’t know if any of it was true but, even so, it was fascinating. Now she was standing right here in front of him. And they would be working together.

Mia Krüger hugged herself with one arm and spoke softly and cautiously; Gabriel had to strain to hear what she was saying.

‘Most of you already know everything that we know. We’re going to take a look at a few things you don’t know about, which we believe are important.’

Mia pressed a key on Holger’s laptop and another photograph appeared on the screen.

‘The girls wore satchels when they were found. The satchels contained schoolbooks. A name had been written on the cover of the books. On Johanne Lange’s books, it said ìJohanne Langeî. However, on Pauline’s books, it said “Toni J. W. Smith”.’

Another photograph on the screen.

‘Why?’

Mia Krüger smiled briefly.

‘Thanks, Curry, just as patient as always. Good to see you again.’

‘Let Mia finish,’ Munch said irritably.

‘So, on Johanne’s books it said ìJohanne Langeî. On Pauline’s books, however, it said Toni J. W. Smith. As you can see, nothing in these cases is accidental. Everything seems to be planned down to the last detail. The killer knew what he was doing, he knew the girls’ names, we have reason to think that he watched them for a long time before he abducted them – and we’ll get back to that later – but as I was saying…’

Mia Krüger stopped for a moment, cleared her throat and hugged herself more tightly. Munch got up and offered her his mineral-water bottle. Mia shook her head and continued in a low voice.

‘As everyone knows, there’s no doubt that these two cases are connected, but we now have reason to believe they are also connected to a third case, a case some years ago we didn’t manage to solve.’

She pressed a key on the computer again.

‘In 2006, a baby disappeared from Hønefoss Hospital. A few weeks later, a Swedish nurse called Joachim Wicklund was found hanging in his bedsit. On the floor below his body we found a typed note where he takes responsibility for the kidnapping. The baby was never found. The case was shelved.’

Mia Krüger stopped again. Decided to drink some mineral water after all. She was not in good shape. Everyone could see that. The normally fit and healthy woman was trembling slightly; it looked as if she was struggling to make her head work properly.

‘Holger and I,’ she continued after a short pause, ‘are convinced that the name on Pauline’s book, ìToni J. W. Smithî, is a message from the killer. We’re still not sure why he did it, but we think that J. W. is short for Joachim Wicklund, and that Toni Smith is an anagram: ìit’s not him.î’

Low murmuring in the room. It was clear that everyone had huge respect for Mia Krüger and her brain.

Munch took over again.

‘As a result, we’re reopening the Hønefoss investigation. Everything we discovered back then must be reviewed; every interview, every observation and any names linked to that case must be revisited. I want you to take charge of this, Ludvig, because you worked with us back then, and take Curry with you, because he didn’t. A pair of old eyes and a pair of fresh ones, that would be good, I think.’

Both the older man called Ludvig and the man with the shaved head, Curry, who had been so eager to comment on politicians, nodded.

‘So that’s our first lead – Hønefoss 2006 – Ludvig and Curry. Our second lead: the dresses. Anette will coordinate any tip-offs received by Grønland and go over them with Mia and me. Ex-offenders and other likely suspects Ö’

Holger looked up again.

‘Kyrre?’

A tall slim man with short black hair and large glasses looked up from his notes.

‘Yes. Trond and I are on it, but it’s not a long list. What we have so far are sex offenders, assault cases. To be quite honest, I’m not really sure what we’re looking for. Have we seen anything like this before? I mean, seriously? Not me, certainly. We have cross-referenced our lists with our friends down in Europe, especially, in Belgium, with the names of everyone associated with Marc Dutroux, but again, that case involved serious sexual assaults, quite unlike this one. To tell you the truth, our colleagues abroad are shaking their heads at us, but we’ll keep looking, of course.’

‘Good.’ Munch nodded. ‘Oh, I forgot to tell you. We have a new database system, which will be up and running later today. Everything we enter – names, observations, anything at all – will immediately be cross-referenced against all other available databases, ours and anyone else’s; if anyone experiences any problems making it work, please talk to Gabriel Mørk, our new nerd. Have you all met Gabriel?’

Gabriel jumped when he heard his name spoken. He looked up and saw that everyone had turned to him.

‘Hi, hi, Gabriel,’ some of them said.

‘Hello, everyone,’ Gabriel replied, sounding a little nervous.

He had the feeling of being back at school again. That soon he would have to stand up, say something, but fortunately he was not made to. He had no idea what database they were talking about. Munch looked at him and winked.

‘A project I didn’t have time to tell you about, but we’ll do it later, OK?’

‘OK.’ Gabriel nodded and was relieved when Mia Krüger started talking again.

‘I don’t know how many of you have seen this.’

She pressed a key on the laptop.

‘But we discovered a number on the nail of the left little finger when we examined Pauline. It’s the number one. As you can see…’

Another photograph on the screen.

‘Johanne had exactly the same, but the number two, in the form of two lines on her left ring finger.’

‘Damn!’ Ludvig exclaimed spontaneously. He was the older man with the round glasses.

‘Yes, exactly.’ Mia nodded and looked at him.

‘What the hell?’ Curry said.

‘There will be others,’ Anette said.

The room fell silent.

‘We have cause to fear that Pauline and Johanne were only the beginning. That there will be others, unfortunately.’

Munch had taken over again.

‘So we pay special attention to any missing-persons cases. Girls aged six years, even if they have only been gone for thirty minutes, we turn up like gangbusters, do you understand?’

Everyone nodded.

‘Now I feel the need for a cigarette, so we’ll break for ten minutes and meet back here again.’

Munch produced a packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and went outside on to the smoking terrace, closely followed by Mia. Gabriel didn’t quite know what to do with himself. Seeing the photographs of the two girls had been overwhelming enough in itself. And they were saying there would be more? He breathed deeply from his stomach a couple of times to lower his pulse and went out into the corridor to fetch himself a cup of coffee.

Chapter 20

Lukas was sitting in his usual place in the chapel, on the slightly raised chair close to the wall with a good view of the pulpit and the congregation. Pastor Simon had gone up in front of the altar but had yet to start speaking. It looked as if he was thinking about something important. Lukas and the rest of the congregation sat very still; you could have heard a pin drop in the large, white room. Everyone waited with bated breath to hear what Pastor Simon had to say. The white-haired pastor was known for taking his time before preaching; it was about making contact with the Lord, opening the lines between God, himself and the congregation, clearing the room of anything that might obstruct the celestial dialogue. The whole service was beautiful, angelic, almost meditative, Lukas thought as he sat very calmly with his hands folded in his lap.

Lukas loved listening to Pastor Simon. He had first heard him by chance twelve years ago at a campsite in Sørlandet. His foster parents had sent him on holiday with their neighbours: they either could not afford to take him with them or did not want to go on holiday with him themselves. Lukas could not remember where they had been going – to the Mediterranean, something like that – it no longer mattered. Lukas had been fifteen years old and had initially felt very uncomfortable at the campsite; everyone else there had been very old compared to him. It wasn’t the first time he had felt like an outsider, he had felt that way his whole life. He had been moved in and out of foster care ever since social services had removed him from the place that was supposed to be his home, and he had never settled down. Not at school, either. No difficulties with the subjects – the problem was the other pupils. And the teachers. Or maybe, people in general. Lukas gazed in admiration at Pastor Simon, who was still standing, with his eyes closed and both palms facing the sky. Lukas could feel the heat. The glowing heat and the soft, bright light that filled his body and made him feel safe. He remembered the first time he had had this feeling, at that campsite in Sørlandet twelve years ago. Not to begin with; he had felt like a fish out of water, as if everyone around him had a secret which excluded him. The insecurity and the restlessness had affected him badly and, as always when this happened, the voices in his head started telling him to do things, things he could not say out loud. But then, as if God himself had lit up the path for him, he had found his way to one of the smaller tents on the outskirts of the campsite. A beam of light directed him to the white tent, and a whisperer encouraged him to go there, one of the voices which was not so loud, not like the shouters, he hated them, but it was not one of them, it was a nice whisperer, calling softly in this foreign language. Sequere via ad caelum. The kind voice in his ear and the compelling light drew him closer. Sequere via ad caelum, follow the path to heaven. Not long afterwards, he found himself standing inside the tent, mesmerized by the voices, the warmth and the light. And there, on a podium in the centre, was Pastor Simon, his eyes shining, his voice powerful and, ever since that day, Lukas had been saved.

Lukas looked across the congregation, which was still waiting silently for the pastor’s sermon to begin. He recognized every face. Most had been members of the Church for years, but none as long as Lukas. He had not returned to his foster parents that summer, and no one had seemed to mind. Twelve years later, he had risen up the ranks and, though he had yet to turn twenty-seven, he was now Pastor Simon’s right-hand man. His second-in-command. He helped Pastor Simon with all his activities, be they private or Church related. As far as Lukas was concerned, working for Pastor Simon was his mission in life. There was nothing he would not do for him. Life was nothing compared to Pastor Simon and, if it came to it one day, he would gladly die for him. Death was no longer death, not for Pastor Simon’s followers, it was just another step nearer to Heaven. Lukas suppressed a small smile as the warmth and the beautiful light filled him again.

He had not heard the voices in his head for a while now. From time to time, sure, but not loud and not often, not like when he was younger, when the voices, especially the shouters, had told him to do things he knew he should not do. Even though he tried to resist, it had been futile; deep down, he knew that the shouters would never give up. He had to obey them. Get it over with. Hope for the best. It had occurred to Lukas that the whisperers and the shouters were like God and the devil. Pastor Simon had explained to him once how one could not exist without the other. That these two poles of the universe and eternity were inseparable. That you should not be scared, because the path of light would always guide you. Succumbing to the devil’s commands from time to time was not mortal sin, it constituted proof of God’s existence, that sometimes God spoke in the devil’s voice to test you, it was a trial. Even so, Lukas was pleased that the voices, especially the shouters, did not visit him so often now.

Deo sic per diabolum.

The path to God is through the devil.

Lukas was well aware that this was not the official position of their church. It would not be well received by the amateurs. You had to be one of the initiated in order to understand. But the amateurs were only there to be used, like the people now sitting in front of him in reverent silence. The initiated were the people who mattered. Those who had understood what Pastor Simon really meant about the path towards the light. And Lukas was one of them.

Tonight was amateur night. Lukas could feel how much he was looking forward to the coming weekend, when they would return to the forest and meet up with the other initiated ones. Deep down, Lukas could not understand why Pastor Simon insisted on holding meetings for the amateurs any more – after all, they had more important work to do – but he would obviously never contradict the pastor. The pastor was in contact with God and knew exactly what needing doing. Lux domus. Wait until the weekend. Lukas had to press his lips together again so as not to sigh with pleasure as the warmth and the light flowed through his body once more.

At last, Pastor Simon opened his mouth and God was in the room. The congregation sat as if glued to their seats and let themselves be filled with bliss. Lukas had heard this sermon before, it was written for the amateurs; it was fine, but simple and, besides, his mind was on the upcoming weekend. Lux domus. Another step closer to Heaven. He shut his eyes and let the pastor’s words fill him, and then, soon afterwards, it was over and the pastor was standing by the exit. Grateful hands and bowed heads proceeded past him on their way out of the hall, and they were alone again, just the two of them, in the large, white space.

Lukas followed the pastor into his office and helped him out of his cassock. He turned away so as not to see the pastor in his underwear, then helped him put on the suit he normally wore. Poured him a cup of freshly brewed coffee. He said nothing until the pastor had sat down in his chair behind the huge desk and indicated that God had left the room and that they were permitted to speak again.

‘Another name has come forward.’ Lukas cleared his throat and produced the envelope he had kept in his inside jacket pocket during the whole service.

‘Aha?’

The pastor looked up at him and took the envelope. It contained a single white sheet of paper. Lukas did not know what it said, only that it was a name. He did not know what name it was; that was for the pastor’s eyes only. His task was to collect the envelope and give it to the pastor. Not to open it; he was merely to be a messenger, like an angel.

As usual, the pastor said nothing. He read the name, folded the sheet and locked the envelope in the safe under the small table by the window.

‘Thank you, Lukas. Was there anything else?’ The pastor looked up at him. Lukas smiled back at the kind, luminous gaze.

‘No, nothing. Oh, yes, your brother is here.’

‘Nils? He’s here now?’

Lukas nodded.

‘He came right before the service. I asked him to wait in the back garden.’

‘Good, Lukas, good. You can tell him to come in now.’

Lukas bowed and went to fetch the visitor.

‘Why did you keep me waiting so long? I told you it was important.’

Simon’s brother, Nils, was also a high-ranking member of the Church. Lukas had met him for the first time in the tent on Sørlandet but, even though he had been with them just as long, Nils was not quite up there by the pastor’s side. He knew there had been some arguing and dissenting voices when Lukas was given the role of second-in-command; many people felt that place belonged to Nils but, as always, no one challenged the pastor. After all, he was the one who had been entrusted with the key to Heaven.

‘You know it’s important for the pastor to help the amateurs. He’s ready for you now.’

‘Lux domus,’ the brother with the short hair muttered.

‘Lux domus.’ Lukas smiled and showed him the way.

The pastor rose when they entered. His guest bowed and went up to his older brother. Kissed his hand and both cheeks.

‘Sit, sit, my brother,’ the pastor said, and resumed his seat behind the desk.

Nils glanced briefly at Lukas.

‘Would you like me to leave?’ Lukas offered immediately.

‘No, no, stay.’

The pastor gestured casually to indicate that Lukas should sit down; he was one of the initiated, there was no reason for him to leave the room.

Lukas thought he detected a certain amount of irritation from Nils at the decision, but he said nothing.

‘How are you all up there?’ the pastor asked when all three of them had sat down.

‘All is well.’ His brother nodded.

‘And the fence?

‘More than half finished.’

‘Will it be as high as we discussed?’

‘Yes.’ His brother nodded again.

‘So what’s the reason you’re no longer up there?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Why are you here when you have work to do there?’

Nils glanced at Lukas again. It looked as if he had something on his mind but didn’t dare say it while Lukas was in the room.

‘The flock nearly lost a member,’ he muttered at length, with his head bowed; he looked ashamed.

‘What do you mean, “lost a member”?’

‘We had an accident with one of the younger members.’

‘What do you mean by “accident”?’

‘Just an accident. A mistake. It has been taken care of.’

‘Who was it?’

‘Rakel.’

‘Rakel the good one? My Rakel?’

The brother nodded, his neck bowed even lower.

‘She disappeared from us one night. But she’s back now.’

‘So everything is all right?’

‘Yes, everything is all right.’

‘So I ask you again, my brother: why are you down here when you have work to do up there?’

Nils looked up at the pastor, his big brother. Even though Nils was a man well past fifty, he seemed almost like a little boy who had just been told off by his father.

‘You asked me to keep you updated.’

‘As long as everything is all right, then everything is all right, is it not?’

Nils nodded obediently.

‘It might have been easier if we had a telephone,’ he said tentatively after a small pause.

The pastor leaned back in his chair and pressed his fingertips together.

‘Do you have any other suggestions? Any other opinions? Are you dissatisfied with what God has given you?’

‘No, no… That’s not what I… I just wanted…’

Nils struggled to find the words, and his face grew red. The pastor shook his head briefly, and a strange silence spread across the room. It was not awkward for Lukas – he was always on the pastor’s side – but it was uncomfortable for the brother, and he deserved it. How dare he question the pastor’s orders? The brother got up, still keeping his eyes on the floor.

‘You’ll be coming up on Saturday?’

‘We’ll be there on Saturday.’

‘Good. See you then.’ His brother nodded and left the room.

‘Lux domus,’ Lukas said, when only he and the pastor were left. That was how he liked it best: just the two of them.

The pastor smiled and looked at him.

‘Do you think we have done the right thing?’

‘Absolutely.’ Lukas nodded.

‘Sometimes, I’m not so sure,’ the pastor said, and pressed his fingertips together again.

‘There is something I have to tell you,’ Lukas said.

‘Yes?’

‘You know that it’s my job to take care of you.’

‘Is it, Lukas? Is it?’ The pastor smiled.

Lukas blushed faintly. He knew the pastor so well. He knew his voice. He knew when he was being praised.

‘I don’t know if you’re aware, but we might have a problem with the congregation.’

‘You mean, this one?’

‘Yes, the amateurs.’

‘And what is the problem?’

‘Well, that’s up to you to decide, I’m only here to tell you what I see and to take care of you.’

‘Yes, so you say, Lukas, and I appreciate that.’

Lukas coughed slightly before he continued.

‘One of our regular supporters has somewhat unfortunate connections.’

The pastor shook his head.

‘You’re speaking in tongues now, Lukas. Spit it out. Out with it.’

‘An elderly lady in a wheelchair, glasses… she usually sits at the back.’

‘Hildur?’

Lukas nodded.

‘What about her?’

‘She’s the mother of Holger Munch.’

‘Who?’

‘Holger Munch. He’s a police officer.’

‘Oh, is he? I didn’t know that.’

Lukas was somewhat taken aback, because he knew that the pastor had heard of Holger Munch, but he said nothing.

‘Hildur is his mother,’ he said again.

‘And why would that present a problem for us?’

‘I just wanted you to be aware.’

‘Are you thinking about the contents of the envelope now?’

Lukas nodded cautiously.

‘Thank you very much, Lukas, but I don’t think that we need to worry about Holger Munch. We have more important things to think about right now, don’t we?’

‘Yes, we have.’ Lukas nodded, and got up.

‘Lux domus, my friend.’ The pastor smiled amicably.

‘Lux domus,’ Lukas said, smiling back at him.

He bowed deeply and left the pastor’s office without saying anything else.

Chapter 21

Mia Krüger was sitting in her office, fidgeting with the tablets she kept in her trouser pocket. She had promised herself not to take any with her, leave them all behind in her house on the island until she had finished this case, until she needed them again, but she had not quite succeeded. She had stuffed a few pills in her pocket, just in case. She was longing to take one now. She was itching all over. She had forgotten what it was like to be exposed to the real world. She had pushed it so far away. After all, she had not expected to have to deal with it for much longer, but then Munch had turned up and ruined her plans.

Mia Krüger had not had a drink for four days either, not since she had returned to Oslo. Several times, she had been tempted to attack the minibar in her hotel room, but she had managed to restrain herself. Holger had offered her a government flat, but she had insisted on a hotel room and was happy to pay for it out of her own pocket. She did not want to come back. She was not coming back. An impersonal hotel room was all she needed. A transitional room. A waiting room. She did not want to get too close to everyday life. Just to solve this case. Then she would go back again. To Hitra. To Sigrid. She had been searching for a new, symbolic date. The eighteenth of April, the tenth anniversary, had passed. The next one was their birthday: 11 November. When they would both turn thirty-three. Would have turned thirty-three. November seemed incredibly far away. Much too far. She had to find a nearer date. Or maybe she didn’t need one. It could be any time. The most important thing was that it happened. That she was spared this. These people. She stuck her hand in her pocket and placed a pill on her tongue. Changed her mind. Spat it out and put it back in her pocket.

‘Someone has called about the clothes.’

Anette had appeared in her office.

‘What?’

‘We have a hit on the doll’s dresses.’

‘So soon?’

‘Yep.’ The blonde woman smiled, waving a piece of paper in her hand. ‘Jenny, from Jenny’s Sewing Room in Sandvika, called. She apologized for not calling sooner, but she had not got round to reading the papers until now. Do you want to come with me?’

‘Yes, please. Where’s Munch?’

‘He had to pick up his granddaughter from nursery.

‘Do you want to drive, or shall I?’ Anette said, dangling a set of car keys in front of her.

‘You had better.’ Mia smiled and followed her colleague down to the underground car park.

‘So what did she say?’ she asked, when they had left the city centre and were heading down Drammensveien.

She had worked with Anette on several cases in the past, but it had not resulted in a close relationship. Mia did not quite know why: there was nothing wrong with Anette. She was quick thinking and always friendly. She had trained as a lawyer, she was incredibly clever and perfectly suited to the special unit. It was probably because Mia wasn’t close to any of her colleagues. Except Holger Munch, of course, but that was different. Was she close to anyone these days? She had not spoken to her friends from Åsgårdstrand for years. After Sigrid left, she had isolated herself more and more. Perhaps that had not been such a smart move? Perhaps it would have done her good to have a life outside work? It made no difference now. Solve this case, then go back to Hitra. Back to Sigrid. She caressed the S dangling from the charm bracelet. It made her feel safe.

‘I didn’t speak to her myself – a colleague down at Police Headquarters reported it to me. But I think we have the right one.’

‘She knew about the writing on the collar?’

Anette nodded and changed lanes.

‘Mark 10:14. ìSuffer the little children to come unto me.î Do you think we’re dealing with a religious maniac?’

‘It’s too early to say,’ Mia said, putting on her sunglasses.

The light outside was bright; other people might regard it as pale spring sunshine, but not her. Her body felt as if it could not handle any kind of sensory impression. She had tried to watch television last night, but it had given her a headache. She had even had to ask Holger to turn off the radio in his office. They drove down Drammensveien in silence. Mia was aware that Anette wanted to ask questions, but ignored it. The others had been just the same. Polite smiles behind curious eyes. Except for the people who knew her best – Curry, Kim, Ludvig – or maybe them as well. How are you? How have you been? Are you feeling better, Mia? We heard that you had had a breakdown? Shaved your head? Tried to kill yourself on an island in the middle of the sea? Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Anette glancing at her. The car was full of unanswered questions, just like the offices in Mariboesgate, but Mia did not have the energy for them right now. She decided she would put it right later. She really liked Anette. Perhaps they could go out one evening and have a beer together? Or maybe not. Why this, and why that?

Come to me, Mia, come.

Why are you out there alone?

The rain set in just as they turned off towards Sandvika. It drummed on the windscreen, but Mia kept her sunglasses on. She closed her eyes behind the lenses and listened to the sounds. The raindrops hitting the windscreen. The droning of the engine. For a brief moment she was eleven years old again, sitting in the back of her father’s car one Saturday, going home from Horten after being with him at work in his paint shop. She could recall his smell, his voice as he hummed to himself, the leather gloves gripping the steering wheel with only one hand, free and relaxed now that her mother was not in the car.

Do you want to sing our song, Mia?

Yes, sing it, please!

And he would sing Einar Rose’s old revue song.

Again, again!

Again, again?

Yes!

Mia smiled to herself behind the sunglasses, feeling like a little girl, that tingling feeling in her stomach which had always given her goosebumps and made her cheeks go red. Back then, life had been simple. Now, everyone had gone. She was the only one left.

She was jolted out of her reverie when the car stopped.

‘We have arrived,’ Anette announced, and got out.

Mia placed her sunglasses on the dashboard and followed her. The rain had ceased – it had been only a little local shower – the mild spring sun peeked out from behind the clouds once more and showed them the way to a small shop painted yellow, on the outskirts of Sandvika.

It said ‘Jenny’s Sewing Room’ on the window. Behind the door hung an old-fashioned sign: CLOSED. Mia knocked, and a kind but anxious old face appeared behind the curtains.

‘Yes?’ the woman said through the closed door.

‘Mia Krüger, Oslo Police, Violent Crimes Section,’ Mia said, holding up her warrant card to the glass to reassure the old woman.

‘You’re police?’ the woman said, looking incredulously at both of them.

‘Yes,’ Mia replied kindly. ‘Please may we come in?’

It was clear that reading the newspapers had given the elderly woman quite a shock, as it took her some time to unlock the door. Old, shaky fingers struggled to turn the key, but at last she succeeded. Mia entered calmly and showed the woman her warrant card again. The woman closed the door behind them and locked it straightaway. She stayed in the middle of the small, colourful room, not knowing quite what to do with herself.

‘You’re Jenny?’ Mia asked.

‘Yes, and I’m sorry, I’m forgetting my manners. Phew, what a day, I’m shaking all over. Jenny Midthun.’ She introduced herself and held out a small, delicate hand to Mia.

‘Is this your shop?’ Anette said, taking a look around.

There were tailor’s dummies in the windows wearing homemade clothes. The walls and the shelves were filled with items which Jenny had clearly made herself. Tablecloths, dresses, one wall covered with patchwork quilts – the whole shop exuded good, old-fashioned craftsmanship.

‘Yes, we’ve had it since 1972.’ Jenny Midthun nodded. ‘My husband and I started it together, but he’s no longer with us. He died in ’89. It was his idea to call it Jenny’s Sewing Room. I thought it would have been more obvious to call it Jenny and Arild’s, but he insisted, so, well…’

Jenny Midthun’s voice petered out.

‘Did you make these dresses?’

Mia took out the photographs from her inside pocket and placed them on the counter. Jenny Midthun put on her glasses, which hung from a cord around her neck, and examined the photographs before nodding.

‘Yes, I made both of them. What about them? Am I in trouble? Have I done something wrong?’

‘Not at all, Jenny. We have no reason to think that you have done anything wrong. Who was the customer?’ Mia asked.

Jenny Midthun walked behind the counter and took a ring binder from one of the bookshelves.

‘It’s all in here,’ she said, tapping it with her finger.

‘What’s all there?’

‘All my orders. I write everything down. Measurements, fabric, price, due date – everything is here.’

‘Would you mind if we borrowed that?’ Mia asked.

‘No, no, of course not, take whatever you want. Oh, it’s terrible, oh, no, I don’t know if I can… I had such a shock when… Yes, it was one of my neighbours who dropped by with the papers…’

‘Who ordered the dresses?’ Mia said.

‘A man.’

‘Do you have a name?’

‘No, I never got his name. He brought in photographs. Of dolls. Said he wanted the dresses made to fit children.’

‘Did he say what the dresses were for?’

‘No, and I didn’t ask either. Had I known that… but I didn’t know that…’

Jenny Midthun clutched her head. She had to sit down on a chair. Anette disappeared into the back room and returned with a glass of water.

‘Thank you,’ the old woman said, her voice shaking.

‘When was the order placed?’

‘About a year ago. Last summer. The first one, I mean.’

‘Did he visit more than once?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Jenny nodded. ‘He came here many times. Payment was never a problem. Always cash, always on time. A good price. No problems there.’

‘How many dresses did you make?’

‘Ten.’

The old woman stared at the floor. Anette looked at Mia and raised her eyebrows.

There will be others. Ten dresses.

‘When did you last see him?’

‘Not that long ago, not really. Perhaps a month. Yes, I think so. In the middle of March. That’s when he came to pick up the last two.’

‘Can you tell us what he looks like? Are you feeling well enough to do that?’ Anette said.

‘Completely ordinary.’

‘What does ìcompletely ordinaryî mean to you?’

‘He was well dressed. Nice clothes. A suit and a hat. Nice, newly polished shoes. Not so tall – as tall as Arild, perhaps, my late husband, possibly 1.75 metres or thereabouts – neither fat nor thin, completely ordinary.’

‘Any regional accent?’

‘What? No.’

‘So would you say that he was from East Norway? Did he speak like us?’ Anette said.

‘Oh, yes, he was Norwegian. From Oslo. Perhaps forty-five or thereabouts. A completely ordinary man. Very nice. And very well dressed. How was I to know Ö I mean Ö If I had known then…’

‘You’ve been very helpful, Jenny,’ Mia said, gently patting the old woman’s hand. ‘And a great help. Now, I want you to think carefully: was there anything about him which was unusual? Something that stood out?’

‘I don’t know what that would be. Do you mean his tattoo?’

Anette looked at Mia again and smiled faintly.

‘He had a tattoo?’

Jenny Midthun nodded.

‘Here,’ she said, touching her neck. ‘Usually, he would be wearing a roll-neck jumper, so you couldn’t see it, but once he didn’t, or it didn’t quite cover his neck up, if you know what I mean, it was loose around the collar.’

Jenny Midthun touched her own collar to illustrate.

‘Was it a big tattoo?’ Anette wanted to know.

‘Oh. yes, it was. Covered practically everything from here and then down to…’

‘Did you see what kind of tattoo it was?’

‘Yes, it was an eagle.’

‘He had an eagle tattooed on his neck?’

Jenny Midthun nodded tentatively.

‘Call it in immediately,’ Mia said.

Anette nodded and took out her mobile. She went outside and into the street to make the call.

‘Have I been helpful?’

Jenny Midthun looked up at Mia with frightened eyes.

‘Am I going to go to prison?’

Mia patted her shoulder.

‘No, you’re not. But I would like you to come into town so that we can get an official statement from you; it doesn’t have to be right now, but in the next few days. Would that be all right?’

Jenny Midthun nodded and walked Mia to the door. Mia produced a business card from the back pocket of her jeans and handed it to her.

‘If you remember anything else, I want you to call me, OK?’

‘I will. But I’m not in trouble, am I?’

‘No, definitely not.’ Mia smiled. ‘Many thanks for your help.’

She heard the door being locked behind her as she stepped out into the street. Poor thing. She really was terrified. Mia saw the old woman’s face peer out from behind the curtains and hoped that she would not be alone for the rest of the day, that there was someone she could ring.

Mia turned when Anette had ended the call.

‘Did you speak to Holger?’

‘No, he didn’t answer his phone. I spoke to Kim. He’ll follow it up.’

‘Good.’ Mia smiled.

The two police officers got in the car and drove back quickly to Oslo.

Chapter 22

Holger Munch was sitting in Peppe’s Pizza on Stortingsgata, being given a lesson in how to brush a doll’s hair. They had just finished eating, he and Marion – that is to say, he had done the eating; Marion had spent most of her time drinking fizzy pop and playing. To his daughter’s great despair, he couldn’t help himself, he couldn’t resist his granddaughter’s cute eyes and pleading voice. He had never been able to. He had showered Marion with presents from the day she was born: teddies, dolls… her bedroom looked ike a toy shop. Finally, Miriam had put her foot down and told him that enough was enough. They were trying to bring up their daughter to be an independent and sensible girl, not a spoiled brat.

‘Oh, Grandad, look. Monster High!’

‘Monster what?’

‘Monster High. That’s where they go to school. Look, that’s Jackson Jekyll. He’s a boy. Look at his nice yellow shirt. That’s because he’s a monster. Please can I have him?’

‘We had better not buy anything today, Marion. You remember what your mum said: we have to wait until it’s your birthday.’

‘But that’s a trillion days away! And, anyway, when I’m with you, Mum’s rules don’t apply.’

‘Really? Says who?’

‘Says me. Just now.’

‘Is that right?’

‘I get to make the decisions, because I’m six years old and I’m going to go to Lilleborg School soon, then no one can tell me what to do any more, I’m in charge.’

Now who did she remind him of? Sweet and lovely, but incredibly stubborn and wilful?

‘Oh, that’s Draculaura! Look, Grandad, Draculaura! And Frankie Stein! Frankie Stein, Grandad! Oh, please, can we buy them, Grandad?’

Marion got her way in the end, as she always did. Two dolls. Jackson Jekyll and Frankie Stein. Both students at some kind of monster school which Holger Munch didn’t know the first thing about – not that it mattered. But the smile in Marion’s eyes and her warm, soft arms wrapping themselves around his neck did. Who cared what school a couple of dolls went to and whether her mother would get annoyed?

‘Jackson Jekyll wants to be Frankie Stein’s boyfriend, but she doesn’t want to go out with him because she’s a tough girl who has big plans for the future.’

‘You mean she’s independent?’

Marion looked up at him with her bright blue eyes.

‘Yes, that’s what I mean.’

Holger smiled to himself. It was like hearing his daughter’s voice all over again. Little Marion was a true copy of Miriam, and then some. Holger Munch was reminded of the day they had walked Miriam to school for her first day. How proud he had been. His little girl had grown up and was going out into the world for the first time. She had looked so cute, with pigtails, new clothes and a new satchel on her back. She had been very excited about starting school, but she was also dreading it a bit because everything was new. They had stood together in the playground and watched her go inside, he and Marianne; they were not allowed to walk in with them, this was how the school wanted it, it was better if the children met inside on the first day without their parents being present. Miriam had squeezed his hand hard, refusing to let go. Still a daddy’s girl. How did she suddenly turn fifteen, wearing heavy make-up, listening to loud music behind a closed bedroom door, definitely not a daddy’s girl any more? Not to mention the next leap to twenty-five – how did that happen? The little girl who had clung to his leg, scared of all the other children, was now being fitted for her wedding dress, about to marry Marion’s father, Johannes, who was a newly qualified doctor from Fredrikstad, and a man he barely knew. Holger Munch switched his attention back to his grandchild, who still thought he was the best grandfather in all the world and still wanted a hug and to sit on his lap.

‘Now you be Jackson Jekyll,’ Marion said.

‘What did you say, sweetheart?’

‘Now you’re Jackson Jekyll and I’m Frankie Stein.’

‘Don’t you want a bit more pizza?’

‘Frankie Stein doesn’t want to eat anything because she’s on a diet. Please take the doll, Grandad.’

Holger accepted the doll reluctantly while trying not to be distracted by all the messages that kept arriving on his mobile. He had made up his mind that he was not going to make the same mistakes twice. When he was with Marion, she would have his full attention; that was the way it was going to be, the rest of the world would just have to wait.

‘Say something, Grandad,’ Marion said impatiently, balancing the thin monster doll on the table between leftover pizza slices.

‘What do you want me to say?’

‘Oh, that’s for you to decide. Don’t you know how to play, Grandad?’

‘Heh, heh,’ Holger Munch said in a different voice, pretending to be Jackson Jekyll, hoping desperately the customers at the neighbouring table could not hear him.

‘Hey, Jackson, how are you?’ Marion said in her doll’s voice.

‘Do you want to go see a film?’

‘Yes, that sounds like fun. What’s on?’

‘Pippi Longstocking,’ Holger Munch said.

‘But that’s a kid’s movie.’ Frankie Stein sighed. ‘And that’s not the voice you used before, Grandad.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Holger said, stroking his granddaughter’s hair.

‘That’s quite all right.’ The little girl nodded. ‘After all, you’re old, Grandad, you don’t understand what young people do.’

She took both dolls and showed him how the conversation would have gone if he had been better at playing:

‘Hey, Frankie.’

‘Hey, Jackson.’

‘Do you want to go to that party at school on Friday?’

‘I’d love to, but it’s not a date, we’re just friends.’

‘Can I kiss you?’

‘No, no kissing, just a hug.’

‘Can I have a hug, please?’

‘OK.’

Marion pressed the two dolls together. Holger saw a chance to sneak a peek at his mobile. Anette had called and sent a text message. Kim had sent two text messages. And Kurt Eriksen, his family lawyer, had called him several times. He wondered what he wanted. Marion was absorbed in playing, so he seized the opportunity to read the message from Anette.

We have the woman who made the dresses. And the customer. A man with an eagle tattoo on his neck. Have spoken to Kim. Call me.

So soon? Holger Munch felt his police heart beat a little faster. Sometimes the media could be useful: they had got a hit almost immediately. He quickly skimmed the two messages from Kim.

Might have something on the eagle tattoo guy. Curry thinks he knows who it is. Call me.

And then just.

Hello?

‘Hi, where is Marion?’

Holger snapped back to reality to discover his daughter standing in front of him with a mildly irritated expression.

‘Hello, Miriam. Marion? She’s…’

Marion was not on her chair.

‘She was just…’

He never managed to complete the sentence. Miriam had already gone to retrieve Marion, who had wandered further into the restaurant as part of her game.

‘Didn’t we have a talk about buying her fewer toys?’

‘Yes, but…’

‘Get your things, Marion, we’re going home.’

‘Already? But me and Grandad were going to have ice cream.’

‘That’ll have to be some other day. Come on.’

Miriam started packing up Marion’s things. Holger got up to help.

‘So how did the fitting go? Is everything all right?’

‘It’s not really what I wanted.’ Miriam sighed. ‘But they have a tailor, so we can alter it; I just hope they’ll get it done in time.’

‘Yes, 12 May is not far away.’

‘No, you can say that again. Come on, Marion, we have to run now, Daddy is parked illegally outside. Say bye-bye to Grandad.’

‘Bye-bye, Grandad.’ the little girl smiled and gave him a big hug. ‘Promise you’ll practise playing for next time?’

‘I promise.’ Holger smiled.

‘Will you be going on your own?’ Miriam said.

‘To what?’

‘To the wedding. Will you be on your own, or will you be bringing someone?’

Bring someone to the wedding? It hadn’t even crossed his mind. He didn’t quite know why, but suddenly Karen from the care home sprang to mind. Her face lit up every time he visited. But take someone to a wedding for your first date? No, that would be completely wrong.

‘I’m coming on my own,’ Holger said.

‘Why don’t you bring Mia? I heard she’s back? I’d love her to come. I’ve tried calling her, but her mobile doesn’t seem to work.’

Bring Mia – now there was a thought. And he knew that Miriam and Mia liked each other.

‘She has a new phone,’ he said. ‘But I don’t mind asking her myself. In fact, it’s a very good idea.’

‘Good, then I’ll add her to the list,’ Miriam said, and almost smiled before reverting back to her usual, serious self. ‘And another thing – it looks like Johannes and I may have to take a trip to Fredrikstad next weekend. Could you have Marion?’

‘Of course.’

‘Are you back in your old flat? Have you moved out of that place in Hønefoss?’

‘Yes, I’m back now. She can spend the whole weekend with me. That would be great.’

‘OK, I’ll call you.’

Miriam herded Marion towards the exit.

‘Bye-bye, Grandad.’

‘Bye-bye, Marion.’

Holger Munch waved goodbye until the door slammed shut behind them, then he went to pay the bill.

Once he got outside, he could barely wait to call his colleagues. His break from the world had lasted long enough. They had news about the dresses. Kim answered his phone after the first ring.

‘Hello?’

‘What have we got?’ Munch asked.

‘Anette and Mia found the woman who made the dresses. A seamstress from Sandvika.’

‘And?’

‘The customer was a man in his mid-forties. Eagle tattoo on his neck. Ten dresses.’

‘Ten dresses?’

‘Correct.’

Damn.

‘And we know who he is?’

‘Curry thinks he does. Like I said, we’re not one hundred per cent, but how many people in their mid-forties have a large eagle tattoo on their neck? He fits the description. Roger Bakken. He doesn’t have a record, but Curry ran into him once when he worked for the Drug Squad.’

‘What kind of guy are we talking about?’

‘A drug runner. Picking up and delivering parcels – you know.’

‘That sounds like it could be the break we’ve been waiting for.’

‘I should say so.’

‘Do we have an address?’

‘Last known address is a hostel down in Grønland. That is, if we’re talking about the same Roger Bakken.’

‘Have we dispatched a team?’

‘Mia and Anette are there now.’

‘I’ll be there in five minutes,’ Holger said, and rang off.

Chapter 23

Mia held the door open for Anette and followed her inside the dark reception area. Over the years, Mia Krüger had seen her fair share of hostels and, like all of them, this one had the familiar oppressive feeling of hopelessness between the walls. Last stop before the final destination. A place you only ended up when nobody wanted you.

‘Hello?’ Anette called out across the counter in the faded lobby, but no one came out.

‘Can’t we just go straight up?’

Mia walked across to a door which appeared to lead upstairs and pushed down the handle; it was locked.

‘I think we have to be buzzed in,’ Anette said, and peered across the reception desk. ‘Doesn’t a place like this usually have an entry phone? Surely they would want to have some control over who is coming and going?’

Mia Krüger looked around. The lobby was sparsely furnished. A small table. Two spindle-back chairs. A dried-out palm in a corner.

‘Hello?’ Anette called out again. ‘This is the police. Is anyone here?’

Finally, a door opened behind the counter and a skinny, elderly man appeared.

‘What do you want?’

‘Police. Violent Crimes Section,’ Mia said, placing her warrant card on the counter.

The man looked at them with scepticism. He glanced at the photograph of Mia while he polished off the sandwich he held in his hand.

‘Aha?’ he said, picking at his teeth with his finger. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘We’re looking for a man called Roger Bakken,’ Anette said.

‘Bakken, hmmm,’ the man said, glancing at a ledger lying in front of him.

‘Roger Bakken,’ Mia said impatiently. ‘Mid-forties, large eagle tattoo on his neck.’

‘Oh, him,’ the skinny man said, now cleaning his teeth with his tongue. ‘I’m afraid you’re too late.’

‘What do you mean?’

The thin man smirked slightly. He seemed almost pleased to put a spoke in their wheels. Clearly not a big fan of the police.

‘Checked out about a month ago.’

‘Checked out?’

‘Dead. All gone. Suicide,’ the thin man said, taking a seat behind the counter.

‘Are you messing with us?’ Mia said irritably. ‘By the way, I assume everything here is in order? Nobody staying here who shouldn’t be? And you don’t allow drugs here, do you?’

The thin man got up again, more smiling and obliging now.

‘No, of course we don’t. He killed himself, jumped from the roof and hit the tarmac. That is, if we’re talking about the same guy.’

‘Roger Bakken. Mid-forties. A tattoo on his neck.’

‘That sounds like our Roger,’ the man nodded. ‘Tragic story, but he wouldn’t be the first one. That’s life. Or it is for these guys.’

‘How did it happen?’ Anette asked.

‘Jumped from the balcony in the lounge on the eighth floor.’

‘You have a balcony? What kind of place is this?’

The thin man gave a shrug.

‘What can we do? Nail the windows shut? People have a right to make decisions about their own lives, even if they don’t belong to the upper echelons of society, don’t you think?’

Mia decided to ignore the sarcasm.

‘Please can we see his room?’

‘Sorry, someone else’s already living there. People queue up to stay here. We have a waiting list of several months.’

‘Did he have any family? Has anyone been to collect his things?’

‘Nope,’ the thin man said. ‘We called the police and someone came to pick up the body. Not many of our residents have a family. Or, if they do, then the family doesn’t want to know about them.’

‘Do you still have his stuff?’

‘It’s in a box in the basement, as far as I know.’

‘Thank you,’ Mia said impatiently.

‘You’re welcome,’ the thin man said.

Mia drummed her fingers on the counter. She had forgotten all of this. What it was like. To be a police officer in the capital. To be back in the world. She missed her house. Her island. The view of the sea.

Come to me, Mia, come.

‘I was thanking you for your help,’ she said at length.

‘You what?’

‘For fetching his stuff and handing it over without us having to waste the whole day.’

The thin man looked surly, but then he nodded and shuffled to the back room.

‘Bollocks,’ Mia muttered under her breath.

‘What’s wrong?’ Anette said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You don’t normally let people like that get to you.’

‘I slept badly,’ Mia said by way of excuse.

At that very moment, the door opened and Holger Munch appeared.

‘What have we got?’ He sounded breathless when he reached the counter.

‘Bad news.’

‘What is it?’

‘Roger Bakken killed himself a month ago.’ Anette heaved a sigh.

‘Before Pauline disappeared?’

Mia nodded.

‘Damn!’ Holger exclaimed.

His mobile rang. He stared at the display for a moment before deciding to answer the call. The thin man reappeared from the back room carrying a box.

‘Here we are. That was all he had.’

He placed the box on the counter in front of them.

‘Does it contain a mobile? Computer?’

The thin man shrugged his shoulders again.

‘Never checked.’

Mia produced a card from her back pocket and put it on the counter.

‘We’ll be taking it with us,’ she said. ‘Call me if you have any questions.’

‘What the hell?’

Anette and Mia turned simultaneously, startled at Holger’s sudden outburst on the phone. He ended the call and turned to them with a grim expression on his face.

‘Is that all?’ he asked, nodding towards the box.

‘Yep.’

‘Who were you talking to? Mia asked curiously.

‘My family solicitor.’

‘Problem?’

‘I have to go to see him now. I’ll meet you at the office.’

Holger Munch slipped his mobile into the pocket of his duffel coat and held the door open for his two colleagues.

Chapter 24

As Lukas rode his bicycle, he felt the lovely spring air on his face. He was in high spirits today; he had risen early, carried out his chores, morning prayer and housework. It was his responsibility to keep the chapel nice and tidy, an important job which he valued. To describe morning prayer as a chore was wrong. Morning prayer was a joy; sometimes, he would even start praying the moment he woke up while he was still in bed, even though he really ought to get dressed and have his breakfast first. But he just couldn’t help himself. It felt so right. Talking to God. For that to be his first activity as soon as he had opened his eyes. He started every prayer by expressing gratitude. He thanked God for taking care of his nearest and dearest. For Pastor Simon. For everyone up in the forest. Occasionally, he wondered if he ought to have included his former families in his thanks but, to be honest, he could no longer remember their faces. His birth family, who had given him up, his foster family, who hadn’t cared about him all that much, he was not angry with any of them – why on earth would he be angry? Forgive them, Father, they know not what they do. It was a no-brainer as far Lukas was concerned. If he had not grown up the way he had, he would never have ended up at the campsite in Sørlandet, never had the chance to be completely happy in union with God and Pastor Simon. Lukas grinned from ear to ear and trod harder on the pedals. Why would he be dissatisfied with anything? He had no cause. Life was wonderful. Perfect. He chuckled to himself and whispered a short prayer. A thank you. Thank you, God, for the birds in the trees and this fine road. Thank you, God, for spring and all the other seasons. Thank you, God, for making me important, for finding Pastor Simon for me, because I wake up and fall asleep every day with joy in my heart. He said the latter out loud as he felt the warmth and the light course through his blood. A car passed him on Maridalsveien, a little too close, one of those godless wretches with no sense of direction in their lives and always in a hurry. Lukas was nearly knocked off his bike, but he decided not to get upset about it. It was a long time since he had wasted his energy on the heathens. On low-caste people. There was no reason for it. At first, he had felt sorry for them because they were not as lucky as he was, but that had stopped. Everyone was free to choose their own path in life. The key to happiness lies in your own hands; it’s a matter of realizing it, as Pastor Simon always said. It was one of Lukas’s favourite quotes; he could never get enough of listening to the pastor on the pulpit. No one can hurt you unless you let them. You should always do whatever you think you can’t. Grief is a plant that cannot live without being watered; it is up to you to decide whether or not it lives. Lukas smiled to himself again. The pastor had many more sayings like it. He was in direct contact with God, Lukas could bear witness to that himself; it was not nonsense. He had seen it happen several times. He had seen God in the room. Thank you, God, for purifying me. Thank you, God, for the beautiful wildflowers along the road. Thank you, God, for the whisperers. Thank you, God, for the shouters. Thank you, God, for making my life complete.

Lukas got off his bicycle, kicked out the stand and sat down on a rock. They met in various places, and this layby was one of them. Not that they had met many times; this was perhaps the eighth time, was it? The woman came by car. The last time had been some weeks ago. Normally, she would turn up, open the window, hand him the envelope and drive off without saying anything. However, the last time had been different: she had got out of the car, lit a cigarette and chatted to him briefly, not about anything important, just about the weather and things like that. He did not know how old she was – thirty-five or thereabouts – she was always quite well dressed, with ankle boots and a coat or a smart jacket, and she wore bright-red lipstick and had a lovely smile. She had long, dark hair and a straight nose, and she always wore sunglasses, whatever the weather. The woman was clearly not one of the initiated, Lukas had no doubt about that. You could tell from the way she dressed. Lipstick and ankle boots and sunglasses, and even cigarettes. In the Bible, she would have been a whore, but it was exactly as Pastor Simon had said: Sometimes the path to the light goes through silent darkness. He felt that he and the woman balanced each other out, with her on one side, he on the other. Both messengers. Brought together by God, for God. He got up and stretched his arms, kicked a pebble on the ground into the bushes. Hummed a little to himself. He had started doing that recently; he didn’t sing out loud, just quietly to himself, a melodious chant. M-m-m-m-m. He looked up at the sun, which had just come out. Saw a squirrel jump from one tree to another. Thank you, God, for the squirrels and the other animals with which you have blessed us. Lukas would turn twenty-seven this autumn, but inside he felt much younger. It was as if time did not exist. He had no age. God had no age. Time had no beginning and no end. That was for amateurs. People who used watches and telephones, and who were always in such a rush to get ahead. Eternity has already begun. He clearly remembered the first time Pastor Simon had said it; it was the third day of the Sørlandet camp after he had been saved and found God. Eternity has already begun. He carried on humming and looked up at the trees again. A nuthatch was fluffing up its feathers. Further in, he could hear a woodpecker hammering away. Last Saturday, he had seen an owl up at the house in the forest. Lux Domus. Many people did not like owls, they regarded them as birds of ill omen, but Lukas knew better. The weekend had been just as rewarding as he had expected, perhaps even better. Nils had done a good job in the forest. It really had become a paradise.

A car pulled up and stopped a short distance from him. It was not the same car as the last time, but it was her, he recognized her through the windscreen. Her long, dark hair, scraped back into a ponytail, lipstick, but no sunglasses this time. It looked as if she had no intention of getting out of the car today; she simply summoned him, opened the window and stuck out the envelope. She scouted around a little nervously, as if something was wrong. As if she was in a hurry and just wanted to get this over and done with as quickly as possible. Lukas held out his hand for the envelope and, at that moment, she turned to him and glanced at him briefly before turning away again.

Lukas’s heart skipped a beat. Her eyes were two different colours. One was brown. The other blue. Lukas had never seen anything like it in his whole life. He stood frozen, holding the envelope, unable to utter a single word and, for the first time in a very, very long time, he felt a kind of terror creep over him, drops of something dark in his happy blood. The woman with the different coloured eyes closed the window and rejoined the traffic on Maridalsveien; soon she was gone again, just as quickly as she had appeared.

Chapter 25

Mia Krüger hauled the large cardboard box into the office and closed the door behind her. The usually busy offices were quiet: no one was there; she had lost Anette along the way – she had to help her daughter with something and would come back later. Mia had said that there was no need, she was happy to go through the items on her own. Anette had reeked of guilt, like everyone who is torn between the demands of family and work, but Mia had reassured her that it was not a problem. She had promised to call her if she found anything important. The truth was that Mia preferred to work alone. It made thinking easier. Going deep. Seeing the connection. She had nothing against Anette or, indeed, any of her colleagues – they did an excellent job – but every now and again, being surrounded by people got too much for her and her brain refused to work as it should.

Mia carried the box to the incident room and put it on the table. She sat down and stared at the wall. As always, Ludvig had put up pictures from both cases, Post-it notes and arrows, names and questions. Pauline and Johanne. Dresses? Who? At least they knew the answer to that now, even though they had got no further than a cardboard box left behind by a dead man with an eagle tattoo on his neck. She removed the lid and spread out some of the contents on the large table. There was not muchin the box. A few photographs. One showing a dog. A golden retriever. A guy on a fishing trip; his face was not included in the photograph, only the large salmon he held in his hands. A car. Who on earth has a photograph of their car? Mia thought, and delved deeper into the box. Underneath a pile of bills, she found what she was looking for. A laptop and an iPhone. She tried turning on the iPhone. The battery was dead. She searched the box for the charger, but did not find one, nor one for the laptop; when she tried turning it on, it too had run out of power.

Mia was on her way to her office to fetch her own charger when she heard noise from one of the offices further down the corridor. It would appear that not everyone had gone home after all. The new nerd was still there – what was his name again? Gabriel. Gabriel, that was it. Mia was annoyed that her brain still refused to work properly; her diet of pills and alcohol on the island had left its traces: nausea and dizziness, no appetite and jumbled thoughts that refused to straighten out. She walked down the corridor to Gabriel’s office and made up her mind to start exercising again. She used to be in great shape once, but that was a long time ago. She wondered if Chen was still in town. Probably. But he was pissed off with her. Or was she pissed off with him? She couldn’t remember. She made a mental note. Call Chen. Get back to exercising. Get the blood flowing through her muscles. Get her brain working again.

‘Hello, are you still here?’

Mia popped her head round the door without knocking. The young man with the blond hair jumped.

‘Oh, I didn’t hear you,’ he said apologetically.

Mia thought she detected the hint of a blush in his cheeks.

‘Sorry, my mistake.’ She smiled. ‘I was just wondering if you could help me with something.’

‘Of course.’ Gabriel nodded. ‘Do you mind if I finish connecting these?’

He pointed to some cables lying on the floor.

‘Take all the time you need,’ Mia said.

‘I thought the police were supposed to be experts,’ Gabriel smiled as he crawled under the desk with the cables in his hand. ‘But whoever installed this had no idea what they were doing.’

‘Don’t ask me. I don’t know anything about computers. I’m down in the incident room.’

‘OK, I’ll be with you in a minute.’

Mia stopped by her own office on her way back and picked up the chargers, for both the laptop and the iPhone. Who keeps photographs of their car and their dog? Mia had no photographs at the office. She’d put everything she owned into storage when she moved to Hitra. Paid three years’ rental in advance. She didn’t want to have to think about her personal possessions now. Her photographs, her parents or Sigrid. She pushed the thought aside and continued to the incident room. She connected Roger Bakken’s laptop and phone to the chargers and went out on Munch’s smoking terrace to get a bit of fresh air. The evening twilight was descending over the city and it was growing colder. She pulled her leather jacket around herself more tightly and missed her knitted beanie. Why was she acting like this? Behaving like a spoilt brat? Was she starting to feel sorry for herself? Now? She had never complained a single day in her life. She had a sudden urge for a cigarette. She had never smoked, but it seemed the right thing to do up here. Smoking in order to think, that was what Holger did. And where was he, anyway? She checked her watch: it was two hours since he had gone to see his solicitor. She hoped it was nothing serious; they had enough on their plate as it was.

‘Ahem, Mia?’

Gabriel had appeared in the incident room. Mia went back inside to join him. Suddenly, she felt bad for the guy, new to working with the police. Had anyone bothered showing him the ropes? Told him what he was here to do?

‘How are you, Gabriel? she said, sitting down on the big table.

The young hacker looked away and then down at the floor. he was definitely blushing. He really was a delicate little petal, Mia thought, and produced a packet of lozenges from her pocket.

‘Oh, I’m all right,’ Gabriel said.

‘You’re settling in? Do you have everything you need?’

‘I’ve just finished installing the equipment. Looks good. In fact, I’m going to a meeting in Grønland later. Induction. Someone called Møller?’

‘Ah, yes, we call him Hat-trick.’ Mia nodded. ‘He’s good.’

‘Excellent,’ Gabriel nodded. ‘I haven’t seen police databases before; it’ll be fun to see how they work.’

Mia smiled.

‘You’re a hacker and you’ve never had a look at our databases? I find that hard to believe. Or sneaked a peek at Interpol? Come on, you must have done that?’

Gabriel reddened again and looked tongue-tied.

‘I don’t know…’

‘I’m just pulling your leg. Relax. I don’t care. Do I look as if I care?’

Mia winked at him and offered him a lozenge. Gabriel took one and sat down on a chair. Mia liked this boy. Nice and clever. Polite and shy. It was good to be around such people again. In fact, she was starting to feel better. Her brain was recalibrating.

‘What can I do for you?’

‘Those two,’ Mia said, pointing to the laptop and the mobile that were currently charging.

‘Who do they belong to?’

‘Roger Bakken. The guy who ordered the dresses the girls were wearing.’

‘The one with the tattoo?’ Gabriel asked.

‘Yes. You’re well informed?’

Gabriel smiled.

‘I record all the unit’s phone calls, text messages and conversations. Everything shows up on my computer.’

Mia took another lozenge.

‘Really? Anything new?’

Gabriel gave her a strange look.

‘Are you asking me? I haven’t been here long.’ he smiled.

‘It’s been a while since I was here last.’ She winked. ‘But, seriously? Everything anyone says and all our text messages?’

‘Yep.’ Gabriel nodded. ‘Plus, all our mobiles have a tracker so I can see where you all are. Security and hyper-communication.’

‘Good God. Quite useful, though.’

‘Absolutely.’ The young man nodded.

‘So when Curry calls gay chatlines at night we’ll know about it the next day, is that right?’

Gabriel looked uncomfortable. He was not sure if she was joking or if she was up to something.

‘In theory, yes,’ he said, his cheeks rather red once more.

‘I’m just kidding.’

She got up and gave him a pat on the shoulder. Gabriel went over to the laptop and the mobile, sat down on the floor and turned on both devices. He continued to stare at them while they slowly came to life. The iPhone was up and running first, asking for a pin code. The laptop followed soon after; that too was password protected.

‘Will it be easy to access it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can you do it?’

‘Now?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘Sure.’

Gabriel got up, went to his office and returned with a memory stick. Mia watched as the young hacker went to work on the computer.

‘I have a program called Ophcrack on this,’ Gabriel said as he inserted the memory stick into the laptop.

He pressed and held down the start button on the laptop until it turned off. He turned it back on again.

‘All I have to do is change the start-up sequence so that it reads the memory stick before it reads the hard drive. Do you understand?’

Mia nodded. She was not the sharpest person in the world when it came to computers, but this much she understood. Gabriel turned off the laptop and turned it back on again.

‘There. As it starts up, it’ll start by reading the memory stick and then it’ll load Ophcrack.’

Mia watched while Gabriel worked.

‘Right, as you can see, this machine has two users, Roger and Randi.’

‘Who is Randi?’

Gabriel shrugged.

‘Perhaps he had a girlfriend?’

‘Remind me to check that out. Randi.’

‘OK.’ Gabriel nodded. ‘Which password do you want me to crack?’

‘Let’s start with Roger.’

‘OK,’ Gabriel said, pointing to the screen. ‘Take a look at the columns saying LM Pwd 1 and LM Pwd 2. If the password is more than seven characters long, and it probably is, the first seven characters will appear in the column LM Pwd 1 and the rest in LM Pwd 2. Now all I have to do is select the user.’

Gabriel selected ‘Roger’ and clicked a command in the program, ‘Crack’.

‘And hey presto.’

Mia waited in tense anticipation for a few seconds while the program ran. Soon, the password appeared on the screen in front of them.

‘FordMustang67.’

The car in the photograph. If she had not had this young genius to help her, she could probably have cracked it herself. Not in a few seconds, obviously, but eventually.

‘Is this something everyone can do?’ Mia wanted to know.

‘Ophcrack is freeware, it’s available on the Net, so as long as you know what you’re looking for, yes, then everyone can do it.’ Gabriel nodded and turned the computer on and off again.

The login screen appeared and Gabriel was about to type in the password when Mia’s phone rang. The display read ‘Holger Munch’. She went out on the smoking terrace to answer it.

‘Mia here.’

‘Hi, Mia. It’s Holger.’

‘Where are you?’

‘In the car. Listen, there’s something we need to talk about.’

‘OK, right. Go on, then.’

‘Not on the phone. Let’s go for a beer.’

‘You want a beer?’

‘No, I don’t want a beer, but I do need to talk to you. It’s personal. Not work. You can have a beer; I’ll have a Farris.’

‘OK,’ Mia said. ‘Where do you want to meet?’

‘Are you at work?’

‘Yes.’

‘How about Justisen in a few minutes?’

‘No problem, Holger. See you there.’

‘See you soon,’ Holger said, and ended the call.

How strange. Holger had never minded discussing problems on the phone before, Mia thought. Then she remembered what Gabriel had just told her. Their phones were being monitored, for their own safety, of course. Once again she hoped that nothing serious had happened.

‘I’m afraid I need to leave,’ Mia said to Gabriel when she came back inside.

‘OK.’ The hacker nodded. ‘The laptop is up and running now. You want me to crack the iPhone as well?’

‘That would be super.’ Mia smiled. ‘Will you be working late?’

‘I’ll stick around for a while,’ Gabriel said. ‘I prefer to work nights anyway, and there’s a lot for me to learn.’

‘If something spectacular crops up, then call me, OK? If not, we’ll go over it tomorrow.’

‘Understood,’ Gabriel said.

‘Thanks for your help,’ Mia said.

She walked down the steps, pulled the jacket around her more tightly and made her way to Møllergata.

Chapter 26

Holger Munch was sitting under one of the heating lamps in Justisen’s beer garden. He had just lit a cigarette and was looking anxiously at his phone, typing a message, but put it down the moment Mia appeared.

‘Hello, Mia.’

‘Hello, Holger.’

‘Is it all right with you that we’re outside? I’ve already ordered.

‘Sure,’ Mia said, pulling out a chair.

It was an Oslo evening at the end of April and, truth be told, still too cold to be sitting outside, but the heating lamp helped. Mia knew there was very little point in sitting indoors with Holger; he smoked non-stop, so she might as well make herself comfortable outside from the start. She took a rug and covered her legs.

‘What have you ordered?’

‘Just a Farris and a sandwich and a beer for you; I didn’t know if you wanted anything else.’

‘No, thanks, a beer would be great,’ Mia said.

Holger glanced around the charming, rustic beer garden.

‘I haven’t been here for ages.’

‘Me neither.’ Mia smiled.

They both knew when the last time had been, but neither was prepared to say. A glance and a nod was enough. They had sat here, at the same table, two years ago, while the allegations against her were being investigated. Mia had been down in the dumps and Holger was the only person she could talk to. Somehow, a photographer from Dagbladet had found them, started taking photographs, refused to leave them alone. Holger had politely but very firmly escorted the photographer out of the bar. Mia had to smile at the memory. He really had been very chivalrous. She had needed him then. This time, he needed her.

‘I wasn’t trying to make a drama out of it, I just haven’t got the energy to do this on the phone. It’s not serious – I mean, it’s not as important as the case,- but, all the same, I would like your advice,’ Holger said.

A waitress appeared with their order. A bottle of mineral water and a prawn sandwich for Holger, a beer for Mia.

‘Hope you enjoy it. Just let me know if you need anything else,’ the girl said with a smile before she disappeared.

‘And, besides, we haven’t yet celebrated that we’re back.’ Holger smiled and raised his glass. ‘Cheers.’

‘Cheers.’ Mia smiled and took a sip of her beer.

She was loath to admit it, but it tasted wonderful. It hit just the right spot. She had to be careful, she was only too aware of it, but at this moment in time it was the way it was going to be. She deserved to relax. Holger ate his prawn sandwich without saying very much. He pushed his plate aside when he had finished and lit another cigarette.

‘Did you find anything useful among Bakken’s belongings?’

‘A laptop and an iPhone.’ Mia nodded.

‘Good. Anything of interest?’

‘Don’t know yet. Gabriel is checking them out as we speak.’

‘What do you make of him?’

Mia gave a light shrug and took another sip of her beer.

‘I haven’t had time to talk to him all that much, but he seems like a nice guy. Young, of course, but that’s not necessarily bad.’

‘I have a good feeling about him,’ Holger said, blowing smoke up into the air. ‘Sometimes, it can be wise to recruit from the outside. A fresh pair of eyes not tainted by police thinking. We tend to develop tunnel vision, don’t you think?’

‘You might be right.’ Mia nodded. ‘Certainly seems like he knows his stuff.’

Holger smiled.

‘He-he, yes – he’s not underqualified, to put it mildly. I got his name from MI6 in London; he cracked the code – you know, that challenge they posted on the Net last year?’

Mia shrugged her shoulders again.

‘No, of course not, you haven’t been part of the world for a while. Do you know who the prime minister is?’

Mia shrugged her shoulders a third time.

‘Does it matter?’

Holger Munch chuckled and waved the waitress over.

‘Can I get you anything else?’ the smiling girl said.

‘I do believe I need a slice of apple cake with ice cream, and another beer?’

Mia nodded.

‘Apple cake and beer it is,’ the girl said, and disappeared again.

‘Anyway, he knows what he’s doing when it comes to computers. The question is, will he make a good police officer?’

‘Well, does anyone?’ Mia smiled.

‘No, you may be right.’ Holger nodded. ‘Anyway, for my part, I’m glad to be back in the city, and that you’re here. I spoke to Mikkelson earlier today. This case has put everyone under a spotlight. National security, the reputation of the police force and, well, you know, there’s fierce pressure from on high to get it cleared up as quickly as possible. I believe the Ministry rings him every day for an update.’

‘Nothing wrong with him feeling the heat,’ Mia said.

She drained her glass and took a lozenge from a packet in her pocket. The waitress brought the apple cake and another beer. Mia held off drinking it until Holger had had some of his cake. She didn’t want to seem too keen on the alcohol. After all, she had not come here to get drunk, but because Holger had something he wanted to talk about.

‘So you went to see your solicitor?’

‘Yes, damn the bugger.’ Holger heaved a sigh. ‘Don’t really know where to start. Like I said, it’s not difficult, but even so, I’ve had a lot on recently. Miriam is getting married, and…’

‘Good God, that’s wonderful, I didn’t know.’

Mia realized it made her really happy. She liked Miriam enormously. They had hit it off the moment they met. She knew that the relationship between Miriam and her father was strained, but she had always imagined that it would work itself out, given time.

‘Oh, yes, it’s great.’ Holger nodded.

‘Am I right in thinking she’s still with Johannes? Has he finished medical school now?’

Holger nodded.

‘He’s a house officer these day. One year at Ullevål Hospital.’

‘Wow, that was a stroke of luck. I thought most of them ended up in the far-flung corners of Norway.’

‘Yes, he’s landed on his feet.’ Holger smiled wryly. ‘No, it’s great. Really. Nice guy. We hope that some of his luck will rub off on Miriam.’

‘What do you mean?’

Holger Munch hesitated.

‘Well, I don’t know. First she started reading English, then she dropped it. Then it was Norwegian Literature, but that turned out not to be her thing either.’

‘Didn’t she start reading journalism as well?’

Holger nodded and helped himself to some more cake.

‘She almost completed the course, but now she’s on a break from that as well. I don’t really know what she’s doing.’

‘I think you should cut her some slack,’ Mia said, taking a sip of her beer. ‘You and Marianne split up when she was fifteen. She had a child at nineteen. What do you expect of the girl? Give her time.’

‘You’re probably right.’ Holger sighed and lit another cigarette.

‘Has anything happened to her?’

‘What, no, why?’

‘Well, I don’t know, aren’t we playing twenty questions?’ Mia smiled.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Don’t you want me to guess what it is you wanted to talk to me about? Isn’t that how it works?’

Holger chuckled to himself.

‘You haven’t changed much, have you? Just as lippy, still not showing respect, eh? I’m still your boss, you know that, don’t you? The way this works is that you shut up and do whatever I tell you.’

‘That’s not going to happen.’ Mia smiled.

‘It’s a bit awkward; I don’t know how to say it. It really bugs me.’

‘OK, start at the beginning,’ Mia said.

‘Right,’ Holger said, taking another drag of his cigarette. ‘You know my mother?’

‘Yes, what about her?’

‘You know I moved her into a care home a few years ago?’

‘Yes, what about it? Is she not well?’

‘Oh, no, there’s nothing wrong with her. Her legs aren’t so good, so at times she uses a wheelchair, but that’s not the problem.’

‘Does she not like it up there?’

‘Not to begin with, but that changed quickly. She met other people in the same situation, made friends, joined a sewing club, so no, that’s not it. Only, she’s suddenly got into her head that she’s a Christian.’

‘What do you mean? Christian Christian? Has she found God?’

Holger nodded.

‘Wow, I thought you came from a family of atheists?’

‘That’s what’s so strange. I’ve never heard her talk about religion or anything like that, but then she changed from one day to the next. Started to attend services every week at some church, along with friends of hers from the sewing circle.’

‘It might be her age,’ Mia said. ‘What would we know about getting old? I mean, she’s sprightly and all that but, even so, you can’t hide the fact that she has more runway behind her than in front of her. Perhaps there’s no harm in it? Having something to believe in?’

‘Yes and no. To begin with, I saw it as completely harmless, I mean, she’s nearly eighty and can make up her own mind, but…’

Holger hesitated.

‘But what?’

‘Turns out there’s more to it than I first thought. That was the reason Kurt called me.’

‘Kurt is your lawyer?’

Holger nodded.

‘And what’s the problem?’

Holger stubbed out the cigarette and lit another one.

‘She’s decided to leave all her money to the church.’

‘No shit?’

‘Quite.’

Holger threw up his hands.

‘So do I go along with it?’

‘Are we talking about a lot of money?’

‘No, not a whole lot, but even so. There’s her flat in Majorstua. Her cabin in Larvik. And she has plenty in the bank – she hasn’t spent any of the money my father left her. It’s not that I care about the money, but I’d always imagined that it would be passed on, you know, to Marion, so that she’s provided for. Family inheritance and all that.’

Mia nodded. Holger had a lovely, but dangerously close, relationship to his granddaughter. Mia was convinced that if anyone told him to cut off his arm for her, he would do it without hesitation. Without anaesthetic. Here you are, one arm; do you need another one?

‘Ouch, that’s a tricky one.’

‘Yes, it is, isn’t it? So do I go along with it?’

‘Well, it’s complicated.’

‘I do understand that it’s just money and, seriously, we have more important things to think about. Two six-year-old girls are dead and another eight dresses are out there. It’s a bloody nightmare, I don’t even want to think about it. I’m constantly looking over my shoulder. I can barely sleep – I lie awake, waiting for the phone to ring telling me that another girl has disappeared. Do you understand?’

Mia nodded. She felt exactly the same.

‘So that’s why I didn’t want to do this on the phone. It’s hardly relevant in the greater scheme of things. And I didn’t want anyone to know that I’m spending my time on anything other than catching this bastard.’

‘Let’s hope we’re talking about just the one,’ Mia said.

‘Do you think there could be more?’

‘I don’t know, but we have to keep an open mind, don’t we?’

‘Yes, of course.’

Holger fell silent for a moment, mulling over what Mia had just said.

‘Why don’t you just talk to her?’

‘What?’

‘Talk to your mother. Tell her what you just said to me. About Marion?’

‘Yes, of course, I’m sure you’re right.’ Holger sighed. ‘Only, she can be very stubborn. Sometimes I get the feeling it’s payback because the move to the care home wasn’t her choice.’

‘She had threatened to burn down the whole apartment block, Holger. It had to be done.’

‘Yes, I know, but even so.’

Suddenly, Mia felt sorry for him. A too-nice man surrounded by generations of strong women. Not that he had realized it himself; he still felt guilty about the divorce. Mia had tried telling him several times that it wasn’t his fault, that it had been Marianne’s decision, but he seemed to turn a deaf ear.

‘Do you think there are more?’

‘People responsible for killings?’

Holger nodded.

‘Not really.’

‘I agree. But we do need to keep an open mind.’

‘I’ve been a bit…’ Mia said, but stopped herself.

‘Been what?’

‘Oh, I don’t know what you’d call it Ö not quite focused. I can’t get into it. I can’t see the picture. There’s something behind the pattern, I know it, it’s screaming at me, it’s as clear as daylight, but I can’t see it – if you understand what I mean.’

‘It’ll come,’ Munch reassured her. ‘You’ve been out of the loop. That’s all it is.’

‘Probably.’ Mia nodded softly. ‘Let’s hope so. To be honest, I feel a bit useless. I feel sorry for myself. I act like a brat. That’s not like me. I hate myself when I’m like this. If it turns out I can’t focus, promise me you’ll take me off the case?’

‘I need you, Mia,’ Munch said. ‘There’s a reason I brought you back.’

‘To sort out your family problems?’

‘Do you know something, Mia? Screw you.’

‘Screw you, too, Holger. I was doing fine where I was.’

The two colleagues smiled and exchanged an affectionate look which needed no further explanation.

Holger lit another cigarette while Mia took another sip of her beer and tightened the rug around her.

‘Hønefoss was in 2006, wasn’t it?’

‘August,’ Holger nodded. ‘Why?’

‘If she was still alive, she would have started school this year. Have you thought about that?’

‘The thought had occurred to me,’ Holger said. ‘Gabriel said something that got me thinking.’

‘What was it?’

‘Something about a teacher. That we might be looking for a teacher, something along those lines.’

‘That’s not a bad idea. Perhaps he has the makings of a police officer after all.’

‘You don’t think she’s still alive?’ Holger asked.

‘What do you mean?’

‘It was the way you said it, ìif she was still aliveî. The baby who disappeared. We never found her. She might still be alive.’

‘No,’ Mia said.

‘You sound so sure?’

‘She’s not alive.’

‘No, I don’t think so either, but it’s possible?’

‘She’s not alive,’ Mia declared.

‘What do you think about the teacher theory?’

‘It’s not bad. Let’s keep it in mind.’

Holger nodded and glanced at his mobile.

‘I have to run, got some paperwork to do before I go to bed. Mikkelson is pestering me.’

‘I thought Anette was dealing with that side of things?’

‘She does as much as she can.’

Holger got up and took out his wallet.

‘My treat,’ Mia insisted.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course. I understand your family is about to run out of money – it’s the least I can do.’

‘Ha-ha.’ Holger laughed and winked at her.

‘Will there be a full briefing tomorrow morning?’

‘I hadn’t planned on one. Let’s see what we get from the laptop and the iPhone.’

‘I’ll keep you posted,’ Mia promised.

‘Yes, please. See you later.’

Mia stayed behind after Munch had left, contemplating the empty beer glass on the table in front of her. She fancied another one, but wasn’t convinced it was a wise move. The hotel room would be a better option: go to bed early in clean sheets. She drummed her fingers on the edge of the glass while she ran the case through her head to make her brain wake up.

‘Can I get you anything else?’

The waitress was back, still with a smile on her lips.

‘Yes, another beer, please. And a shot of Ratzeputz schnapps.’

‘Certainly.’ The girl nodded and disappeared.

‘Mia?’

A familiar and yet unknown face appeared behind a glowing cigarette in the courtyard. A woman her own age came over to her table.

‘Don’t you recognize me? Susanne. From Åsgårdstrand?’

The woman bent down and gave Mia a big hug. Of course. Susanne Hval. She had lived a few doors further down the street. One year younger than Sigrid and her. A long time ago, the three of them had been close friends.

‘Hi, Susanne. Sorry, I was completely lost in my work.’

‘I understand. I hope I’m not intruding. Is it all right if I sit down?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Well, who would have thought it?’ Susanne laughed. ‘How long has it been?’

‘Far too long.’

Her old friend gazed at Mia with a big smile on her face.

‘I haven’t seen you since Ö well, I saw you in the newspaper. Do you mind me bringing that up?’

‘No, no, it’s fine,’ Mia smiled.

‘So what happened? After the investigation and everything?’

‘I went on holiday.’

‘I hope I’m not disturbing you?’

‘No, God, no, it’s great,’ Mia said, gesturing to the chair Holger had just vacated.

She had thought about Susanne several times over the years, especially after Sigrid died. They had met at Sigrid’s funeral, but she had not seen her since or contacted her; there had just been so much to do. It felt good to see her old friend again.

The waitress returned with the beer and the Ratzeputz schnapps.

‘Do you want anything?’

Susanne shook her head.

‘I have a beer inside. I’m here with some people from work.’

She said the latter to Mia with a hint of pride in her voice.

‘So you’ve moved to Oslo?’ Mia asked.

‘Yes, four years ago.’

‘Great, what do you do?’

‘I work at Nationaltheatret.’ Susanne smiled.

‘Wow, congratulations.’

Mia could vaguely remember Susanne being very keen for her to join an amateur theatre group in Horten but, fortunately, she had managed to get out of it. Being on stage was most definitely not for Mia. The very thought made her shudder.

‘I’m only an assistant director but, even so, it’s a lot of fun. We’re about to open with Hamlet. Stein Winge is directing. It’s going to be a hit, I think. You should go. I have spare tickets for the first night. Do you fancy it?’

Mia smiled faintly. She remembered what Susanne was like now. The energetic, open girl everyone liked so much. The warm gaze it had always been difficult to say no to.

‘Perhaps.’ She nodded. ‘I’m quite busy at work at the moment, but let’s see if I can find the time.’

‘God, it’s so good to see you.’ Susanne laughed. ‘Listen, why don’t I go and get my beer? The actors only care about themselves, they’ll never notice if I’m gone.’

‘You do that.’ Mia smiled.

‘You wait here. Don’t go away.’

Susanne quickly stubbed out her cigarette and half ran into the bar to fetch her drink.

Chapter 27

Tobias Iversen had set the alarm clock for six and woken up as soon as it went off. He quickly reached over the bedside table to turn it off; he didn’t want the shrill noise to wake up anyone else in the house. His younger brother, Torben, was not at home. He was having a sleepover with a friend from school. Tobias slipped out of bed and got dressed as quietly as he could. Everything was ready; he had been planning this trip for several days. His rucksack was packed and waiting at the foot of his bed. He didn’t know how long he would be away, but he had packed extra supplies, just to be on the safe side. He had a tent which slept two people, his sleeping bag, a camping stove and some food, his knife, an extra pair of socks, and an extra jumper, in case it got cold, his compass and an old map he had found in the loft. He was ready to go exploring and couldn’t wait to get out of the house.

In the days after he and his brother had found the girl hanging from the tree in the forest, being at home had been slightly less bad. His mother and stepfather had had a lot of visitors, mostly police officers, who asked questions and kept probing, and his mother and stepfather had been on their best behaviour. They had even tidied the house: the living room looked completely different now; it even smelled nice nearly all the time. The police officers had been really kind. Treated him almost like a hero, told him how good he had been, how he had done all the right things. Tobias had been almost embarrassed: he wasn’t used to so much praise. The police officers had been around for several days. Not during the nights, but from early in the morning to late at night. They had cordoned off the area with red-and-white plastic tape that said ‘POLICE’ to keep nosy people at bay. And there were plenty of those, both from the village and elsewhere. Further down the road, there had been cars from TV stations, helicopters in the air and plenty of journalists and photographers around, and several of them had wanted to talk to Tobias. In the days following the discovery, their phone didn’t stop ringing, and he had heard his mother talk to somebody about money, that they would get paid lots if the boys were prepared to be interviewed, but the police had said no, prohibited it, and to be honest, Tobias was relieved at that. People had already started to treat him differently during breaktime at school. Most of them, especially the girls, had thought it was cool – he had become a kind of local celebrity – but it had also sparked trouble because some of the boys, especially the two new ones from Oslo, had grown jealous and started saying bad things about him. Tobias had asked his mother if he could take a few days off school because the journalists would come there as well, taking pictures of him while he kicked a football around and calling out to him to come over to the fence. He didn’t, obviously: the police had told him not to talk to anyone about what he had seen, and he wanted to do as the police officers had said. Dressed in white plastic all-in-ones, they had searched the whole forest. Tobias had sat on a chair outside, watching them. No one else was allowed to do that. Even NRK and TV2, as well as everyone else, had to wait at the end of the road behind the cordon and could only shout out whenever someone drove past. But he was the one who had found her and he knew every tree stump in the forest, and he had soon got to know the police officers. There was one called Kim, one called Curry and another one called Anette, and then there was their boss, who had a beard and whose name was Holger. The boss hadn’t been there very often, only once, but it was he who had interviewed Tobias and he who had decided that no one was allowed to talk to anyone about what they had seen. Tobias had spoken mostly to the police officer called Kim, and quite a lot with the one called Curry. Tobias liked them both enormously. They had not treated him like a child, but more like a grown-up. Often, they would leave the forest and walk down to the yard where he sat to ask him questions. Were there usually many people in the woods. Had he built the little hut inside? Questions about their neighbours. Did he remember seeing anything suspicious recently? On the first evening, a psychologist had visited them with an offer of counselling, so he had chatted to her for a little while – that had been all right – but he had not been particularly upset at finding the girl, because it had taken a few days before the truth of what he had seen began to sink in. That was when it hit him. He had been sitting on the steps when it dawned on him. That it was real. That the girl in the tree whose name was Johanne had had parents, and a sister, and aunts and uncles and grandparents and friends and neighbours, and that now she was gone, and they would never see her again. And that someone had done this to her on purpose, not far from his house, and Tobias had shuddered at the thought that it could have been him hanging from the tree. Or his younger brother. He had felt really bad inside and had had to go upstairs to lie down in his bed, and that night he had had terrible nightmares. About people putting a skipping rope around his neck and hanging him and shooting sharp arrows at him, and he had heard Torben calling out for help, but he was unable to free himself, he was trapped, and he struggled frantically, unable to breathe. Tobias had woken up covered in sweat and with his head sticking to the pillow.

The police had spent several days in the area, then it seemed as if they had finished and they left again. The cordons down the road had also been removed, and some of the journalists had come to their house and rung the doorbell, but his mother had not let them in. Tobias was convinced that she really wanted to – he believed some of them had offered a lot of money but the senior police officer, Holger, the fat one with the beard and the nice eyes, had been very strict.

Now, Tobias had been planning this trip for a long time, and his timing was perfect. He was off school and, for once, his younger brother was not at home. When he was ready, he put on his rucksack and crept out of the back door without making a sound.

He had been to Litjønna before, so he knew the way. He had packed the map and the compass, just to be on the safe side. He might decide to make a detour along the way. Matches? Had he remembered the matches? He took off the rucksack and checked the side pockets. Yes, there they were. Matches were important. The nights would be cold without a campfire. Not that he intended to be gone all night, but you never knew. He might decide to stay in the forest and never return to this gloomy house. How about that? Never go back. That would serve them right. It was a silly idea and he knew it; his younger brother would be back tomorrow. Tobias loved being with his brother, but it was nice to have some time to himself.

Tobias put the rucksack on again and closed the door softly behind him. The fresh spring air struck him outside in the yard. He moved quickly across the open terrain and entered the forest. Tobias chose a different route to his usual one, so he didn’t have to pass their home-made hut or the place where they had found the girl: he didn’t want to think about that right now, he didn’t want to feel scared again; he had to be tough now, he was on his own and embarking on an expedition, he couldn’t afford to be scared. Tobias chose the route along the river until he reached a path he could follow quite a long way in. When he had been walking for about an hour, he took off his rucksack and ate some breakfast. It was important to keep his energy levels up and he hadn’t wanted to make any noise in the kitchen back home. The forest was nice and dry; it hadn’t rained for a while. He sat down on a tree stump, enjoying the view while he munched his sandwich and drank some juice from a bottle he had packed. Tobias loved spring. Seeing winter release its grip, it felt as if fresh possibilities opened up; another chance that something new would happen, that the world would be different. He had often thought that New Year’s Eve ought to be in spring, not in the middle of winter: the day after 31 December was never any different but, in spring, everything was. The beautiful green of newly opened leaves on the trees, flowers and plants growing on the forest floor, the birds coming back and chirping between the branches. Tobias finished his breakfast and hummed to himself as he continued on his journey towards the ridge. He had promised himself to find out more about the Christian girls – no more making stuff up, he wanted to discover for himself what was really going on and, finally, he was on his way. He began to regret not having packed his book in case he decided to stay the night. It would be nice to sit by the campfire reading, right in the middle of the forest. He had started the next book on Emilie’s list: he had finished Lord of the Flies; he had raced through it, and swallowed every word. He didn’t know if he had understood all of it, but that made no difference. It had been good. It had made him happy. The new book was more difficult to read, One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest; it was in a more adult language and Emilie had said that, if he found it too difficult, just to swap it for another one, but he intended to read all of it. It was very exciting so far. The book was about a Native American Indian, Chief Bromden, who had been admitted to a hospital which he wasn’t allowed to leave. The boss, a woman, was incredibly strict, a proper witch. Chief Bromden pretended to be a deaf mute, someone who could not hear or say anything, in order to… well, Tobias was not quite sure exactly why Chief Bromden was behaving like this, but the book was exciting all the same. He should have brought it. Leaving it behind had been a mistake.

At the top of the ridge. he had a better view of the landscape. He could make out Litjønna in the distance. Another hour or two, perhaps, and he would be there. Tobias realized he was looking forward to it, but he also had a lurching feeling in his stomach. Everyone was talking about the Christians, but nobody knew anything about them. What if they were dangerous? Or not dangerous, but perhaps didn’t like visitors? On the other hand, what if they were really nice? Perhaps they would welcome him with open arms and give him chicken and fizzy drinks and he would make a lot of new friends, and maybe they would want him to stay there and perhaps Torben could come, too, and everything would be all right; just snap your fingers and all their problems would be solved in an instant?

It was probably best not to approach them immediately. After all, you never could tell. Perhaps he should set up camp some distance away, a place with a view. Lie on the ground with his binoculars, perhaps camouflage his body, so he could spy on them. Pick his moment.

He smiled to himself. That was a good plan. Set up camp where he had a view. Do some spying. He should have brought his book, he should definitely have done that, but it was too late to turn around now. He would have to be the Indian instead. Chief Tobias Bromden on a secret mission.

It had grown a little warmer, the sun was peeping out from behind a cloud, almost lighting up the path in front of him: that was a good sign. Tobias took off his jacket, put it in his rucksack and continued his hike through the forest.

He did not see the fence until he was just a short distance away from it. He must have been lost in a world of his own. His mind had been filled with camouflage and camping. He had visited this farm before and knew of a good location for watching it. He had heard that the council had sold the old farm and the land that belonged to it. The council had used the farm as a facility for drug addicts, where they could do farming jobs and go for walks in the forest and so on, because it was supposed to do them good. But then the council had run out of money, or decided to spend it on something else or something Tobias did not really understand, but the upshot was that the place for drug addicts had been closed down. The farm had been empty for a while. And now some Christians had bought it. Tobias had been there twice before, once when the junkies were staying there, and once when it had been uninhabited. He had been there with Jon-Marius, his best friend, who sadly had moved to Sweden with his mother in the middle of Year Six; anyway, they had found the perfect place from which to do their spying, a mound not far from the farm with a good view of most things that were going on.

But he didn’t remember this fence, and now he had almost walked right into it. A mesh fence, the kind which ought to have barbed wire running along the top. Tobias quickly stepped back and hid behind the trees while he took a good look at this unexpected obstacle. There was no barbed wire on the top, but it was high. Much taller than him, more than twice his height. The fence looked brand-new. As if it had just been put up. Tobias looked up at the top of the fence and sized it up. He could probably scale it, but not without being spotted. He could see it now, the farm far behind it. Strange things had happened there: the farm had changed almost beyond recognition; they had put up new buildings. Extended outwards and upwards so it no longer looked like a farmhouse but more like a small church. It had a spire, and was that a greenhouse next to it? He shielded his eyes with his hand, but he couldn’t see that far. The area between the fence and the building was open and offered few places to hide. The mound from which he was going to do his spying lay on the other side. In order to reach it, he would have to follow the new fence all the way round. It would be much quicker to climb it but, having reviewed his options, he decided it was not worth the risk. Not that he thought the people behind the fence would not be nice, but even so. What would he say if he was caught? And, after all, he had found a small girl in a dress hanging from a tree with a sign around her neck not so far from here, so perhaps it was best to err on the side of caution.

He could always walk home again; that was another option. He had seen something now. They had built a new house and put up a fence. A kind of Christian campsite. That would be worth telling people about. Tobias briefly considered turning back, but his curiosity was greater than his fear. It would be exciting to have more to tell. He might catch a glimpse of the people living there. He wandered back into the forest. Far enough that the trees would hide him, but so he could still see the fence. It looked as if the shortest distance would be going round to the left – he could make out the edge of the fence there; to his right, it simply carried on, he couldn’t estimate how far the walk would be in that direction. Tobias pulled up the hood of his hoodie and contemplated his next move. Hiding inside the hoodie felt good. It also added to the excitement. He was a secret agent on a mission. With a knife and a torch in his rucksack and a riddle to solve. He crouched, made himself as small as he could and followed the fence through the wood. Tobias moved as quietly as he could, in short sprints. He would lean forwards, half run through the forest for a few hundred metres before throwing himself on the ground and checking out the terrain. No one in sight. Someone had dug a hole inside the fenced-off area. He could see a vehicle now: a tractor was parked further away. He repeated his manoeuvre. Crouched down, half ran, found a suitable spot and threw himself on the heather. This time, he got a slightly better view. He had been right, it was a greenhouse: two, in fact, both fairly big. Tobias knew that the children who lived there didn’t go to school. Perhaps they didn’t go to the shops either? Perhaps they grew all their own food, so they never had to go anywhere? He eased out his binoculars from the rucksack. He could see the greenhouses very clearly now. And the tractor. An old, green Massey Ferguson.

Tobias’s heart started to pound as a person appeared in the viewfinder. A man. No, a woman. Wearing a grey dress, and something white on her head. She went inside one of the greenhouses. Then she was gone. He scanned the area with the binoculars again, trying to spot more people, but everything had gone quiet. He dropped the binoculars, let them dangle from the strap around his neck and got to his feet. Risked running a longer distance. This time, he couldn’t wait to get to a higher vantage point – his fear had completely evaporated; his curiosity had got the better of him now. He threw himself on the heather again as the door to the greenhouse opened and someone appeared, two people this time. The same woman and…? He adjusted the binoculars in order to see better. A man. A woman and a man. The man was also wearing grey clothes, but had nothing on his head. Perhaps only the women had to wear something on their heads? That would make a good story, wouldn’t it? All the women wear white hats while the men have nothing on their heads. No, maybe not. After all, what did it mean? He had to get closer. This was nothing.

Tobias had just sat up again, ready to run the next stretch, when he suddenly noticed the girl behind the fence. He was so surprised that he completely forget to throw himself on the ground; he just stood there, right in front of her, without moving. She was around his age, perhaps a little younger. She was dressed just like the woman by the greenhouse, in a thick, grey, woollen dress and with a white bonnet on her head. She was kneeling in a vegetable patch. It looked as if she was pulling up weeds. Perhaps they grew carrots in the vegetable beds, or lettuce or something; it was hard to tell. Tobias squatted down on his haunches and made himself a little more invisible. The girl sat up and straightened her back. Brushed dust off her knees. She looked weary. She was not far away from him, perhaps only ten metres. Tobias held his breath while the girl knelt down on the ground again and continued weeding. The girl touched her neck and wiped her forehead. Tobias completely forgot that he was a spy and that he had to remain unseen. The girl looked so tired and thirsty. What would be the harm in offering her a drink? After all, he had a big bottle of water in his rucksack.

Tobias cleared his throat. The girl carried on weeding without noticing him. Tobias glanced around and spotted a couple of old pine cones on the ground. Carefully, he threw one of them in her direction, but it didn’t get very far, didn’t even reach the fence. He half rose, threw the second cone harder, and this time he succeeded. He hit the middle section of the fence, which rang out – the sound was far too loud, and he regretted it immediately – threw himself on the heather and lay as still as he could.

When he looked up again, the girl was standing near the fence. She had heard the sound. She was looking at him. He could see her eyes. She was looking straight at him. Tobias placed his finger in front of his lips. Shhh. The girl was very surprised but, even so, she obeyed his instruction and said nothing. She looked around. First to one side, then to the other. Then she nodded cautiously. Tobias looked around, too, and moved closer to the fence. He opened his rucksack, took out the water bottle, slipped it under the fence and quickly retreated to his hiding place. The girl in the grey dress glanced around again. There was no one about. She quickly got up, ran to the water bottle, snatched it, hid it in the folds of her dress and raced back to the patch she had been weeding. Tobias saw her unscrew the cap and drink practically the whole bottle. She must be very thirsty. The girl with the white bonnet kept looking around. She seemed nervous. Frightened that someone might come. Tobias’s courage grew and he walked all the way up to the fence. The girl also came closer, quietly, but she kept looking over her shoulder. He could see her face more clearly now. She had blue eyes and many freckles. Her strange bonnet and heavy dress almost made her look like an old lady, but she wasn’t. If she had been wearing ordinary clothes, she would have looked just like the other girls in his class. The girl held up the bottle to him as if to ask him if he wanted it back. Tobias shook his head. The girl knelt down and took out something from the pocket of her dress. It was a notepad and a small pencil. She wrote something on a piece of paper and folded it carefully. Then she got up, half ran to the fence and stuck the paper through it. She glanced around nervously and ran just as quickly back to her original position and carried on pulling up weeds. Tobias elbowed his way to the fence to take the paper. He crawled back and opened it. ‘Thank you,’ it said. He looked at the girl and smiled. He tried to work out how to signal ‘You’re welcome’ without speaking, but it was far from easy. The girl glanced over her shoulder and wrote something else. She ran to the fence again but, this time, she didn’t fold the piece of paper, she left the whole notepad and the pencil by the fence. Tobias quickly crouched down and made his way back to the fence, took the notepad and the pencil and returned to his hiding place. My name is Rakel, it said on the notepad. ‘I am not allowed to talk. What is your name?’ Tobias looked towards the girl. Not allowed to talk? What kind of rules were those? And why had she been so thirsty? And why was she out here all alone? Tobias thought about it and wrote a reply: ‘My name is Tobias. Do you live here? Why can’t you talk?’ He crept back to the fence with the notepad and resumed his position. Writing ‘Do you live here?’ might have been a bit stupid because she obviously did, it was plain to see, but he hadn’t known what else to write. The girl smiled slightly when she saw the notepad and wrote a quick reply. She was still very wary. She glanced over her shoulder several times before she risked passing the new message through the fence. ‘I live here. Lux Domus. Can’t tell you why (not talking).’ She tried to signal something with her hands when he had read the note, as if she wanted to add something, but did not know how. Tobias smiled at her and wrote a reply back. ‘I live at the edge of this forest. We are neighbours.’ He added a smiley. Then he wrote, ‘What does Lux Domus mean?’ The girl got the notepad back. Again, she smiled faintly. After a fresh check to make sure that no one was watching her, she wrote her reply, and raced to the fence to leave the notepad there before running back to the vegetable bed. ‘Lux Domus = house of light. It’s very kind of you to help me. Thank you.’ Tobias frowned at the second half of her message. He didn’t think he had done that much to help her. All he had done was give her some water. He wondered what to write back. Words seemed really important now that he wasn’t allowed to say them out loud. He had to think very carefully. He chewed the pencil for a while before he realized what he wanted to write. ‘Do you need any more help?’ he wrote, and slipped the notepad through the fence.

Suddenly, something happened up by the main house. The girl glanced nervously over her shoulder and wrote a quick reply. She tore off the paper this time and folded it like she had done with her first message. People were coming now; several were emerging from the house, quite a few. It looked as if they had just finished something inside the church. The girl got up quickly and pushed the note through the fence. Now Tobias could hear voices as well. They were calling her name.

‘Rakel!’

The girl slowly got up, dusting down her dress. He could no longer see her eyes; she had bowed her head now. She picked up the hoe and walked quietly towards the voices calling her. Tobias lay completely still, too scared to move before the crowd had dispersed. The girl had now joined them, and everyone went inside one of the greenhouses. Once more, the farm was silent. Tobias emerged from his hiding place to pick up the final note. He stuffed it in his pocket, and he didn’t take it out until he had found a better hiding place, deeper inside the forest. His fingers were trembling as he unfolded the paper. He had a shock when he saw what she had written.

‘Yes. Help me. Please.’

Slowly, he crept back towards the fence. There was still total silence on the other side. Tobias did not know exactly what to do. He had planned to go on a secret mission, but that had just been a silly idea in his head.

This was different.

This was real.

The girl in the grey dress existed. The girl who was thirsty, but not allowed to talk. And, now, she had asked him for help.

Tobias put on his rucksack and walked calmly to the mound, from where he would have a clearer view.

Chapter 28

Mia Krüger woke up with a feeling that there was someone in her hotel room. She was unable to open her eyes properly; she was enveloped in a fog, half asleep, half awake. She forced open her eyelids enough to establish that she was alone. There was no one there, just her. A depressing thought. Her life was reduced to this? A hotel room and a murder case. Not that it really mattered. This was only temporary.

Come to me, Mia, come.

She would be gone soon. Why fret about it? Why think? Why this? Why that?

For some inexplicable reason, Mia had a headache. After her consumption of various drugs in the last six months, she thought she had become immune to low-level pain like this. Her evening with Susanne had gone on longer than planned – well, planned was an exaggeration, it had been a chance meeting – but the bottom line was that she had had too much to drink. She closed her eyes and tried to get back to her dream. She had been dreaming about Roger Bakken. He had been standing naked on the roof of the hostel. The eagle tattoo was no longer confined to his neck; it covered almost all of him now. He was trying to tell her something, shouting it down to her, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying; the traffic was too noisy and someone insisted on talking right into her ear. She had turned to see who it was whispering strange sentences she didn’t understand, but there was no one there. Roger Bakken kept waving his arms about, wanting her to understand, but she couldn’t hear him. ‘Come here,’ she had called out. ‘Come down.’ And then Roger Bakken had jumped. Fallen slowly through the air towards her. His tattoo had kept on spreading; it covered all of his body and the air around him now. His arms had turned into wings. His legs into talons. His head had grown a beak. Right before he was about to hit her, Roger Bakken had spread his wings and flown away. She didn’t hear what he said. An image from the cemetery. Sigrid’s gravestone. Someone whispered in her ear again, an invisible voice. Church bells rang out in the distance. On an island. The church bells were tolling on Hitra. Metallic sounds from eternity metamorphosed into the mobile in the pocket of her trousers which lay next to her bed. Sleepily, she reached out in the direction of the sound, pressed the screen and started to talk, before she was fully conscious.

‘Yes? Mia speaking.’

‘Sorry, did I wake you?’

It was Gabriel Mørk. The new guy. The cute one who blushed. The hacker.

‘No,’ Mia said, sitting up in her bed. ‘What time is it?’

‘Nine.’

‘Good God, you’ve started work early.’

Mia was awake now. Her dream had gone. The hotel room was suddenly present.

‘I never went home.’

‘So are you living at the office now?’

Gabriel laughed a little.

‘Eh, no, or, that is to say, well, a bit. Much to learn. I feel a certain responsibility.’

‘I know,’ Mia said.

She got out of bed and opened the blinds.

A new spring day in the centre of Oslo. Children in Spikersuppa Park. Pensioners walking up and down Karl-Johan. The king in his castle. Politicians in Parliament. Everyone going about their everyday business, and it was her responsibility to make sure they could carry on doing that. She understood only too well what drove the young, newly hired hacker.

‘You’ve got to sleep sometimes.’

‘It’s all good,’ Gabriel continued. ‘I’m used to working at night. I thought you might want to know what I found.’

‘Of course,’ Mia said, and closed the blinds again.

She was not quite ready for daylight. She desperately wanted to go back to sleep. What was it Roger Bakken had been shouting at her?

‘Now, I know I’m not a proper police officer,’ Gabriel said, sounding apologetic, ‘so I’m not sure if this is important or not.’

‘You’re doing fine.’ Mia yawned. ‘Just tell me.’

‘OK,’ Gabriel went on. ‘You know that the laptop had two users?’

‘Roger and Randi.’

‘Yes, Roger and Randi. And this is where it gets weird.’

‘Why?’

‘Let’s start with Roger. No surprises there. Didn’t use his laptop all that much, he wasn’t a computer freak.’

‘Why not?’

‘He only used his laptop for the usual guy stuff.’

‘Which is what?’

‘Emails. Cars and motorbikes. What we would expect, really.’

‘Who did he email? Anyone interesting?’

‘Not really. There were hardly any private emails, I mean, from people he knew. He had ordered some biker magazines. Bills, e-invoices. Junk mail. A fairly sad life, judging by his email account.’

‘Not everyone lives their life on the Net, Gabriel,’ Mia said.

‘No, you’re right, but even so. The absence of personal stuff is odd, but that’s not the interesting bit.’

‘Could you hang on two seconds?’

‘OK.’

Mia put the mobile on hold and made her way to the hotel telephone on the bedside table. She rang reception and ordered breakfast to be sent to her room. She had tried going to the dining room for breakfast yesterday, and that had been a mistake. Too many people.

‘I’m back.’

‘OK,’ Gabriel said. ‘I’ll check out this Roger user a bit more, but I wanted to tell you what I found on the other one.’

‘Randi?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who is she?’

‘That’s the weird bit.’

‘What?’

Gabriel fell silent for a little while.

‘I think you need to see it for yourself, but I’m quite sure that it’s the same person.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Roger and Randi. They’re one and the same.’

‘Roger Bakken was two people?’

‘Yes, or no. Or, yes. He liked to be a woman.’

‘Are you kidding me?’

‘No, it’s the truth.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Under the Roger username, he’s a man. He has photographs of motorbikes and cars. He goes fishing and drinks alcohol. As Randi, he’s completely different. He’s a woman. Bookmarks on the browser are blogs about crocheting and interior design. He has photographs of himself wearing women’s clothing. It looks like he lived a double life.’

‘And you’re quite sure about this?’

She heard Gabriel sigh at the other end.

‘I know I’m not a police officer, but I am capable of spotting a man dressed like a woman.’

‘Sorry,’ Mia said. ‘It just sounds so weird.’

‘I agree,’ Gabriel said. ‘But it is him. One hundred per cent. You can see for yourself when you get here.’

‘I’ll be there shortly,’ Mia said. ‘What about his mobile?’

‘That’s also a bit odd.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Practically all the messages have been deleted, and he had no stored numbers. I don’t know what this guy was up to, but he has done everything he could to erase every trace of himself.’

‘Apart from the photographs of himself dressed as a woman.’

‘Yes, except for that but, like I said, they were on the laptop.’

‘You said that practically all the text messages had been deleted. Are you telling me that you do have some?’

‘Yes, a few cryptic ones.’

‘Let me hear them.’

‘Now?’

‘Yes, now.’

Mia couldn’t help smiling.

‘OK.’

Gabriel cleared his throat and read aloud what he had found.

‘There are three text messages. All are dated 20 March.’

‘The day he died.’

‘Was it?’

‘Yes, tell me what they say.’

There was a knock on the hotel door. Mia put on one of the hotel’s dressing gowns and brought in her breakfast while Gabriel opened the text messages.

‘OK, the first one is short.’

‘Who sent it?’

‘The sender is anonymous.’

‘How is that possible? Can you really hide your number when you’re texting?’

‘Yes, that’s easy,’ Gabriel replied.

‘I know I probably sound like your granny right now, but how do you do that?’ Mia asked him, and took a sip of her coffee.

It was bitter. She spat it out. She muttered curses under her breath. How could people not learn to make proper coffee? The scrambled eggs and the bacon on the plate did not look very appetizing either.

‘You send it via the Net, using TxtEmNow.com, or some similar site. There are lots of them where you don’t have to register. You just type in the number and the message and off it goes, usually with advertising. That’s how they finance it.’

‘And what did the message say?’

‘There are three.’

‘Let me have them.’

‘“It is unwise to fly too near the sun.”’

‘Again, please.’

Mia was unable to eat anything. She carried the tray to the windowsill.

‘“It is unwise to fly too near the sun.” That’s the first message.’

‘What did he reply?’

‘He didn’t. You can’t reply to a text message when there’s no sender.’

Mia sat down on the bed and leaned her head against the wall. Her headache was starting to lift. Fly too near the sun. The eagle tattoo. Wings. Icarus with his wings. He flew too near the sun and the wings melted. Hubris. Arrogance. Roger Bakken had stepped out of line.

‘Are you there?’

‘Yes, sorry, Gabriel, just had to think.’

‘Are you ready for the next one?’

‘Sure.’

‘ìWho’s there?î’

‘Was that the full message?’

‘Yes. Do you want the final one?’

‘Yes.’

‘ìBye, bye, birdie.î’

Mia closed her eyes, but nothing came to her. ‘Who’s there?’ ‘Bye, bye, birdie’? Right now, it made no sense. She got up from the bed and went to the bathroom. Caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and didn’t like what she saw. She looked exhausted. Practically dead. Ghostly. She bent down and started running the bath.

‘Mia? You still there?’

‘Yes, sorry, Gabriel. I was just trying to work out if the two latter ones made any sense.’

‘And?’

‘No, not right now. I’ll be there in a while, all right?’

‘That’s fine, I’m staying where I am.’

‘Great, Gabriel. Good job so far.’

She ended the call and returned to the bedroom. Put her mobile on the windowsill and tried eating some of her breakfast. She couldn’t get anything down. Never mind. She would get herself a coffee and a scone at Kaffebrenneriet.

‘Who’s there?’ ‘Bye, bye, birdie’?

Mia undressed and got into the bath. The warm water enveloped her body and calmed her down. Being out with Susanne had been great. Really great. In fact, they had arranged to meet up again, hadn’t they? Mia couldn’t quite remember; she had been a little drunk towards the end.

She leaned her head against the rim of the bath and closed her eyes.

‘Who’s there?’

‘Bye, bye, birdie’?

It wasn’t much, but at least it was a start.

Chapter 29

Cecilie Mykle had slept so soundly that it almost hurt to wake up. Force of habit made her reach for the alarm clock, but for some reason it wasn’t ringing. Cecilie tried and failed to open her eyes. Her body felt so heavy and comfortable and warm, almost as if she were lying on a soft cloud with another lovely cloud covering her. She pulled the duvet more tightly around herself and turned over on to her stomach. Pressed her face into the pillow. Tried to obey her body. Go back to sleep, go back to sleep. Forget what your head and your mind are telling you. You need to sleep now. Sleep, sleep, Cecilie, sleep. It was for this reason that the doctor had prescribed her the pills. Cecilie had been against it; she had never taken sleeping pills in her life. She didn’t like medication. She liked to be alert. She hated the thought of something controlling her body. Cecilie Mykle was very keen on being in control. Underneath the duvet, her hand reached out again, automatically trying to switch off the alarm clock, at 6.15, as always, but it had still not begun to ring. A tiny part of her brain wondered why, but it was quickly overruled by the rest of it, which could not care less, swayed by the after effects of the sleeping tablets; she snuggled up under the duvet and pressed her head against the lovely soft pillow.

‘This is not a suggestion, it’s an order,’ her doctor had said. ‘You have to take these pills because you need some sleep. You need to sleep. How many times do I have to tell you before you understand?’

The best doctor in the world. Who knew what she needed and was a bit strict with her, who had told her to take care of herself. Something Cecilie Mykle was not very good at. You have to take care of yourself, people told her this all the time, but Cecilie Mykle thought that was easier said than done. She had grown up with a mother unable to do that, who had always put other people’s needs first; it was a difficult pattern to break.

She was a worrier. That was why she was unable to sleep. She couldn’t remember the last time she had had a good night’s sleep. Her nights were largely restless. She would doze a little, then get up, watch some late-night TV, have a cup of tea and then perhaps catnap for a few minutes before the alarm went off and it was 6.15 again. There were always so many things that could go wrong, and Cecilie was the sort of person who worried more than most.

‘You’re worrying yourself unnecessarily,’ her husband would say, like the time they had bought the terraced house in Skullerud.

‘Are you sure we can afford it?’

‘We’ll manage,’ her husband had said, and he had been right, they had managed fine, especially once he started working on the North Sea oil rigs.

Six weeks on, six weeks off. She missed her husband, of course, the weeks he was away, but the money did come in very handy. And when he was at home, he was at home the whole time. Cecilie Mykle loved her husband. He was perfect; she couldn’t have wished for a better friend or lover. He was not like many of his friends who also worked on the oil rigs; they would come home with money in their pockets and then hit the town. Six weeks at work, six weeks of drinking. No, he was not like them at all. When her husband was at home, he was at home.

Cecilie Mykle stretched her arms towards the ceiling and finally managed to open her eyes. She decided to stay in bed for a little bit longer while she came round. She felt lethargic, but still also incredibly rested, she’d had a good night’s sleep, her skin was warm, her body soft and calm. She hadn’t had any dreams last night either, like she had done recently – violent, almost feverish, nightmares – but last night, nothing. Just total relaxation.

She was awake now; suddenly, she surfaced in the dark bedroom and started to feel anxious again. What time was it really? She reached out to switch on the bedside lamp. It wouldn’t come on. Why was everything dark? And cold? Had they had a power cut? Cecilie Mykle pressed the button which lit up the small alarm clock and got a shock when she realized what time it was. A quarter to ten? Gosh, she should have been up hours ago. She should have taken Karoline to nursery by now. Cecilie swung her legs over the edge of the bed, but stayed sitting with her head buried in her hands. It felt like a lump of lead. She could barely keep her eyes open. She staggered to the light switch by the door. She tried turning on the ceiling light, but it wouldn’t come on either. The house was cold and strangely quiet. Cecilie fumbled her way to the window and opened the curtains. Spring light poured into the bedroom, enough for her to see by.

Cecilie stumbled out into the passage. She had to wake Karoline. Her legs were heavy, almost incapable of supporting her as she walked along the dark passage. She had forgotten to put on socks and the floor was cold. Cecilie felt her way along the wall down to Karoline’s room.

‘Karoline?’

Her voice was feeble and weak; it, too, refused to wake up.

‘Karoline, are you awake?’

There was no reply from her daughter’s bedroom. At a quarter to ten? Karoline did not normally have a lie-in. She was usually up by seven, or at least awake. Often, she would pad to her parents’ bedroom with her teddy. Best time of the day, really. Quiet mornings in bed with Karoline and her teddy.

‘Karoline?’

Cecilie continued to feel her way around, her eyes slowly acclimatizing to the darkness. Suddenly, she felt something wet and sticky under her feet. What on earth? She stopped and raised her foot. Carefully, she touched the sole. There was something yucky on the floor. But she had washed it only the other day. Cecilie made her way gingerly across the sticky floor and entered Karoline’s room. She pressed the light switch, but again the light did not come on.

‘Karoline?’

She quickly crossed the floor and opened the curtains. The light streamed into the room, and it was at this point that Cecilie Mykle started to worry in earnest.

‘Karoline?’

She couldn’t believe her eyes. Karoline was not in her bed. There was blood on the floor. She could not be awake. She had stepped in the blood. So she must be dreaming. She was still asleep. She should never have taken that sleeping tablet, but her doctor had insisted. Cecilie Mykle stayed in her daughter’s bedroom while she waited to wake up. She didn’t like this dream. Karoline was not in her bed. It was a quarter to ten in the morning. There was blood on the floor. There was no electricity. The house was dark. She had goose pimples on her arms under her jumper. She really wanted to wake up now. The alarm clock will go off any moment now, she thought, and chewed her lip.

This is just a dream.

Cecilie Mykle was in shock. She didn’t even hear the distant ringing of the telephone.

Chapter 30

Mia Krüger sat by the window in Kaffebrenneriet in Storgata, drinking her second cortado of the day. She had eaten a scone and drunk a glass of orange juice and was suffering from a surprisingly bad hangover, and yet her body was slowly but surely starting to recover after last night’s excesses with Susanne. Normally, she never read the newspapers, but for some reason she had done so today, even though she found the front pages tasteless. ‘The Babes in the Wood Murders’ seemed to be what the papers had decided to call them. Mia hated it when the media did this, coined names and logos for murder investigations, the hunt for missing people, civil unrest, war, or indeed any form of tragedy. Did they not realize the effect it had on their readers? Did they not care that they fuelled people’s fears, terrified them? Damn them all to hell. Why was there no law against it? No punishment? And, worse, did these idiots not understand that they were giving the culprit exactly what they wanted: the oxygen of publicity? Did they not know this? That it was frequently this very attention such people were seeking? Extra column inches in all the newspapers. ‘Babes in the Wood’. Sometimes, she wondered how reporters came up with such phrases. There were interviews with neighbours, friends and staff from the nursery. ‘Police have no leads.’ She wondered how the media knew that. Photographs of Pauline on the beach and on her birthday with her family. Pictures of Johanne skating or in the swimming pool with her grandfather. Mia shook her head, and yet she was drawn to the newspapers. ‘No suspects.’ ‘A nation in mourning.’ Pictures from the funerals. Images of flowers and candles at the crime scene. Letters and cards for the girls. Children crying. Adults crying.

She put down the newspaper and had just knocked back the last of her cortado when her mobile rang.

‘Yes? Mia speaking.’

‘It’s Holger. Where are you?’

‘Kaffebrenneriet, Storgata. What is it?’

‘Another girl has gone missing.’

Mia felt the hairs on her arms stand up. She put on her leather jacket and was out of the door in a matter of seconds.

‘Are you at the office?’

‘I’m just about to leave.’

‘Pick me up outside 7-11 in Pløensgate.’

‘OK.’

Mia ended the call and ran down towards Youngstorvet. Damn. Number three. Three lines on the nail of her left little finger. No, not this time. This time they had a head start. Another girl had gone missing, but they were on the case. There would be no more lines. Mia did not know who this new girl was, but she had already made up her mind as she pushed her way through the crowds on her way down Torggata that they would find this girl before it was too late.

She arrived at the corner of Youngstorvet just as Holger’s black Audi drove down Pløensgate. She jumped into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut.

‘Where are we going?’ she panted.

‘Disen,’ Munch replied briefly. ‘Disenveien. The call came in ten minutes ago. Andrea Lyng. She wasn’t in her bed when her father woke up.’

Munch put the flashing blue light on the roof and pressed the accelerator.

‘He has only just woken up?’

She checked the clock on her mobile.

‘So it would seem,’ Munch muttered.

‘Who’s up there?’

‘Kim and Anette. Curry is on his way.’

Munch sounded the horn irritably at a tram and a couple of pedestrians who had failed to get out of his way.

‘Bloody idiots.’

‘She disappeared from her home?’

Munch nodded.

‘How odd. The other two disappeared from their nursery school.’

‘Get out of the bloody way, you muppet.’

Munch sounded the horn again, finally managed to extricate himself from the traffic and headed towards Sinsen.

‘So only the father was at home? Where is the mother?’

‘No idea,’ Munch muttered.

His mobile rang and he answered the call. His voice was brusque. This was not one of his good days.

‘Yes? Damn! Yes, cordon off the area. And send Forensics up there immediately. What? No, I don’t give a toss about that, we have priority. No, of course we’re treating it as a crime scene. We’ll be there in five minutes.’

He ended the call and shook his head.

‘Anette?’

‘Kim.’

‘Found something?’

‘Blood.’

‘Blood?’

Munch nodded grimly.

‘So perhaps it’s not our guy,’ Mia suggested. ‘The MO is completely different.’

‘You think so?’

He said the latter without looking at her. A six-year-old girl had gone missing from her bedroom in Disen. Mia found a lozenge in the pocket of her leather jacket. They could always hope that the two cases were not connected. Three lines on the nail of the left little finger. Please, not again. This time, they would not be too late.

Munch sounded the horn again; he had practically come to a standstill because of a couple of punk rockers who saw no reason to increase their speed as they sauntered across a pedestrian crossing, despite the flashing blue lights.

‘The girl’s blood?’ Mia asked.

‘Too early to say. Forensics are on their way.’

‘Did you hear the news about Bakken?’

‘The eagle tattoo, yes. Roger and Randi? An interesting situation. Was he a transvestite?’

‘Sounds like it.’

‘That’s not what I need right now. I really don’t need that.’

The latter was not aimed at her. Munch muttered it to himself through gritted teeth and took Trondheimsveien up to Disen. Disenveien itself was made up of small, red, terraced houses that had woken up to a day out of the ordinary.

‘What have we got?’ Munch said as soon as they were out of the car.

‘Andrea Lyng. Aged six. Missing from her bedroom. Traces of blood all the way from the bottom of the stairs and up to her bedroom. Blood in the bed.’

Kim scratched his head and looked grave.

‘Where is the father?’

‘Living room.’ Kim pointed. ‘He’s completely beside himself.’

‘Is the doctor here?’

Kim nodded and showed them to the front door. They had just reached the gravel path leading to the house when Anette turned up. She had her mobile in her hand and was looking anxious.

‘We have another one.’

‘What?’ Munch burst out. ‘Another missing girl?’

Anette nodded.

‘The call has just come in. Karoline Mykle. Aged six. Disappeared from her bedroom in Skullerud.’

‘Damn!’ Munch said.

‘Blood?’ Mia asked.

Anette nodded.

‘OK,’ Munch said. ‘You two go to Skullerud. Kim and I will stay here. Get a team from Forensics to join you.’

‘They’re already on their way.’ Anette nodded.

Munch glanced at Mia. He didn’t say anything, but she knew what he was thinking.

Two in one day?

Two at the same time?

‘We’ll take my car,’ Anette said, running ahead of Mia to the red Peugeot parked at the kerb.

Chapter 31

Mikkel Wold, a journalist with Aftenposten, had just had one of his articles uploaded on the Internet and he was very pleased with the result. Everything was happening so fast these days that he had barely had time to proofread it before it was published. He had skimmed through the articles a few times as it appeared online: no typos – phew! Everything looked fine. ‘Final farewell to Pauline’. He had covered the funeral the previous day, along with two of his colleagues. They had been responsible for the main feature in the printed version of the paper, while his task had been to find another angle. Reporters working on the printed and the Internet editions of Aftenposten usually worked independently of each other, but not in this case. ‘Do it all and do it first’ was the motto now, and he had noticed that their rivals did exactly the same.

Skøyen Church had been filled to the rafters with mourners. The family had requested that all press remained outside, but not everyone had respected their request. Mikkel Wold had watched as several reporters from other newspapers blagged their way into the church, mixing with the family, neighbours and friends. Yes, of course they worked in a competitive industry, but surely there had to be some boundaries. Aftenposten had a good team working on the story. Talented people. Skilled journalists. They hadn’t discussed it, but there was a tacit understanding at the paper to keep it low key. Not shout ‘Fire!’ in a crowded theatre. Show consideration. Not prod deep wounds with their dirty, intrusive fingers. Like some of their competitors did.

Mikkel Wold had been offered a job with a rival newspaper some months ago. He was approaching forty and had worked for Aftenposten for almost twelve years; the new job had sounded exciting, and who knew when he would get another offer, but he was pleased that he had said no. ‘Final farewell to Pauline’. He had interviewed a friend of Pauline’s from nursery school, and her parents. Was it borderline bad taste? Possibly, but he had decided it was responsible journalism. Relevant. Profound grief following the loss of her friend. They had taken a picture of the little girl crying, holding a bunch of flowers in one hand and a drawing she had made for Pauline in the other. It was beautiful and moving. Well within press regulations, surely? Or perhaps it wasn’t? Mikkel Wold sighed and stretched his arms. He hadn’t had much sleep since the girls’ bodies had been found. Was he starting to lose his sense of perspective? Would he have written this article ten years ago? Five years ago? He dismissed his moral qualms and went to the kitchen to get himself a cup of coffee. The offices were buzzing. It was a long time since they had had a story like this. In fact, had they ever seen anything quite like it? A serial killer who dressed up girls like dolls, put satchels on their backs and hung them from trees? He shook his head and sipped his coffee. The whole thing seemed surreal. Like a case from the US or on TV, perhaps, but not here in Norway. Mikkel Wold had struggled to keep his emotions in check when he saw the crowd of mourners leave the church. The small white coffin. The grim faces. Grieving. Final farewell to Pauline. He hoped he had managed to stay within the guidelines. Yes, he had. It was a fine article.

‘They’re off again.’

Silje popped her head into the kitchen.

‘Where are they going this time?’

Mikkel put down his cup down on the counter and followed the young journalist into the next room. They had started listening to the police radio round the clock in order not to miss out on anything.

‘Skullerud.’

‘Another girl?’

‘It’s difficult to tell,’ Silje said, turning up the volume a fraction.

‘What have we got?’

Grung, their editor, entered the room, ruddy and unshaven, as usual. He didn’t look as if he had had much sleep recently either.

‘Several units have been dispatched to Skullerud.’

‘Skullerud? I thought they were going to Disenveien?’

‘Both locations.’

‘Disen?’ Mikkel Wold said. He hadn’t been aware of that.

‘A few minutes ago.’ Grung nodded. ‘Erik and Tove are there now.’

He turned to Silje again.

‘Do we have an address for Skullerud?’

‘Welding Olsens Vei. Not far from Skullerud School.’

‘I’ll go,’ Mikkel said.

‘Good.’ Grung nodded. ‘Keep me updated as it unfolds, will you?’

Mikkel Wold ran back to his desk and grabbed his bag.

‘Do we have a photographer?’

Grung shouted across the room.

‘I think Espen is available.’

‘No, he’s gone to Disen.’

‘Call Nina,’ Mikkel Wold said, heading for the exit. ‘Tell her to meet me up there.’

He took the lift down to the ground floor, ran to the taxi rank and got into a taxi. He took out his mobile and called Erik Rønning, his fellow reporter who had gone to Disen.

‘Erik speaking.’

‘What’s happening?’

‘They’ve blocked the area off, so we can’t get access. It’s chaos. Nobody knows what’s going on.’

‘Are we the only ones there?’

‘You wish.’

His colleague chortled to himself.

‘Oh, no, the whole pack has turned up. Mia! Mia!’

His colleague disappeared for a moment. Then he was back on the phone.

‘What’s happening?’ Mikkel Wold asked.

‘Munch and Krüger have just arrived. Looks like we’re in the right place. Mia! Mia!’

His colleague disappeared once more, this time for good. Mikkel Wold made eye contact with the taxi driver and told him to speed up. He was hoping he would be one of the first reporters to get to Skullerud, that the other journalists would not have heard the call going out over the police radio. Mikkel tried to ring Erik back, but his call went straight to voicemail. Holger Munch and Mia Krüger had turned up. Something big must have happened.

Mikkel Wold arrived at Welding Olsens Vei only to discover that the police had already cordoned off that area as well. He paid the cab driver, jumped out of the car and made his way through the small crowd of onlookers that had already assembled. Cordons out so soon? It was happening more and more these days. Even though they listened to the police radio, they were still too late. He had heard several journalists discuss it. Have we lost our touch? Rumours had it that the police were trying out something new, a different means of communication, but so far no one had been able to work out what it was.

Mikkel Wold pushed his way right up to the cordon and spotted a reporter from VG.

‘What’s going on?’

‘Don’t know yet.’

The VG journalist lit a cigarette and gestured towards the road.

‘I think it’s number three or number five. One of the yellow terraced houses over there. None of the heavyweights has turned up yet, just the foot soldiers. I don’t know what’s happening.’

Mikkel Wold looked about him. New people kept arriving. He could see NRK and TV2. He nodded to a reporter from Dagsavisen, just as his mobile rang.

‘Mikkel speaking.’

‘It’s Grung. What have we got?’

‘Nothing so far, but everyone is here.’

‘Why the hell are we always playing catch-up?’ Grung snapped.

‘It’s a problem, I know. We need to do something about it,’ Wold said.

Grung fell silent. The editor did not like being told how to do his job.

‘Munch and Krüger have gone to Disen,’ Mikkel said to change the subject. He didn’t want to get on the wrong side of Grung; he had seen what happened to people who did and it wasn’t pleasant. He had no wish to be demoted and cover missing cat stories in Sandvika.

‘Krüger has just left Disen,’ Grung told him. ‘I bet she’s on her way up to Skullerud.’

‘Did you get hold of Nina?’

‘Yes, she’s coming. I’ve got Erik on the other line. I’ll call you back.’

‘OK,’ Mikkel said, and rang off.

He walked back to the cordons and tried to get a handle on the situation. The police had cordoned off the whole street, not just one of the houses. Munch and Krüger were in Disen, and Krüger might be coming up here now. It had to be something major. It had to be several girls. Two at the same time? That would be tomorrow’s front page. He would bet on it. He looked around the street, trying to see if there was a gap he could sneak through. Surely there had to be another way in? He went back to the spot where he had got out of the taxi. Should he stay where he was, or try to explore? He was interrupted by his mobile ringing again. This time, the number had been withheld.

‘Hello. Mikkel here.’

There was total silence at the other end.

‘This is Mikkel Wold. Who is this?’

He covered his other ear with his hand in order to hear better. Many people had arrived by now; the area was filling up with cars and curious passers-by.

‘It’s not fair, is it?’

A strange voice in his ear. It grated: there was some kind of distortion; he did not recognize the caller.

‘Who is this?’ he said again.

‘It’s not fair, is it?’ the voice repeated.

Wold moved further away from the crowd, crossed the street and found a quieter location.

‘What’s not fair?’ he asked.

Again there was silence at the other end.

‘Hello?’

Wold could feel himself growing irritated.

‘Hello? Listen, whoever you are, I haven’t got time for this.’

‘It’s not fair, is it?’ the strange voice said again.

‘What’s not fair? Who is this?’

‘It’s not fair that you have to stand so far away,’ the voice said.

At that moment, a red Peugeot arrived. Mikkel caught a glimpse of Mia Krüger and one of her colleagues. The Peugeot drove up to the cordon and was let in by a police officer who was guarding it.

‘Damn!’ Mikkel said.

Where was the photographer? He needed pictures of this.

‘Listen, find someone else to pester,’ he snarled down the phone. ‘I’m busy.’

He was just about to hit the off button when the grating voice came back.

‘Number three,’ the voice said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s number three,’ the voice said again. ‘Her name is Karoline. Are you still going to hang up?’

With this, the caller got Mikkel Wold’s full attention.

‘Who are you?’

‘Donald Duck. Who do you think I am?’ the voice mocked him.

‘No, I meant…’

The voice laughed briefly.

‘Do you want me to call one of the others? Tønning from Dagbladet? Ruud from VG? One of those?’

‘No, no, no Ö eh, no, no,’ Mikkel Wold said. ‘I’m right here.’

He retreated even further from the crowd.

‘That’s good,’ the voice said.

Mikkel tried to get out his notepad and pen from his pocket.

‘Are you going to be my friend?’ the grating voice said.

‘Perhaps,’ Mikkel replied.

‘Perhaps?’

‘Yes, I would like to be your friend,’ he stuttered. ‘Who is Karoline?’

‘Who do you think Karoline is?’

‘Is she… Number three?’

‘No, Karoline is number four. Andrea was number three. Don’t you pay attention? Haven’t you been to Disenveien?’

Something was happening over by the cordons. Another vehicle was on its way in. Forensics.

‘How do I know that…’

‘How do you know what?’ the voice said.

‘I mean…’

Mikkel was unable to think of anything else to say. His forehead was hot and his palms were sweaty.

‘They’re so cute when they’re asleep, aren’t they?’ the voice said.

‘Who is?’

‘The little ones.’

‘How do I know that you’re not just messing with me?’

‘Do you want me to send you a finger in the post?’

Mikkel Wold felt a shiver down his spine. He was trying to keep calm, but it was getting harder.

‘No, absolutely not,’ he stammered.

The voice chuckled to itself again.

‘You have to ask the right questions,’ the voice said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘At press conferences, why don’t you ask the right questions?’

‘What are the right questions?’ Wold said.

‘Why did the pig drip all over the floor?’ the voice said.

‘Why did the…? What did you say…?

Mikkel tried desperately to get out his notepad without dropping his mobile.

‘Tick-tock,’ said the grating voice, and the call was ended.

Chapter 32

Holger Munch peeled off the thin latex gloves and went outside on the terrace to have a cigarette. Christ Almighty, what a start to the day. He had slept badly the night before, tossing and turning in his bed. He had yet to discuss this business about the inheritance with his mother, and he had an uncomfortable feeling that it might be the very problem that was keeping him awake, when they had more important matters to deal with. Two girls in one day? He lit his cigarette and peered into the house through the window. The crime-scene technicians were still at work and the girl’s father had been driven down to Police Headquarters in Grønland. They had yet to trace the mother; the father had been in shock and had made little sense. It would appear that the two of them were no longer together: they had separated, it was his week with the daughter; the mother had gone with some female friends to a cabin where there was no mobile coverage. The doors of the French windows to the terrace had been smashed. There were traces of blood on the ground floor, on the stairs and in the little girl’s bedroom. Andrea. Someone had taken her from her bedroom. Munch took a deep drag on his cigarette and tried to fight off a budding headache. He rang Mia. She answered after only a few seconds.

‘What have you got?’ Munch asked her.

‘Karoline Mykle, aged six, missing from her home.’

‘Any sign of a break-in?’

‘No, the key was under the mat.’

Dear Lord. Munch heaved a sigh. Under the mat. Did people still do that these days?

‘Blood?’

‘Traces of blood from the passage and into the bedroom.’

‘Parents?’

‘Cecilie and John-Erik Mykle. Neither of them has a record. He works on the oil rigs. We’re trying to contact him. She’s a teacher.’

‘A teacher?’

‘Yes, but it’s not her. She’s in a state of complete shock. I’ve sent her off to Ullevål Hospital. She didn’t even know where she was. She kept saying she didn’t have time to talk to us. She had to take Karoline to nursery.’

‘I see,’ Munch said.

‘We’re about to start door-to-door inquiries to see if anyone saw anything.’

‘Yes, that’s what we’re about to do as well,’ Munch said.

‘ALPHA1 procedure on this one?’

Munch nodded.

‘Holger?’

‘What? Yes, I want everyone working on this. Everyone. And when I say everyone, I mean everyone. I want them to check every single road, every sodding footpath, understand?’

‘Understand,’ Mia said, and ended the call.

Holger took another deep drag on his cigarette. His headache had arrived with a vengeance. Some water. He needed fluids. And food. His mobile rang again.

‘Yes, Munch here.’

‘It’s Gabriel Mørk. Is it a bad time?’

‘Depends what it is,’ Munch growled.

‘You know that private job you gave me?’

Munch rubbed his forehead.

‘The code,’ Gabriel continued.

Munch sifted through his memories before the penny dropped. The maths puzzle he had been unable to solve. The one the Swedish girl had sent him on the Net.

‘Did you crack it?’

Munch walked back inside the house. He took care not to contaminate any of the bloodstains or touch anything. The technicians were still at work.

‘I think I understand what it is, but I need more.’

‘What you mean, more?’

‘Do you want to talk about it later?’

Munch walked through to the front of the house, went outside and lit another cigarette. They had moved the police tape further down the street now. Keeping the press at bay for as long as they could. He dreaded reporting the latest developments to Mikkelson. Two dead girls. No suspects. And now another two were missing. There would be hell to pay down at Grønland.

‘I think it’s a Gronsfeld,’ Gabriel said.

‘A what?’

‘A Gronsfeld cipher. A code language. It’s a deviant of Vigenère, but it uses numbers rather than letters. However, I need more. Did you get anything else?’

Munch struggled to concentrate.

‘More? I’m not sure. What would that be?’

‘Letters and numbers. The way Gronsfeld works is that both parties, both the sender and the recipient, possess the same combination of letters and numbers. It makes it impossible for an outsider to crack the code.’

‘I can’t think of anything,’ Munch said, just as Kim walked through the gate. ‘We’ll have to do it later.’

‘OK,’ Gabriel said, and hung up.

‘Anything?’ Munch asked.

Kim shook his head.

‘Most people are out at work at this time, so we’ll do another round in the early evening.’

‘Nothing? Damn, surely somebody must have seen something?’

‘Not so far.’

‘Do it again,’ Munch said.

‘But we’ve just…’

‘I said, do it again.’

The young police officer nodded and walked back out through the gate.

Munch was just about to go back inside the house when Mia called again.

‘Yes?’

He could tell from her voice that they had discovered something.

‘It’s a woman’ was all she said.

‘We have a witness?’

‘A pensioner living right opposite. Trouble sleeping. He looked out of his window, he thinks it was about four o’clock in the morning. Saw someone hanging around a letterbox. So he went outside to check.’

‘Tough pensioner.’

‘Absolutely.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He shouted at her. She ran away.’

‘And he’s quite sure that it was a woman?’

‘He’s a hundred per cent sure. He was only a few metres away from her.’

‘Bloody hell.’

‘I told you so, didn’t I?’ Mia said eagerly. ‘I knew it.’

‘Yes, you told me so. Is he with you now?’

‘We’re bringing him in.’

‘See you at the office in ten minutes?’

‘Sure,’ Mia said, and hung up.

Munch didn’t exactly run, but it wasn’t far short. A woman. He quickly got behind the wheel and drove towards the cordon. There was a sea of flashlights when he passed the huge crowd of journalists and reporters. At least they had something for the vultures.

A woman.

Munch placed the blue flashing light on the roof and drove to the city centre as fast as he could.