I'm Travelling Alone

Chapter 51

Miriam Munch was sitting in the back of her father’s Audi, trying to keep her emotions in check. On orders from her father, she wore a woolly cap pulled over her ears and large sunglasses. Marion was lying on the seat next to her, curled up under a blanket which completely concealed the little girl. Miriam had not understood very much when her father had woken her up two days ago and told her to lock all the doors. Don’t let anyone in. Keep Marion home from nursery.

What do you mean, keep her home from nursery?

For God’s sake, Miriam, just do as I say!

The thought had occurred to her, obviously. Miriam Munch was not stupid. Quite the contrary. Miriam Munch had always been one of the smartest girls in school. Ever since she was little, she had found it incredibly easy to do what others struggled with. Rivers in Asia. Capitals of South America. Fractions. Algebra. English. Norwegian. She had soon learned to keep quiet about her cleverness, not to come first in every test, not to put up her hand too often. She also possessed emotional intelligence. She wanted to have friends. She didn’t want to be thought of as better than anyone else.

So of course the thought had crossed her mind. Her daughter was due to start school this autumn. And her father was heading the investigation into the murder of four girls. She was not an idiot. But she had been stubborn. There was no way she would allow herself to be intimidated. Her life would not be destroyed by some madman. She had taken precautions, of course, who hadn’t? She took Marion to and from nursery school herself. She had already said no to letting Marion go to birthday parties, to her daughter’s great despair. She had organized a meeting at the nursery with staff and parents of all girls due to start school that autumn. Some of the parents had taken time off work, too frightened to send their children to nursery; some thought the nursery ought to shut temporarily; others wanted to be with their children – it had been mayhem, but Miriam had managed to calm them down. Convinced them that it was about living as normal a life as possible. Not least for the girls’ sake. But all the time there had been a nagging voice at the back of her head: You might be at greater risk. You have the most to fear. And now this had happened.

Miriam wrapped the blanket more tightly around her daughter, who was sound asleep. It was dark outside, and the black Audi drove smoothly through the almost deserted streets. Miriam Munch was not frightened, but she was concerned. And sad. And frustrated. And irritated. And outraged.

‘Is everything OK in the back?’

Mia Krüger turned to look at her. They had yet to tell Miriam why she was being moved again, the second time in as many days, but deep down they guessed she knew.

‘We’re fine.’ Miriam nodded. ‘Where are we going this time?’

‘A flat we have at our disposal,’ her father said, glancing at her in the rear-view mirror.

‘Isn’t it about time someone told me what’s going on?’ Miriam said.

She tried sounding stern, but she was exhausted. She had barely slept for two days.

‘It’s for your own good,’ her father said, looking at her in the rear-view mirror again.

‘Has the killer made a threat against Marion? Are you doing this just to be on the safe side? I have a right to know what’s going on, don’t I?’

‘You’re safe as long as you do as I say,’ her father said, jumping a red light at a junction.

She knew what her father was like once he had made up his mind about something, so she didn’t push him. Suddenly, she felt as if she were fourteen again. He had been incredibly strict when she was younger, but he had mellowed with age. Back in those days, there had been no point in trying to talk to him. No, Miriam, you can’t wear that to school, that skirt is far too short. No, Miriam, you have to be home by ten. No, Miriam, I don’t like you seeing that Robert, I don’t think he’s good for you. Her paranoid police-officer father micromanaging her teenage life. It had raised her status among her friends, though. Those who had it toughest at home got the most sympathy from the other students at school. Besides, she knew how to pull the wool over her father’s eyes, no matter how good a police officer he was. Towards the end, he had barely been at home, which meant he rarely presented a problem for her. Her mother, too, had been bound up in her own concerns. Christ Almighty, adults, parents, did they really think their children didn’t know what was going on? Miriam had known about Rolf before the eruption at home. Her mother, whose routine you could set your watch by. Who suddenly had to ‘see a friend’? Who suddenly got a lot of calls, which turned out to be ‘wrong number’. Please.

‘Is she asleep?’

Mia Krüger turned around again and looked at Marion, who was still curled up under the blanket.

Miriam nodded. She liked Mia, always had. There was something about her personality. She was charismatic. She had great presence. At times, she might seem a little distant and eccentric, but not to Miriam. Mia reminded her of herself; perhaps that was why she had taken to her. Intelligent and strong, but also quite vulnerable.

‘Your father received a coded message via a website,’ Mia said.

‘Mia!’ her father hissed, but Mia simply continued.

‘The sender pretended to be a Swedish mathematician called Margrete. When we cracked the code, it turned out to be a direct threat against Marion.’

Miriam could see her father’s face grow redder.

‘Seriously?’ Miriam said.

To her surprise, she realized she was intrigued rather than scared.

‘And how long have you been in contact with her? Online, I mean?’

Her father made no reply. His jaw was clenched and his knuckles white around the steering wheel.

‘Almost two years,’ Mia said.

‘Two years? Two whole years?’

Miriam couldn’t believe her ears.

‘Have you been in contact with this person for two years, Dad? Is that true? Have you been communicating with a killer for two years without realizing it?’

Her father still made no reply. His face was puce now, and he pressed the accelerator hard.

‘He couldn’t have known,’ Mia said. ‘Everyone on that website was anonymous. It could have been anyone.’

‘That’s enough, Mia,’ Holger Munch hissed.

‘What?’ Mia said. ‘Maybe Miriam knows something. If the killer has been in contact with you for two years, he might have contacted her as well? We have to know.’

Without warning, Holger Munch slammed on the brakes and pulled over.

‘You, stay where you are,’ he ordered Miriam in the mirror. ‘You, out.’

‘But Holger,’ Mia protested.

‘Out. Get out of the car.’

Mia unclicked her seatbelt and left the Audi against her better judgement. Holger Munch opened the driver’s door and followed Mia out on to the pavement. Miriam couldn’t hear the exact words, but it was clear that her father was incandescent with rage. He waved his arms about and was practically frothing at the mouth. She could see that Mia was trying to say something, but her father didn’t let her get a word in edgeways. He jabbed his finger right up in her face and, for one moment, Miriam feared that he might slap her. Her father ranted at length and, eventually, Mia stopped talking. She was just nodding now. Then the two police officers got back inside the car. Her father started the engine, and nothing more was said. The mood in the car was tense. Miriam thought it best not to say anything. Two years? Her father had been in touch with a killer that long? No wonder he was livid. Someone had tricked him. And now four girls were dead. Was Marion number five? Had that been the message? Was that why they had to go into hiding? Miriam tightened the blanket around her daughter even more and stroked her hair while the black Audi continued through the night to a safe house not even she knew the location of.

Chapter 52

Mia was standing on the pavement outside the grey apartment block in West Oslo, wondering if someone was watching her. It wasn’t the first time the thought had crossed her mind; ever since she had returned to Oslo she had had this horrible feeling of being followed. She had dismissed it as paranoia. Quite normal for someone in her situation. It was vital not to give into it. She wasn’t anxious by nature, so that wasn’t the problem, but even so, she couldn’t shrug it off. She glanced about her, but she couldn’t see anyone. The streets around her were completely quiet.

They had moved Miriam and her daughter to a safe flat in Frogner. Safe in the sense that it was not listed anywhere. Not in official archives. The night before, they had kept mother and daughter in a flat further east, but Munch had not felt safe there and decided to move them again. The flat they were using now was reserved for politicians and other important visitors who needed protection, but Munch had pulled a few strings on the quiet so that only a small number of people was involved. He was getting really paranoid now, but she could see his point.

Mia found a lozenge in her pocket and glanced up and down the street. Still no one there. No cars. Not even a newspaper boy. She was all alone, and she was quite sure that no one had seen Miriam and her daughter enter the flat.

A few minutes later, Munch appeared in the street. He lit a cigarette and raked a hand through his hair.

‘Sorry,’ Mia said.

‘Don’t apologize, it was my fault,’ Munch said. ‘I just wanted to – well, you know.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Mia said.

‘Are we alone?’

‘I think so. I haven’t seen anyone. Is everything OK up there?’

Munch took a deep drag on his cigarette and glanced up towards the third floor.

‘Everything is fine. Miriam is pissed off with me, but I understand. I hope she realizes that I’m only trying to help her.’

‘Of course she understands.’ Mia nodded. ‘It’s just all a bit too much for her right now. She’ll thank you when it’s all over.’

‘I’m not so sure about that. I had to tell her that she can’t get married.’

‘You told her to cancel her wedding?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘That’s taking it too far,’ Mia objected.

‘A hundred people in the same church? And everyone with a connection to me? We couldn’t allow that,’ Munch said.

It was a game to the killer, nothing more. He or she was playing with them. How do you rob a bank? You blow up the building across the street. The killer knew exactly what he was doing. What she was doing. This was about more than four girls. Than ten girls. Someone had been watching Munch for years. And knew exactly how to hit him where it hurt. How to create maximum confusion. Chaos. Terror. Mia had not slept more than four hours in the last three days, and it was starting to get to her now, she could feel it. She was struggling to think straight.

‘Who’s at the office?’ Munch said when they were back in the car.

‘Ludvig, Gabriel, Curry, I think,’ Mia said.

‘Mikkelson will take me off the case,’ Munch said, lighting another cigarette without opening the window.

‘How do you know?’

‘What would you have done?’

He looked at her without expression.

‘Taken you off the case,’ Mia said.

‘Of course you would,’ Munch said, and drove towards Mariboesgate.

‘What’s your opinion?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s a legitimate question. We’re investigating a major incident. The killer is coming after you personally. Will you be able to stay objective? Keep your emotions in check? I don’t think so.’

‘Remind me again whose side you’re on,’ Munch snorted.

‘Your side, obviously,’ Mia said. ‘But someone is bound to ask that question.’

‘It’s personal now,’ Munch said, and narrowed his eyes. ‘No one goes after my family and gets away with it.’

‘My point exactly.’

‘What?’

‘One comment like that in front of Mikkelson and you’re out.’

Mia ran her finger across her throat as illustration.

‘Hah,’ Munch scoffed. ‘Who else would they put in charge?’

‘Wenngård.’

‘Yes, all right.’

‘Klokkervold.’

‘For Christ sake, Mia! Whose side are you on?’

‘I’m just telling you, Holger. There are others. It is possible for you to step aside.’

Munch mulled it over before replying.

‘What would you have done? If it was a member of your family?’

‘You already know the answer to that.’

‘Exactly. So let’s say no more about it.’

‘Don’t you think you ought to get some sleep?’

‘Maybe, but it’s not going to happen.’ Munch sighed before finally opening the window. ‘Contact everyone. Office in one hour. Those who don’t show can start looking for another job. We’re going over everything again. We turn every stone until we find that bloody cockroach, even if it’s the last thing I do.’

Mia nodded and took out her mobile.

Chapter 53

‘What have we got?’ Munch said when everyone was gathered in the incident room. ‘And don’t say ìnothingî, because that’s impossible. Somebody out there must have seen something. I know that you’ve all been working round the clock, but from now on we need to work twice as hard. Who wants to start? Ludvig?’

Mia looked around the room. A sea of tired faces stared back at her; it was agony, everyone had put in a ridiculous number of hours in the last few weeks, but still they had almost nothing to show for it. Curry had grown a beard. Gabriel Mørk’s face was deathly pale and he had big bags under his eyes.

‘We have cross-referenced most of the names from Høvikveien Care Home with the Hønefoss case. So far, we haven’t found anything, but we still have a few names to check.’

‘Carry on with that. There might be something there,’ Munch said. ‘Anything else?’

‘I carried out a background check on the church you mentioned,’ Gabriel said.

Munch glanced quickly at Mia, who shrugged her shoulders and nodded back. They had let the church slip to the bottom of their list. Been too slow off the mark. They had been planning to go there when the girls’ bodies were found at Isegran Fort, and immediately after that they had discovered the threat to Marion.

‘What have you found?’

‘It’s a bit odd,’ Gabriel said. ‘They call themselves the Methuselah Church, but I found no companies or religious organizations registered under that name. They don’t have a website or anything, it seems they haven’t quite entered the digital age, or they’ve decided not to join, I don’t know.’

‘Is that all you have?’

‘No, there’s an individual whose registered address is the same as that of the church.’

Gabriel checked the information on his iPad.

‘A Lukas Walner. I did a quick search, but he didn’t show up anywhere else.’

‘OK,’ Munch said, scratching his beard. ‘I’ve visited the church myself and, as far as I remember, there were at least two people there. An elderly man with white hair and a man with short, blond hair, possibly in his mid-twenties. We have to dig deeper, and it’s important that we do it quickly. The killer caught us unawares and we need to regain the initiative. My mother attends services there, so I’ll see what I can get out of her, OK?’

‘I’ll get on it as soon as we’re finished here.’ Gabriel nodded.

‘Good,’ Munch said, scanning his team again. ‘Anything else?’

‘We’re keeping Benjamin Bache under surveillance but, so far, there’s nothing to suggest that he has anything to do with this,’ Kyrre said.

‘OK,’ Munch said. ‘We have plenty of resources, so just keep up the surveillance until we’re quite sure. Anything else?’

‘I’ve run a trace on the account margrete_08,’ Gabriel said. ‘It’s a Hotmail address created on Ö’

The young man looked at the iPad in front of him.

‘The second of March 2010. A few days before you got the first email from her, isn’t that right?’

Gabriel glanced up at Munch, who looked uncomfortable. Not only was his mother’s name mixed up in the investigation, but the killer had also been in contact with him privately. And Munch had allowed himself to be used. Mia knew him well enough to see what was going on behind his furrowed brow. He was trying to pull himself together to avoid giving the rest of the team the impression that he was letting it get to him.

‘That’s correct,’ Munch said.

‘This email account has only ever been used to send emails to you. It has been accessed from three different IP addresses.’

‘Norwegian, please,’ Curry yawned.

‘IP addresses. Internet protocol addresses. Each device connected to the Internet has its own address, which tells you where it is. Country, region, broadband supplier.’

‘Its exact location?’ Munch said.

‘Yes.’ Gabriel nodded, looking down at his iPad again. ‘Like I said, it was accessed from three different addresses. All Burger King outlets, in Karl Johan, Ullevål Stadium and Oslo Central Station. Using a laptop. Impossible to trace, to be honest. I have pinged it, but there’s no reply, so I guess it’s not connected any more; the user probably tossed it. That’s what I would have done.’

‘You can get the Internet at Burger King?’ Curry said.

‘We’ve received just under two thousand calls,’ Anette said, ignoring her tired colleague. ‘Most of them regarding the photofit of the woman from Skullerud. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but so far we have not received anything useful. The photofit is too vague, it could be anyone. As for the reward – well, you know how this goes. You wouldn’t believe how many people fancy having a million kroner and think their neighbour looks a bit suspicious.’

Munch combed his hand through his beard.

‘Offenders with a similar MO?’

Kyrre just shook his head.

‘Dammit, come on, people! We must have something! Someone must have seen something! Heard something!’

Mia gave Munch a hard stare. Calm down. Although this was a tight-knit team, she knew there would always be some who were keen to further their careers. She imagined Mikkelson had a hotline to several of them.

She cleared her throat and got up. Walked up to the board to divert attention from Munch.

‘I don’t know if everyone is aware of what we know so far, so let me go over it again. Not everything is proved; some things are just ideas in my head, hunches, and I need your help with them. Tell me what you think, believe, feel. No suggestion is too stupid. Everything is useful, OK?’

Mia looked around the room. They were quiet now. Everyone’s eyes were on her.

‘This is the story as I see it. In 2006, someone takes a baby from Hønefoss Hospital. There are two main reasons to take a baby. One reason is blackmail, but no demands have ever been made, so we’ll ignore that. The second reason is that somebody wants a baby. That’s what I believe. Somebody wants a baby. I’ve thought all along or, perhaps, felt it rather, that the killer is female. A woman wants a baby. Let’s imagine the following scenario. This woman has access to the maternity ward. As we have seen, and saw back then, it’s frightening how much easier it is to steal a baby than you would think. Especially a baby with no parents. Right, so this woman steals a baby. There’s outrage, obviously; everyone starts looking for the baby – the media, us, everyone. No one can withstand that much pressure. The woman finds a scapegoat, Joachim Wicklund. Very conveniently, he goes and hangs himself. Very convenient for us. The autopsy report tells us nothing, because no post-mortem was ever carried out. Wicklund hanged himself. He confessed. Case closed. Everyone can move on.’

She drew breath and drank some of her Farris. She hadn’t planned what she was going to say; she was talking just as much to herself as to the rest of the team.

‘It occurs to me now that if we had carried out a full post-mortem there’s a good chance that we would have found a needle mark in Wicklund’s neck. Very convenient and clever, isn’t it? An overdose in the neck, right under the rope, very hard to spot unless there was suspicion of foul play. Well, that’s one theory. So we have a woman. With a baby. Who knows how to perform injections. Who has access to drugs.’

‘A nurse?’ Ludvig suggested.

‘A definite possibility.’ Mia nodded and went on. ‘But we found no suspects among the nurses at Hønefoss. So, we have a woman who has stolen a baby. And everything is fine. The media is no longer writing about the kidnapping. We have given up. Then something goes wrong. Maybe the baby dies. Baby dies and she decides to come after us. It’s our fault that the baby died. We should have found her. We should have found the baby. And Munch is responsible. So she decides to come after Munch.’

She cleared her throat and took another sip of her mineral water. The room had gone very quiet now. Everyone knew Mia was good at this. No one wanted to interrupt her now that she was in full flow.

‘This woman is incredibly clever,’ Mia continued. ‘Bordering on schizophrenic, possibly. She thinks it’s acceptable to steal a child and has no problem with killing. It feels morally right for her, so this woman must have experienced something, something…’

She struggled to find the words.

‘Yes, I don’t know what exactly, but it could have been any number of things. She’s logical and yet not seeing straight at the same time. Or, at least, she doesn’t see the world the way we do. She loved the baby, who is now dead. Perhaps. The baby was due to start school in the autumn. Now the baby is dead. I think that’s how she sees it. ìI’m travelling alone.î The sign. The girls are going on a journey. Yes, it’s a journey. Mark 10:14. ìSuffer the little children to come unto me.î The girls are travelling to heaven.’

Mia was increasingly talking to herself. Her knotted thoughts began to unravel, all the things that had lain concealed in the shadows of her mind.

‘This woman is incredibly caring. She loves children. She wants to protect them. She washes them and gets them ready. It’s not going to hurt. Now, two things.’

Mia coughed slightly. She felt exhausted, but she had to go on.

‘Two things. This was what confused me to begin with. The chaos, the symbols… I didn’t see at first, so many traps and hints, and yes, well, I didn’t see initially, but I think we’re dealing with two separate issues. One is the girls. She doesn’t want the baby to be alone. That’s it, that’s it. It was her fault that the baby died. She was responsible. She wants to make amends. Find some friends for the baby. But that was our mistake. We should have stopped her. Damn, I’m losing my train of thought here.’

‘Two things,’ Curry prompted her gently.

‘Yes, thank you. Two things. Number one: she kills the girls so that the baby, who is now six years old, won’t have to be alone. In heaven. Number two: she wants to get Munch. Sorry, it was obvious all along. But that’s why it was so muddled to begin with. That’s why we made such a mess of it. We need to look at everything from both of those angles, even though she’s mixing two motives to confuse us. Number one: she kills the girls so that the girl she stole won’t have to be alone in heaven. Number two: she wants to get her own back on the police. Take revenge. Get Munch. Somehow, she killed the baby, but she blames Munch. I think…’

Mia Krüger was completely exhausted now. She was barely able to talk.

‘What do you think, Mia?’ Munch said to support her.

‘She wants to be caught,’ Anette said.

‘What do you mean?’ Munch said.

‘She wants to be caught,’ Anette continued. ‘She shows us what she’s doing. Toni J. W. Smith. The girls at the Fort. Calling the journalists. She wants to be caught, doesn’t she, Mia?’

Mia nodded.

‘I agree. Good thinking. She wants to be stopped. She’s almost reckless. She’s revealing more and more to us. Because she’s going up there, too. To heaven. To be with her baby again. She’s going to be…’

Mia was unable to go on. She collapsed, exhausted, on the table, gasping for breath. Munch went up to her and put his hand on her shoulder.

‘Are you all right?’

Mia nodded slowly.

‘This is starting to make sense,’ Munch said, turning to the team. ‘Bloody brilliant. A woman. I believe it. I can see it. So which women have we already considered?’

‘The woman with two different-coloured eyes,’ Ludvig said.

‘Someone from the church?’ Curry said.

‘Staff at Høvikveien Care Home,’ Gabriel said.

Mia looked at Ludvig Grønlie.

‘Anything? Any links? Veronica Bache’s mobile?’

‘I’m sorry, nothing yet. We’re still working on it,’ Ludvig Grønlie said.

‘Oh, Christ, I’m slow!’ Mia burst out.

‘What is it?’

‘Charlie. Charlie Brun.’

‘Who?’ Munch said.

‘A friend. He runs a transvestite club in Tøyen. He told me about her. The woman with different-coloured eyes. He’s seen her several times. God, I’m an idiot.’

‘Bring him in,’ Munch said. ‘We have to find this woman. Who knows, perhaps she’s the woman from the photofit, the one our eyewitness saw in Skullerud. God knows, it’s a long shot, but why not give it a go? We’ll let this Charlie meet every woman whose name has cropped up in the investigation who would have been in a position to pay Veronica Bache’s mobile bills after her death, all staff at the care home and anyone connected to this church. And if we get a hit, check with the pensioner if it’s the same woman.’

As Mia was heading out of the door, Anette pulled her to one side.

‘Are you sure about this?’ Anette whispered.

‘About what?’

‘This whole set-up? You don’t think Munch is too close? I mean, a threat has been made against his grandchild. His mother might be involved. Shouldn’t he step aside? Let someone else take charge?’

‘Holger knows what he’s doing,’ Mia said sharply.

‘Let’s hope so,’ Anette said.

Chapter 54

‘What do you think?’ Charlie said, twirling in front of Mia in the bedroom.

He had chosen an old-fashioned floral tea dress, shiny knee-length silver boots, white gloves that reached all the way up to his elbows and a green feather boa.

‘Don’t you have an ordinary jumper and a pair of ordinary trousers?’ Mia heaved a sigh.

‘Really, Mia, you’re crushing freedom of expression here. I’m an artist, I’m a mobile work of art, didn’t you know that?’

Charlie rummaged through his wardrobe and made a big deal out of showing her how difficult it was.

‘All right, all right, Charlie, point taken.’

‘I’ve got it!’

Charlie turned around and was one big smile.

‘Mr Freud.’

‘Mr who?’

Charlie clapped his hands and jumped up and down like a little girl.

‘Mr Freud. He hasn’t been on an outing for a long time. He was in the cabaret. It’s Swinging Again in 2004. You know that The Swingers Club and the Association for Transgender People held several…’

‘Enough,’ Mia said. ‘I don’t need to know everything you get up to. Mr Freud is fine, just get a move on.’

Charlie took a suit bag out of his wardrobe and disappeared into the bathroom. He returned, dressed as a dandy in a black suit with a pink tie and patent-leather shoes. He looked like a cross between James Bond and Egon Olsen.

‘What do you think?’

Charlie smiled and spun around once more.

‘Stunning,’ Mia said.

‘Am I man enough now?’

‘Very manly. The ladies at the care home will throw roses at you.’

‘Do you think so?’ Charlie chuckled.

‘I’m sure of it,’ Mia said. ‘Now come on.’

Charlie followed her out to the waiting car. On their way to Høvik, Mia wondered if she should tell Charlie that he was not going there to perform but simply to look at photographs of the staff on a computer, but she decided against it. They had called the care home in advance and, fortunately, they had photographs of all staff members on record. New security requirements made it essential for all staff to carry photo ID; it would make their work so much easier.

Holger Munch was waiting outside the care home for them when they arrived.

Charlie bowed and greeted him politely.

‘Nice to meet you,’ Munch said, smiling slightly. ‘Like the suit.’

‘Has Mia explained to you why we’re here?’

‘I’m working undercover, isn’t that right?’ Charlie winked.

‘Yes, exactly. What we need you to do is to look through some photographs on a computer here, tell us if you recognize Roger Bakken’s friend.’

‘I can do that.’ Charlie smiled.

‘Her eyes were different colours, am I right?’

‘Yes,’ Charlie nodded. ‘One brown and one blue. I knew there was something mysterious about her.’

‘Well, that might be going a bit far,’ Munch said. ‘We just want to have a word with her, that’s all.’

‘I understand.’ Charlie winked again. ‘Top-secret police business.’

At that moment, the door opened and the woman Holger had been talking to outside the last time they were here came out.

‘This is Karen Nylund,’ Holger said.

The woman, who looked to be in her late thirties, was slim, with long, strawberry blonde hair and a beautiful smile. Charlie bowed and took her hand.

‘This is Charlie. H’s helping us today. And this is Mia, my colleague.’

Mia shook Karen’s hand.

‘Nice to meet you,’ Karen said with a smile. ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of Karianne, but she’s not answering her phone; she’s quite strict about things like that. She doesn’t want to be disturbed when she is off work.’

Mia did not ask, but concluded that Karianne must be the manager of the care home.

‘But is it all right if we take a look?’ Holger said.

‘Yes, I don’t see why not.’ Karen smiled. ‘I’m glad to be of service.’

Mia still said nothing. She had been a little worried about the paperwork; they needed a warrant, and these things usually took time, but she expected that Holger must have called in a favour from the staff at the care home because they already knew him.

‘Excellent,’ Holger said. ‘Shall we go inside?’

They followed Karen inside the care home and into one of the offices. Charlie strutted like a peacock through the corridors, bowing politely right and left.

‘Here we are,’ Karen said, indicating a computer on the table.

Suddenly, she looked a little hesitant.

‘This is a shared computer used by all staff members, and none of residents have access to it, but I guess it’s OK for you to look at it? I mean, you are the police?’

Karen glanced at Holger, who nodded to reassure her. Mia suppressed a smile.

‘It’ll be fine, Karen,’ he said, patting her tentatively on the shoulder. ‘I’ll take responsibility, so you don’t have to worry about a thing.’

‘Oh, good.’ Karen smiled again. ‘It’s just that, well, Karianne can be quite strict sometimes, but she’s also very nice, and she’s a good boss.’

She added the latter hastily, as if she did not want to be caught speaking ill of anyone.

‘Like I said, I’ll take the responsibility.’ Munch smiled and moved another chair in front of the screen so that Charlie could sit down.

‘Do you want me to stay?’ Karen asked.

‘Yes, that would be good. In case we have any questions.’

‘Not a problem,’ Karen said. ‘We’ll be serving lunch in a little while, but not yet.’

‘Good,’ Holger said, sitting down on the chair next to Charlie.

He grabbed the mouse and clicked on the file Karen had found for him.

‘Do we scroll down?’

‘Just use the arrows.’ Karen smiled, pointing to the keyboard.

Holger pressed the arrow key and the first picture appeared. The caption identified her as Birgitte Lundamo.

‘No,’ Charlie said, looking very grave, to prove that he was taking the job seriously.

Holger pressed the key again. This time a picture of a Guro Olsen appeared.

‘No,’ Charlie said again.

‘How many employees have you got?’ Mia asked.

‘We have fifty-eight residents and twenty-two – no, twenty-three staff – in total. Some work full time, others part time; in addition, we have a list of temps we call on when someone is off sick.’

‘And they’re all on the file?’

‘Yes, we have a details of everyone.’ Karen smiled once more.

‘No,’ Charlie said.

Holger Munch pressed again. This time the name Malin Stoltz came up on the screen.

‘That’s her,’ Charlie said with a nod.

‘Are you sure?’ Mia said.

‘Absolutely,’ Charlie said.

‘But her eyes aren’t different colours?’

‘It’s her,’ Charlie insisted.

Mia swore softly. She had met this girl. It was the girl with the long, raven-black hair she had chatted to the first time she had been here while she waited for Holger.

‘Do you know her, Karen?’

‘Yes, I do.’ Karen nodded, and looked slightly frightened for the first time. ‘What has she done?’

‘It’s too early to say,’ Holger said, noting down the address on the screen.

‘How well do you know her?’ Mia said.

‘Really well,’ Karen said. ‘But only through work. She’s nice enough. All the residents like her.’

‘Have you ever been to her home?’

‘No, I haven’t. Please tell me why you’re looking for her. It makes me feel – well, it makes me feel a bit scared.’

She looked at Munch, who rose to reassure her.

‘She’s just a witness, Karen.’

‘Ugh.’ Karen shuddered and shook her head.

‘Like I said, just a witness.’

‘Have we got her address?’ Mia said.

Munch glanced over Karen’s shoulder and gave Mia a note with the address. He gestured for her to go outside to make the call so as not to upset Karen further.

Charlie sat on the chair, looking slightly put out.

‘Was that all?’

‘It was.’ Munch nodded. ‘Well done, Charlie.’

‘Good job, Charlie,’ Mia said, half running outside to call Curry.

‘Yes?’

‘We have a name and an address,’ Mia said.

She could barely conceal her excitement.

‘Malin Stoltz. Born in 1977. Long, pitch-black hair. About 1.7 metres, weighs about sixty-five kilos.’

She read out the address on the note to him.

‘Is that her?’ Curry said.

‘Yes, Charlie identified her immediately.’

She could hear Curry shout orders out into the room before he came back on the phone.

‘We’re on our way there now. I’ll see you there.’

Mia ended the call and found a lozenge in her pocket. She had spoken to her. Stood very close to her. Not realized it. She hadhad blue eyes. Lenses, probably. Damn, how stupid could you get?

Charlie appeared outside on the steps, closely followed by Munch, and Karen, who was still looking anxious.

‘I’ll call you,’ Munch said, taking Karen’s hand.

‘Thanks for your help, Karen,’ Mia said again.

‘Oh, don’t mention it,’ said woman with the strawberry-blonde hair, trying to muster a smile and not quite succeeding.

‘Was that all?’ Charlie said again, clearly unhappy.

‘Well done, Charlie,’ Mia said.

Munch said goodbye to Karen yet again and walked quickly to his car.

‘Are you coming with me, Mia?’

‘Yes,’ Mia nodded, following him.

‘What about me?’ Charlie said, flinging out his arms.

‘He’ll give you a lift home,’ Mia said, pointing to the police officer who had driven her and Charlie up here.

‘Not even a cup of coffee?’

‘Next time,’ Mia shouted as she jumped into the car.

Munch hit the accelerator and pulled out on Høvikveien so fast the tyres squealed on the tarmac.

Chapter 55

Malin Stoltz had slept badly. She had had such bizarre dreams. That an angel had come to fetch her. That it was all over. Now I can stop doing this, she had thought in her sleep or her dream; she wasn’t sure which was real and which wasn’t. But an angel had come to her. A beautiful, white angel girl. The angel had held out her hand to her and told her to follow. She could leave the earth now. She would never have to do this again. And Malin Stoltz had been so relieved and so happy that, when she woke up, she had been unable to go back to sleep. She had different-coloured eyes today. One brown and one blue. This was who she was. For real. She had been teased about it when she was little. People had called her a freak and a weirdo. Only cats had different-coloured eyes. You look like a stupid cat. And they had not meant a nice cat either, but a stray. Whose fur fell off in clumps because it was riddled with diseases. Even though her doctor had said it was a common condition. Heterochromia. No, not common. It wasn’t common, but neither was it as unusual as many people thought. The doctor had explained to her that it was a genetic fault. No, not a fault. When genes changed at the embryonic stage, a mutation might occur where the gene for blue eyes might partly dominate an individual who was meant to have two brown eyes. A mutation. A mutant. The doctor had called her a mutant. She was a mutant with different-coloured eyes, and that explained why she was not herself. Why she should have been someone else. That was what the doctor had said. Or had she read it somewhere? The doctor had said nothing of the sort. She had read about it on the Internet. And in Science Illustrated. The doctor had issues of Science Illustrated in his surgery when she went to find out if she was able to have children. The doctor had said that she could not have children because she was a mutant. That she was not supposed to be who she was, that she should have been someone else. Even though many celebrities had different-coloured eyes. Dan Ackroyd. David Bowie. Jane Seymour. Christopher Walken. None of them had to be anyone else, even though some of them had changed their name. Malin Stoltz had dreamt that an angel had come for her, that she would not need to do this ever again, and she had been so happy that she had woken up. Afterwards she couldn’t fall asleep again. She had spent a couple of hours in front of the bathroom mirror. The doctor had given her pills. Told her she was not normal. That she was a mutant who had to take pills. Malin did not like the pills. She took them only occasionally, when she heard voices in her head, but she did not take them often enough to be normal.

Malin Stoltz stood in front of the cooker. She was hungry. She had not eaten for a long time and she had slept badly. And she had forgotten to buy eggs, even though she had put it on the list yesterday. Malin Stoltz was good at faking. She was good at being someone other than herself. As long as she was someone other than herself, everything was fine. Finding work was easy. As long as she was not herself. She returned to the bathroom without knowing why, so she went back to the kitchen and opened the fridge. The clock near the kitchen window showed eight. She was not going to work today and that was good, because she had slept badly.

Malin Stoltz decided to get dressed and go to the shops. Going shopping was easy, as long as you remembered to get dressed. The shops opened early today. It was easy to buy eggs, as long as you remembered to put them in your basket, pay for them and take them home in a carrier bag. Malin Stoltz went to her bedroom to find some clothes, but when she opened the door to her wardrobe, it was full of dairy products. Milk, butter and cream. She closed the door again and discovered that she was in the supermarket. There was a sour smell. It was very early and people had slept badly, that explained the smell. Malin Stoltz had dreamt that an angel had come for her, told her she did not have to be on earth any longer, but now she was in the supermarket buying eggs because she was hungry. Not all days were bad. There were things she could do to make herself feel better. Pretending to be someone else, that made everything better. When she was herself, things did not go so well, just like today, but she had be herself now, because today was a day off, and she was hungry. She had not had a day off for a long time. She had been good, worked hard, been Malin Stoltz, who was polite and normal and had the same colour in both eyes. Soon she would stop being Malin Stoltz, she would become someone else, and she was looking forward to that.

She closed the door to the dairy cabinet and found the place where they kept the eggs. She put four boxes in her basket. Her basket was blue, she could see that, if she closed the eye, which was brown. If she closed the eye that was blue, the basket turned brown. It wasn’t true, but everything was possible if you just pretended. Four times twelve eggs equals forty-eight. She tried but failed to remember what else was on her list. Yes, bread. She went to the bread counter and chose a wholemeal loaf. There was still a sour smell in the shop, she had to pinch her nose. Carrying the basket with the eggs with one hand was difficult. The boy behind the till also smelled sour. He, too, had slept badly, that must be the explanation. She had money in her bank account. It said ‘approved’ on the terminal. The shop really was starting to reek now. She just about managed to put the eggs in her carrier bag and run outside into the fresh air before the whole shop rotted behind her. She sat on some steps for a moment until the air felt fresh again, then she picked up the bag with her right hand and started walking home.

Chapter 56

Munch had just parked a short distance from the apartment block with a view of the entrance when Mia’s phone rang.

‘Yes?’

‘It’s Curry.’

‘Is she at home?’

‘No, there’s no reply. We’re waiting for you, can you see us?’

Mia glanced down the road and spotted the black Audi.

‘Yes.’

‘What do we do?’

Mia looked at Munch.

‘Do we go in?’

Munch shook his head.

‘We must remember that this woman might be innocent. All that we know is that she used to know Roger Bakken and that she might have had access to Veronica Bache’s mobile. I’m not putting my neck on the line for as little to go on as this.’

‘No, we’ll wait a little longer,’ Mia said on the phone. ‘Do we have units in all streets?’

‘Yes.’

‘Send in Kim,’ Munch said quietly.

‘Send in Kim,’ Mia said on the phone. ‘See if one of the neighbours will let him in.’

‘OK,’ Curry said.

Soon afterwards, the back door of another Audi opened and they saw Kim head for the entrance. He rang a couple of the bells before the door was opened and he disappeared inside.

‘He’s in,’ Curry said.

‘Yes, we saw,’ Mia said.

They had done this many times before. Both during training and in real life. One or two men would go inside; the rest waited outside, in cars or on foot. There was a knock on Mia’s window. She opened it. Kyrre slipped a small bag inside and disappeared again. Mia opened the bag and handed the second set of earphones to Munch.

‘We’re up and running,’ Mia said, ending the phone call. ‘Kim, can you hear me?’

‘Yes.’

‘What’s on the inside?’

‘Door to the basement. Lift. Stairwell.’

‘Take the stairs to the second floor,’ Munch said.

‘OK.’

They waited until Kim reported back.

‘I’m here.’

‘Is it the right door?’

‘The sign says ìM. Stoltzî,’ Kim confirmed.

‘Ring the doorbell.’

They waited a few more seconds.

‘There’s no reply. Do I go in?’

Mia and Munch looked at each other.

‘Yes,’ Munch said.

Mia was reminded of Anette’s warning. Perhaps Munch was too close. Was he capable of making the right call?

‘I’m in,’ Kim said.

‘What have you got?’

There was silence for a moment.

‘Oh, my God,’ Kim then said.

‘What is it?’ Munch said, louder this time.

‘This is just… You have to see this for yourselves.’

‘What is it?!’

Munch was shouting now, but Kim did not reply.

Chapter 57

Malin Stoltz suddenly became aware again and discovered she had a plastic carrier bag in her hand. She must have been to the shops. She didn’t even remember going outside. She looked around. She was outdoors. The last thing she remembered was a strange dream. An angel had come for her. She would not have to be here much longer, it was just as she had planned; but after that she did not remember very much. She opened the bag and peered inside it. Four boxes of eggs and a loaf of bread. Good Lord.

It was not the first time this had happened, but it scared her just as much all the same. Once, she had woken up on a tram. Another time, she had been on her way to Tøyenbadet Swimming Pool. She took a deep breath and sat down on a bench. Perhaps she ought to go see her doctor again. She hated going to the doctor’s, but perhaps it was about time. The blackouts had become more frequent, especially on the days she did not go to work; as long as she was at work she could manage, but at home was another matter. Where she had to be herself. That was the tricky part. She was pleased that it would soon be all over. Not long to go now. Soon she could rest. Soon she would no longer have to be Malin Stoltz. Or Maiken Storvik. Or Marit Stoltenberg. She tried focusing on the walk home, but images kept cropping up in her head. She tried concentrating on her carrier bag instead. She touched the plastic. That was tangible, wasn’t it? It was here? Yes, it felt real. She looked down at herself. Matching shoes. Very good. Trousers. Excellent. T-shirt and a thin jumper over it. She had done well. She had not gone outside naked. She had got herself dressed. She was a little cold, that was all, but at least she was dressed. She patted herself to warm up and tried once again to conjure up images of how to get from the bench and back to her flat. She looked at the shopping again. It said Rema Supermarket. She had been to Rema. To get home from Rema she had to walk past the pizzeria. She looked around and saw a neon sign on the corner. Pizzeria Milano. She knew the way from there. Well, kind of. She rose quickly from the bench and crossed the street. She was cold now. She wanted to get home as quickly as possible. She did not want to catch a cold. If she had a cold, she could not go to work; they were strict about that. The old people were frail. They could not have germs at the care home. She reached the pizzeria and paused while she scouted for the next landmark. The one-way street. Walk in the opposite direction of oncoming traffic. Down the street with the red sign with the white bar. She saw the sign and aimed for it, but then she stopped.

Something was wrong. Something was not right. The neighbourhood seemed different. Different to how it usually was in the morning. There were no people in the parks. There were no people sitting in their cars, looking around. Slowly, it dawned on her. Very slowly. Then she realized it.

She dropped the Rema bag on the tarmac, spun around and started running down the street in the opposite direction.

Chapter 58

Sarah Kiese was standing outside a brick building in Mariboesgate, waiting for a woman called Anette. She had tried calling for several days, but the line had always been busy.

You have reached Oslo Police Incident Line. All our operators are busy taking calls. Please hold.

Eventually, after trying for three days, she had got through. The last time, she had been on hold for more than forty minutes, but she had not given up, she had waited patiently, and finally her call had been answered. She had expected the voice on the phone to be pleasant, but it was not. The woman had sounded irritated. Abrupt, like, What do you want? Sarah Kiese was starting to think that she was doing the wrong thing. That the woman assumed she was calling because of the reward, but she wasn’t. She didn’t care about the money. One million kroner for anyone who can provide information that leads to a conviction in this case. She had read about the reward in the newspaper and that was when it had started to dawn on her.

Her husband had died almost a year ago. He had fallen from an unsafe building under construction. Sarah Kiese was glad that he was dead. He had been a terrible husband. He had nearly ruined her life. She had wanted nothing more to do with him. She hadn’t even attended his funeral. The smell of other women. Money disappearing from her purse, from the jar on top of the fridge, which she had saved up to pay the bills. The disappointed expression on her daughter’s face on the rare occasions he came home but refused to play or talk to her. A memory stick from a solicitor containing a blurry film about something he had built. An underground room. She had put it out of her mind. Forgotten about it. She had her own life now. She had a new flat. She was happy for the first time in years. But then it had come back to her. The movie on the memory stick. The one she had deleted. They were offering a reward of one million kroner. Perhaps she had lied to the surly woman on the Incident Line. Perhaps the reward had prompted her to ring. It had certainly caught her attention. Her husband had seemed terrified. And he used to be a tough guy. His trembling voice had told her to go to the police should anything happen to him. He had built a room underground, in the middle of nowhere. With a service lift and a fan. She had deleted the film. She wanted nothing more to do with him. She felt clammy just thinking about him. More than anything, she wanted to throw up. She didn’t want him in her head or her life any more, so she had deleted the film, and that had made it all go away. Right until last week, when she saw the newspapers. A reward of one million kroner to anyone providing information leading to a conviction in the case. Pauline, Johanne, Andrea and Karoline. And that was when it hit her.

Her husband had built the room where the girls had been held prisoners.

Sarah Kiese found some chewing gum in her handbag and glanced around. She had been told to wait in the street. She thought Oslo Police had their headquarters in Grønland, but it would appear not. No, that was still true, but perhaps they had other offices. Suddenly, a door opened and a tall woman with blonde hair and plenty of freckles came towards her.

‘Sarah Kiese?’

‘Yes?’

‘Hi, my name is Anette,’ the police officer said, showing her warrant card.

‘I’m sorry for not calling earlier,’ Sarah apologized. ‘The lines were busy the whole time and, well, my husband and I were not exactly friends.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ said the policewoman with the freckles. ‘It’s great that you’re here now. Did you bring the laptop you told us about?’

‘Yes,’ Sarah Kiese nodded, showing her the bag.

‘That’s great. Follow me.’

The policewoman called Anette gestured to a door in a yellow brick building and held up her card to a scanner.

They waited quietly in the lift. Anette was much nicer than the woman on the telephone. Sarah was pleased about that. She had been worried that she might be criticized for contacting them after such a long time. She had been criticized so much her whole life. She couldn’t take any more.

‘This way, Please.’ Anette smiled, and led the way through the corridors.

They reached another door, which was locked, and Anette ran her card over another scanner. The door opened and they entered a large, airy, modern office landscape. It was buzzing with activity; people were practically running back and forth, and the phones rang nearly all the time.

‘In here.’ The policewoman with the freckles smiled again and showed her into an office behind a glass wall.

A young man with short, tousled hair was sitting with his back to them in front of several computer screens. It looked almost like a scene from a movie, with screens and boxes and cables and small flashing lights and plenty of modern technology all over the place.

‘This is Gabriel Mørk,’ Anette said. ‘Gabriel, meet Sarah Kiese.’

The young man got up and shook her hand.

‘Hello, Sarah.’

‘Hello,’ Sarah said.

‘Please take a seat,’ Anette said, sitting down herself on one of the chairs. ‘Please would you tell us again why you called?’

‘Yes.’ Sarah coughed.

She gave a brief account of her situation. The death of her husband. The lawyer. The memory stick. The movie. The room he had built. How scared he had been. That she was now thinking it might have been about the girls.

‘And you deleted the film from your computer?’ the young man asked her.

She nodded.

‘Was that wrong?’

‘Well, it would have been better if you had kept it, but we’ll find it. Did you bring your laptop?’

Sarah Kiese took the laptop out of her bag and gave it to the young man.

‘And you obviously don’t have the memory stick?’

‘No, that went out with the household rubbish.’

‘Ha-ha, yes, unfortunately I won’t be able to find that,’ the young man said, and winked at her.

Sarah started to smile. They were so nice in here. She felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She had been scared that they would be strict, tell her off, like the woman on the phone.

‘I would like to take a written statement. Is that all right with you?’ Anette asked.

‘Yes.’ Sarah nodded.

‘Would you like a cup of coffee?’

‘Yes, please.’

The police officer with the freckles smiled once more and left the room.

Chapter 59

After morning prayers Pastor Simon told Lukas that the two of them would be spending the day together. Lukas could hardly believe his ears. Together? Just the two of them? He had felt flushed with excitement. Lukas was often near Pastor Simon, but the pastor was always busy with something or other; usually, he was in conversation with God, or preaching the word of God to the apostates who needed to hear it, and Lukas was mostly told to carry out other important tasks, such as washing the floor or doing the laundry or making sure that Pastor Simon had clean bedlinen. One evening some years ago, Pastor Simon had said that Lukas was the person closest to him, his second-in-command, and since that day Lukas had walked tall; he had stood by the pastor’s side, his back straight and his chin up. But there was one thing he had been longing for, not that he wanted to complain about the past – indeed not, that would never occur to him – but if he was allowed to miss anything, then it was that he would also like to be by the astor’s side when it came to spiritual matters.

And that was what Pastor Simon had inferred today. Lukas had seen it in his eyes. Today, you and I will be together, Lukas, just you and me. That was what the pastor had meant. Today, Lukas would be initiated. Today, he would learn the secrets and hear God speak. He was sure of it. They had left the farm, Porta Caeli, after morning prayers and breakfast. The women on the farm really knew how to cook. Lukas was proud of Pastor Simon for having picked such wonderful women. Fifteen women who obeyed the word of God, who could cook, keep house and do laundry: they were hard workers. The kind of women they would need when they got to Heaven. Not self-obsessed, vain women who spent their time lying in front of the TV, painting themselves like whores, demanding that men did all the work.

Lukas started the car and drove through the gate. God had given them lovely weather; the sun was high in the sky and he was increasingly convinced that today was going to be the day. Today, he would be initiated. He didn’t know very much about it, for obvious reasons. The pastor had dropped a few hints and Lukas had also overheard him talking to God several times. Lukas felt a little guilty for eavesdropping, but he couldn’t help himself. The pastor would often talk to God in his office. Lukas always made sure he was washing the floor outside it when he heard voices in there. In that way, he could be on his knees scrubbing, while at the same time being filled with the word of God without there being anything improper about it. It was the pastor who had paid for Lukas’s driving lessons. In the same way he had paid for everything else that Lukas had. A black suit for special occasions. A white suit for prayer meetings. Three pairs of shoes. And a bicycle. And his food, obviously, and his room at the attic of the Chapel. The pastor was rich. God had given him money. Pastor Simon was not one of those people who did not believe in money. Many people would preach about this very subject, how you would not need money if you had God, but the pastor knew better, obviously. In the next world, you won’t need any money – there, we will be taken care of – but in this world different rules apply. Lukas never read the newspapers and he did not watch television but, even so, he knew that this world was founded on money. Some people were poor and others were rich. Poverty was often a punishment from God. There could be many reasons why people had to be punished. They might be homosexuals, or drug addicts, or fornicators, or blasphemers, or they might have spoken ill of their parents. Sometimes, God would punish whole nations or continents. Often with floods or droughts or other plagues, but mostly by making sure they were poor. It was not the case that all rich people had been given their money by God, Lukas knew that. Some of them had stolen the money from God. It was straightforward. All money belonged to God, and if someone had too much and had not been given it by God, like Pastor Simon had been, then they had acquired it dishonestly and so needed to be punished.

Lukas drove according to Pastor Simon’s directions. They were not going back to the Chapel; instead, they headed upwards, deeper into the forest, to a small lake. Lukas parked the car and followed the pastor down to a bench by the water. He glanced furtively at the pastor. His big, white hair was like an aerial, he had often thought. A kind of angelic aerial that put the pastor in direct contact with God. The sun was in the middle of the blue sky now, shining directly behind the pastor’s head. Lukas’s skin was pricking. His fingers were tingling. He could barely sit still and he was grinning from ear to ear.

‘Can you see the devil in the water?’ the pastor asked, pointing.

Lukas looked across the lake, but he couldn’t see anything. The water was dark and quiet; there was not a ripple on the surface. He could hear the birds chirp in the trees around him. There was no sign of the devil.

‘Where?’ Lukas said, looking even harder.

He did not want to say that he could not see him, that would be stupid. This might be a test to find out if he was ready to be initiated.

‘Out there,’ the pastor said, pointing again.

Lukas could still not see anything. He did not want to lie or to say no. So he tried his hardest. He stared and he stared, he narrowed his eyes in the hope that the devil would appear, but nothing happened.

‘You don’t see him, do you?’ the pastor said at length.

‘No,’ Lukas said, and hung his head in shame.

‘Would you like to see him?’

Lukas had half expected to be told off for not looking hard enough; the pastor could be like that sometimes, towards people who were not close enough to God, but he didn’t get angry. He simply continued.

‘I believe you, Lukas,’ the pastor said in his warm, mild voice. ‘But we can’t take anyone with us who can’t see the devil, because if you can’t see the devil, you can’t see God either.’

Lukas bowed his head even further and nodded silently.

‘You want to come to Heaven, don’t you?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Lukas mumbled.

‘Would you like me to show you?’ The pastor smiled.

‘Show me?’

‘The devil.’ He smiled again.

Lukas felt happy and a little scared at the same time. Of course he wanted the pastor to show him, to help him see, but then again, he had heard a great deal about the devil and he was not sure that he was ready to face him.

‘Take off your clothes and step out into the water,’ the pastor ordered him.

Lukas was taken aback. It was not a warm day. It was almost spring, there were pretty green leaves on the trees around them, but the air was still quite chilly. The water was bound to be terribly cold.

‘Well?’ the pastor said with a frown.

Lukas rose slowly and started to undress. Soon, he stood naked in front of the pastor. His skinny, white body shivered in the cool air. The pastor watched him for a long time without saying anything. Sized him up from head to toe. Lukas felt a strong urge to cover himself up, he felt really uncomfortable, but he believed that this must be a part of the initiation. He had to go through this stage to reach a higher level, and for that he would just have to endure a bit of discomfort.

‘Now go into the water,’ Pastor Simon said, and gestured.

Lukas nodded and walked down to the water’s edge. He dipped one toe into it, but quickly withdrew it. The water was freezing. A big bird took off from a tree and flew up towards the clouds. Lukas hugged himself and wished that he, too, could fly. Then he would fly straight up to God and stay there for ever. Not that he didn’t want to be on the Ark. Of course he wanted to be on the Ark – after all, they were God’s chosen people on Earth – but had he been able to fly, he would not have needed to do things like this in order to be included. He looked up at the pastor, who sat like a pillar of salt on the bench. Lukas steeled himself and stepped into the icy water. It hurt. It was like standing in ice cubes. He wanted to ask the pastor how far out he had to go, but the pastor said nothing. He had risen from the bench now and come down to the water’s edge; he was only a few metres away, still with the sun like a halo around his big, white hair.

‘Can you see the devil?’ the pastor asked him again.

‘N-n-n-o-o-o,’ Lukas stuttered.

He forced himself to go further in, felt the icy water against the part of his body he was not supposed to talk about, took another step so that the water reached up to his waist.

‘Can you see him now?’ the pastor said.

The voice was no longer as gentle as it had been earlier; it was colder now, icy like the water. Lukas could barely feel his body; it seemed to be disappearing. Lukas bowed his head and shook it. He felt utterly useless. He could not see the devil. He saw nothing. Perhaps he didn’t deserve to go to Heaven, after all? Perhaps he would have to stay in this world with all the whores, the thieves, and burn slowly so that his flesh would be scorched and fall off his bones, while the others went up to God’s eternal kingdom?

Suddenly, the pastor moved; he leapt into the water with great bounds, and Lukas felt a cold, hard hand on his neck. He tried to resist, but the Ppstor was too strong. The pastor pressed down his head, and he was submerged. His head was underwater and he could not breathe. Lukas panicked and flailed his arms about. He had to get some air. But the pastor did not release his grip. He forced Lukas even deeper down.

‘Can you see the devil!’ he heard the pastor shouting from above.

Lukas opened his eyes, and his body grew completely limp. He was going to die now. That was how it felt. It was his time to die. This was why the pastor had brought him out into the forest. To this lake. Not to be initiated, but to die. Lukas made a final attempt to free himself from the pastor’s grip, but he didn’t stand a chance. The pastor seemed almost possessed. His hand was no longer human; it was heavy, like an iron claw. Lukas’s eyes started to mist over. His lungs were screaming for air, but he couldn’t shake off the grip. He was submerged in water. He had been robbed of all power to make decisions about his own life. To move. To grieve. The water no longer felt cold. It was warm now. His body felt warmer. A little further away, he watched his fingers twitch. The pastor kept shouting, but Lukas could no longer hear him. He had no idea how long he had been under, because time was no longer time, it was just eternity. He was going to die now, it was his time to die. There was no point in fighting it.

Out of nowhere, his head was yanked out of the water and up into the cold spring air. Lukas coughed and spluttered, spewed out the remains of his breakfast. His lungs felt as if they were about to explode. The pastor dragged him ashore by his neck. Lukas lay by the water’s edge, panting. He could not feel his body.

The pastor knelt by his side and stroked his wet hair. Lukas looked up at him with huge, shocked eyes.

‘Did you see the devil?’ the pastor smiled.

Lukas nodded. He nodded so hard that it felt as if his neck might snap.

‘Good.’ The pastor smiled, stroking his cheek softly. ‘Then you’re ready.’

Chapter 60

Mia Krüger was standing in Malin Stoltz’s flat, and she knew exactly why Kim had reacted the way he did.

‘I have never seen so many mirrors in all my life,’ Kim said, still reeling. ‘Now do you see why I jumped when I came in here?’

Mia nodded. Malin Stoltz’s flat looked like a hall of mirrors at a funfair. There were mirrors everywhere. Every square centimetre of her flat was covered with them. From floor to ceiling, in every single room.

They had waited outside for an hour, but no one had appeared. The decision to go in had been made by Munch. Mia had disagreed, but she hadn’t said anything. He was the boss. She would have preferred to stay in the car, wait a little longer. That would have been better. Now, they had made their presence known. Munch had asked for a full team to search the flat. Their police presence was broadcast across the whole neighbourhood: Malin Stoltz would never come back now. Mia knew it, and Munch knew it. Even so, he had made the call. Perhaps Anette had been right, after all? Perhaps Munch was too close to the case? With Miriam and Marion hidden away in a safe house in Frogner. With his mother linked to the church.

‘Have you ever seen anything like it?’ Kim asked.

Mia shook her head. She hadn’t. She had never even come close. No matter where she went or turned, she saw her own reflection. She felt a strong sense of unease, but there was nowhere she could rest eyes, there was no escape. She looked exhausted. She didn’t look like herself. The alcohol and the pills had left their traces, both in her skin and in her usually bright blue eyes. Mia wasn’t vain, but she definitely didn’t like what she saw. And they had lost Malin Stoltz.

Munch entered the kitchen, where the others were, and he didn’t look particularly pleased either. He heaved a sigh as he stood in front of the mirrored fridge; it was clear that he was not used to spending much time in front of a mirror. Mia could see him looking at himself. She wondered what he was thinking.

‘We have issued a description,’ Munch said, after a pause. ‘We have stationed people at Gardermoen Airport, Oslo Central Station, Torp Airport, and cars in strategic locations, but I have a feeling that she has tricked us again.’

Munch scratched his beard and glanced at his face in the mirror again.

‘What the hell is this about, Mia?’

Mia shrugged her shoulders. She knew that everyone looked to her to answer this question but, right now, nothing came into her head. A flat filled with mirrors? Who liked to look at themselves the whole time? Someone who was frightened of disappearing? Who had to keep looking at herself to reassure herself that she existed? Something started to come into focus, but it refused to materialize fully. She was overtired. She strangled a yawn. She really had to get some sleep soon. She could see from multiples angles just how much she needed a rest.

The head of the search team, a short man in his fifties whose name Mia had forgotten, appeared in the doorway.

‘Anything?’ Munch said, sounding hopeful.

‘Nothing,’ the short man said.

‘What did we find?’

‘No, I mean nothing. There’s nothing here. No photographs. No personal belongings. No handwritten notes. No newspapers. No plants. Just some clothes in the wardrobe and quite a lot of make-up in the bathroom. It’s almost as if she didn’t live here.’

Mia had a sudden flashback to her house on Hitra. She had done exactly the same. No personal belongings. Just clothes, alcohol, pills, a coffee machine. It seemed so far away now. A distant memory, even though it was barely three weeks since she had raised her last toast to heaven, ready to disappear.

Come to me, Mia, come.

‘She doesn’t live here,’ Mia said.

‘What?’ Munch said.

Mia still felt incredibly tired, but she pulled herself together.

‘She doesn’t live here. Malin Stoltz lives here, but that’s not her. She lives elsewhere.’

‘What do you mean?’ Kim said. ‘Is she not Malin Stoltz?’

‘There is no Malin Stoltz registered anywhere. It’s a false name,’ Munch said irritably.

‘So where does she live?’ Kim said.

‘Somewhere else. Keep up!’ Munch snapped.

It was clear that he, too, was exhausted.

‘There’s nowhere here you could keep the girls,’ Mia said.

She sat down at the table. She was so exhausted she could no longer stand up. Her eyes were stinging. She could feel that she had to get out of this flat soon, before all those mirror images got the better of her.

‘Malin Stoltz lives here. Malin Stoltz isn’t real. She keeps her personal stuff elsewhere. A place she can be herself. And that’s where she keeps the girls. A cabin or an isolated house. Call off your people at Gardermoen and Torp. She’s not going to leave the country.’

‘How do you know?’ Munch said.

‘She likes being at home.’ Mia sighed. ‘Don’t ask me why.’

‘We’ll keep them there for the rest of the day,’ Munch said. ‘And we need to go back to the care home. Someone there must know something about Malin.’

He turned to Kim.

‘Would you organize that? Interviews with all staff members?’

Kim nodded.

‘I’m going to need some sleep soon,’ Mia mumbled.

‘Go home, I’ll keep you informed.’

‘You need some sleep yourself.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ Munch said cantankerously.

‘So do you want us to pack up?’ the short man said.

‘No,’ Mia said.

‘Why not?’

‘Something is missing. She has a place where she hides things.’

‘We’ve already searched the whole place,’ the short man said, a little vexed, and in a tone which suggested that they knew how to do their job.

Mia didn’t have the energy to be polite, she was too tired now.

‘The lenses,’ she said.

‘Eh?’

‘Her lenses. She wore contact lenses. If she left behind make-up and clothes, she would also have kept lenses here.’

‘How do you know that she wears contact lenses?’ the short police officer said.

Mia could feel herself starting lose patience with him.

‘When I saw her, she had blue eyes. Others have seen her with different-coloured eyes. There must be contact lenses here somewhere. If she’s hidden them, we might find something else as well.’

‘But we’ve searched-’ the short man began.

‘Search harder!’ Munch barked.

‘But where?’

‘Contact lenses must be kept in a cool place,’ Mia said. ‘Check the mirrors.’

‘But…’

‘Start in the bathroom,’ Mia said. ‘That’s the place where people keep their contact lenses, isn’t it? Try pushing the mirrors, push the damned mirrors.’

Mia got up and, for a second, she blacked out. Her legs buckled underneath her, but Kim managed to grab her before she hit the floor.

‘Mia?’

‘Mia, are you OK?’

Mia came round and straightened up. She hated looking weak. Not in front of her colleagues. Damn.

‘I’m fine. I just need some sleep and some food. Call me, OK?’

She stumbled towards the door, and felt much better the moment she reached the stairwell. A flat full of mirrors. Every wall from floor to ceiling, nothing but mirrors; who the hell did that?

Mia Krüger staggered down the stairs and got one of the police officers to drive her home. ‘Home ‘was an exaggeration. What sort of home was this? It wasn’t a home. She didn’t have a home. She was staying in a hotel in Oslo, she had her belongings in storage and she owned a house on Hitra. That was who she was now. A nobody. That explained why seeing herself reflected in the mirrors had been so painful.

She fell face down on the bed and slept with her clothes on.

Chapter 61

‘Mummy, what are you doing?’

Marion Munch looked across to her mother, who was sitting on the sofa by the window. Miriam had been told to keep the curtain closed at all times, but she couldn’t take the isolation any longer. She just had to sneak a peek, reassure herself that the world outside existed.

‘I’m just having a look, darling. Why are you not in bed?’

Marion padded over to her mother and snuggled up on her lap.

‘I can’t sleep.’

‘You need your sleep, you know,’ Miriam Munch said, stroking her daughter’s hair.

‘I know, but surely I can’t sleep unless I’m asleep?’ the little girl said, tilting her head slightly.

‘It’s called falling asleep for a reason, darling,’ Miriam said with a little smile.

Her daughter had become rather precocious and argumentative recently. Miriam had been given a reminder of what she had been like when she was little. Stubborn and headstrong. Old for her age. She sighed, and closed the curtains again. She had blocked out much of her childhood. After her parents had split up, part of it seemed to have disappeared, as if it had all been built on a lie. Her parents were divorcing. She remembered being fifteen and starting to have her doubts about them. She thought that they must have been lying to her for a long time. But that was all in the past now. She had been angry. Very angry. Mostly at her father. Holger Munch, the homicide investigator. For years she had been proud of him. My dad is a police officer. He’ll put your dad in prison if he does something bad. But he had hurt her. He had pushed her mother into the arms of another man. A man Miriam had never really learned to like. She was older now, but it still gnawed at her. They had been so close, the two of them. She and her father. She should have resolved it a long time ago. Gone to him and said, Sorry, Dad, I’m sorry for giving you such a hard time, but she had been unable to. Stubborn and headstrong. She was starting to feel that the time had come. Soon. Soon, she would talk to him.

‘Yes, but then you have to tell me to, Mum.’

‘OK, Marion, go to your bedroom and fall asleep, can you do that?’

‘But it’s so hard,’ the little blonde girl objected. ‘I keep thinking about DracuLaura and Frankie Stein. They’re at home alone.’

The dolls her father had bought Marion recently.

‘Oh, they’ll be fine.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I spoke to Daddy just now and he said that they were both fine. He says they send their love.’

Marion looked sly.

‘I think you’re lying, Mum.’

‘Me, lying, no, why do you say that?’ Miriam smiled.

‘Dolls can’t talk.’

‘They talk when you play with them.’

‘Oh, Mum, that’s my voice, didn’t you know?’

‘Is it?’ Miriam said, feigning surprise. ‘Your voice? I thought they could talk.’

Marion giggled.

‘Sometimes it’s very easy to trick you, Mummy.’

‘Is it?’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘Do you trick me a lot?’

‘Yes, I guess I do.’

Marion reached for the blanket lying on the sofa and covered herself with it. She rested her head against her mother’s chest. Miriam could feel her little heartbeat against her jumper.

‘So when do you trick your mum?’

‘When I say that I’ve cleaned my teeth.’

‘But you haven’t cleaned them?’

‘Yes, but not very well.’

‘So when I ask you, did you brush your teeth properly, then you haven’t?’

‘No.’ The little girl giggled again.

‘So how did you clean them?’

‘Quite well, sort of.’

Miriam smiled again and stroked her daughter’s blonde hair.

‘I think you’ll need a haircut soon.’

‘You mean go to the hairdresser’s?’

Miriam nodded.

‘Oh, yes, please! Can we do that tomorrow?’

‘No, not tomorrow. When we get home.’

‘When will we get home?’

Her daughter looked at her with almost pleading eyes.

‘I don’t know, sweetheart. When Grandad says we can.’

‘Will we get a new house when we get home?’

Miriam looked quizzically at her daughter. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Like, move that bus!’

‘Move that bus? What on earth are you talking about, Marion?’

‘Oh, you know. When people on TV have a bad house and then they have to go away while someone builds them a new house, and then they come back, and then there is a bus parked outside and everyone shouts, ìMove that bus!î And then there’s a lovely new house behind it and everybody starts to cheer and cry. I want a room that’s all pink with a princess bed. Can I have that?’

‘A princess bed?’

‘Aha?’

‘We’ll have to wait and see. When did you watch that?’

‘With Grandad.’

‘You and Grandad watched Extreme Makeover?’

‘Oh, I don’t know what it was called, Mum.’

Miriam had made it very clear which television programmes were permitted when her father had Marion to stay, but it had clearly fallen on deaf ears. Did her father really watch that kind of television? She found it hard to imagine.

‘What other programmes do you and Grandad watch?’

‘Oh, I’m not supposed to tell you that.’

‘Why not?’

‘Drinking Coke and watching television is our little secret, you understand that, Mummy. Mine and Grandad’s. And you’re not supposed to share a secret, that’s what the law says.’

‘Quite so, no, you’re not supposed to tell anyone.’

Marion rubbed her face against her mother’s neck and closed her eyes. Her thumb was inching its way towards her mouth, but she stopped herself and returned it to her tummy. Good girl. They had spent ages trying to make her stop sucking her thumb. It hadn’t been easy. But now it looked like she was succeeding. Miriam tucked the blanket close around her daughter and held her tight.

‘Mum?’

‘I thought you were falling asleep?’

‘I can’t fall asleep when I’m talking,’ Marion said, precocious once more.

‘No, obviously not.’ Miriam laughed.

It was a mistake, no doubt about it. Laughing. Reacting would merely encourage her, but Miriam couldn’t help it. To be quite honest, she liked her daughter being awake. The flat was silent and empty when she slept.

‘What did you want to ask me?’

‘Why isn’t Daddy here?’

Miriam didn’t quite know what to say. For security reasons, Johannes did not know where they were. If the killer was capable of hanging little girls from trees, he or she would also be able to extract from him where they were hiding. She thought of her fiancé and felt warm all over. Her father had been adamant: the wedding must be cancelled and, even though she had argued her hardest, she had complied at the end. Her feelings said no, but her common sense knew better. They couldn’t fill a church with family and friends right now. It would be irresponsible. No one would benefit. Not now that Marion was number five.

Tick-tock, little Marion is number five.

Her father had been incredibly angry with Mia, but Miriam was grateful for knowing. Better to know what they were talking about than live in ignorance.

‘Why don’t you say something, Mum?’

‘Daddy is at work, but he loves you very much, he told me to tell you that.’

‘Did you speak to him on the phone?’

‘Yes, just now.’

‘Oh, why didn’t I get to talk to him?’

‘Because you were asleep.’

‘But I wasn’t asleep.’

‘I thought you were.’

‘That’s not the same thing, Mum. Next time you have to check, you really must, this won’t do.’

Miriam smiled again.

‘I will, sweetheart. I will.’

‘Good,’ Marion said.

The little girl threw aside the blanket and got up.

‘I think I’m ready to go to bed now.’

‘That sounds good, Marion. Would you like me to walk you upstairs?’

‘I’m not a baby any more.’ Marion yawned. ‘I know perfectly well where it is.’

Miriam smiled.

‘Clever girl. Give your mum a good-night hug then.’

The little girl bent down and gave her mother a long hug.

‘Remember that my room must be pink with a princess bed. “Move that bus!”’

‘I’ll let them know.’ Miriam smiled again and gave her daughter a kiss on the cheek.

‘Night night.’

‘Night night.’

Her daughter skipped across the floor in her nightdress, and up the stairs. Miriam got up from the sofa and went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. She heard her mobile beep and ran back to check who it was.

Sorry, Miriam, but we have to move you again tonight. Something has happened, will explain later. Am sending someone to fetch you now. OK? M.

Damn, now? Marion had only just gone back to bed. Oh, well. Her daughter was still light enough to be carried. Something had happened. What could it be? She replied:

OKJ‹

She went out into the hallway and found the suitcase. She hadn’t packed much. A few changes of clothing for both of them. Toiletries. The bare essentials. It took only ten minutes to pack everything. She took the mug of tea with her from the kitchen and sat down on the sofa again. She wondered where they were going this time. The first flat had been small, no television, just one room, something which had driven her a little crazy, claustrophobic. This one was much bigger and furnished luxuriously. She believed it was used for visiting VIPs who didn’t want to be seen. Very anonymous. Perfect for keeping nosy journalists at bay. Like her. Was that why she had dropped out of journalism college? Because being a journalist wasn’t good enough? Because she would rather do something more useful? Help people? No, that wasn’t it. There was nothing wrong with being a journalist; she didn’t know where that idea had come from. There were different kinds of journalists, just as there were different kinds of teachers and police officers. Some journalists wrote about celebrities. Others uncovered injustices. That was the kind of journalist Miriam had wanted to be. To fight for something. Use her brains to enlighten people, rather than dull their minds with lists of who was best dressed and what celebrities ate for Christmas.

She had just finished her tea when the doorbell rang. Miriam jumped up and pressed the intercom.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi, are you ready?’

‘I’m ready. Just come up.’

She pressed the buzzer and put on her shoes. Went to the suitcase in the hallway and put on her jacket. She hoped that Marion wouldn’t wake up during the car journey. She would be crotchety and perhaps wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep again.

There was a soft knock on the door. No door bell. What a considerate police officer, Miriam thought, aware that a child is asleep here. She went to open the door. There was someone outside. Wearing a kind of mask. And a wig. She had no time to react. The figure pressed a cloth into her face. She heard the words:

‘Night night.’

And she was out cold

Chapter 62

Mia Krüger was sitting at a table by the window in Kaffebrenneriet, trying to force herself to wake up. She had passed out on the bed in her hotel bedroom, having set the alarm first, as she felt too guilty to allow herself more than a few hours’ sleep, but her body disagreed; it wanted nothing more than to go back to bed, crawl under the duvet, carry on dreaming.

She strangled a yawn and called Kim Kolsø.

‘Yes? Kim speaking.’

‘Did we get anything from the care-home staff?’

‘No.’ He sighed. ‘No one knew her very well. Malin Stoltz would appear to have kept herself mostly to herself.’

‘Are you still up there?’

‘No, we’re coming back to town now. We need to contact any members of staff who weren’t at work today. See if we can get anything from them.’

‘Keep me informed, will you?’

‘Will do.’

Mia strangled another yawn and went up to order another coffee. It was the only way she could jumpstart herself. Coffee. And plenty of it. To get her head in gear again. Her body going. She had dreamt about a maze of mirrors and been unable to find her way out; she had felt utterly confused and trapped, and the feeling still weighed her down. She ordered a double espresso and was about to carry it back to her seat by the window when she noticed two women absorbed in an intimate, but rather loud, conversation at a table close to the counter.

She could not avoid overhearing what they were talking about.

‘So we tried everything, but it didn’t work,’ one of them said.

‘Oh, I’m sorry. Was it you or your husband who couldn’t have them?’ the other one said.

‘They never found out,’ the first woman said.

‘How awful for you,’ the second woman said.

‘Yes, if it hadn’t been for the support group, I would never have got over it. As for him, well, he just refused to talk about it,’ the first woman said.

‘Have you thought about adoption?’ the second woman said.

‘I really want to, but he, well, I don’t think that he does. I can’t make him talk about that either.’

‘How stupid. Surely helping a child with no parents benefits everyone? It’s a win-win.’

‘Yes, that’s exactly what I said, but he…’

‘I’m sorry,’ Mia said, walking up to them. ‘I don’t mean to intrude, but I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation.’

The two women stared at her.

‘A support group?’ Mia asked. ‘What kind of support group were you talking about?’

The first woman looked a little offended, but she replied nevertheless.

‘A support group for women who can’t have children. Why do you want to know?’

‘I have a friend…’ Mia began, but changed her mind. ‘I… I can’t have children, sadly.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ the first woman said, her attitude changing. she was no longer offended: Mia was a fellow club member; they were playing for the same team.

‘Was that here in Oslo?’ Mia continued.

‘Yes, in Bøler,’ the woman nodded.

‘Are there many of them around?’ Mia wanted to know.

‘Yes, they’re everywhere. Where do you live?’

‘Thank you so much,’ Mia said. ‘I’ll look for one.’

‘You’re welcome,’ the woman said. ‘Have you thought about adoption?’

‘I’m thinking about it,’ Mia said, picking up her coffee from the counter. ‘Thank you so much.’

‘We need to stick together.’ The woman winked at her.

‘Yes, we do.’

Mia winked back at her and carefully carried her coffee back to her table, just as her mobile rang.

‘Yes? Mia speaking.’

‘It’s Ludvig. Are you busy?’

‘No.’

‘I’ve got something. On the church.’

‘What is it?’

‘We investigated them some years ago. Hvelven Care Centre in Hønefoss made a complaint.’

‘Go on?’

‘Looks like the church has done this before. Persuaded old people to leave them their money.’

‘In Hønefoss?’

‘Yes, three cases. None of them went to court; they were resolved through mediation.’

A care home in Hønefoss. The care home in Høvik. There had to be a link.

‘Can you get me the names of all staff working there during the timeframe we’re talking about?’

‘It’s on its way,’ Ludvig said.

‘Can you check another thing for me?’

‘Aha?’

‘Can you check if there was a support group for childless people in Hønefoss in the period before the baby disappeared?’

‘Of course I can. I’ll do it first thing tomorrow morning, when everything opens again.’

‘Super. Any news about Malin Stoltz?’

‘Still missing without a trace.’

‘We’ll find her.’

‘If anyone can do it, it’s you,’ Ludvig said.

‘Thank you, Ludvig.’

‘You’re welcome.’

‘See you tomorrow.’

‘See you tomorrow.’

Mia ended the call, knocked back her coffee in one gulp, put on her leather jacket and left the room with a smile on her lips.

Chapter 63

Mia Krüger could only feel sorry for Holger Munch as he sat in the seat next to her while they drove to the chapel in Bøler. They had worked together on countless cases, but she didn’t remember ever seeing him so burdened. He drove in silence with a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, staring vacantly through the windscreen with an empty, almost resigned expression. The pressure lay like a heavy cloak on top of the otherwise unruffled detective. This case had reached deep inside his private life. He was involved. Threats had been made against little Marion. Malin Stoltz had clearly managed to rattle Holger Munch to such an extent that he was no longer thinking straight.

‘Nothing from the care home?’ she asked in a calm voice.

Munch shook his head grimly.

‘It looks as if Malin Stoltz lived two lives,’ he added. ‘People knew her at work, but no one had any contact with her outside of it.’

‘Did you manage to talk to your mother?’

Mia knew that this was a sensitive question, but it had to be asked; they had more important priorities now.

Munch nodded.

‘The man who heads the church is some plonker by the name Pastor Simon.’

Munch just about managed to utter the name, Mia noticed. He seemed shaken to the core. Perhaps Anette had been right after all. Perhaps he should have been taken off the case. At this moment in time, she was inclined to agree with her.

‘That was all? No surname?’

Munch sighed and shook his head.

‘Pastor Simon, that was all. I’ve asked Gabriel to see if he can find out any more about him.’

‘And this Lukas Walner? Did she know who he was?’

Munch nodded.

‘I believe he’s this Simon’s assistant.’

‘And you’ve seen them both?’

Mia knew this wasn’t a question Munch wanted to hear either, but it had to be asked.

‘From a distance, yes,’ Munch replied briefly, and opened the window.

He tossed his cigarette out and lit a new one just as they arrived at the white chapel. If Mia hadn’t known where they were going, she wouldn’t have picked this as the building they were looking for. From the outside, there was nothing to suggest that it was a place of worship. It looked like a Scout hut or some other anonymous, public facility. It wasn’t until they had walked through the gate and reached the door that she could see that they had indeed come to the right venue. A small sign beside the front door said ‘Methuselah Church’, and above it there was a small crucifix. The place seemed deserted. The door was locked, and she could see no signs of activity anywhere.

Munch walked down the steps and along a gravel path which led to the back of the building. Mia was about to follow him when her mobile rang. She briefly considered ignoring it; given the state Munch was in, she really didn’t want to let him out of her sight, but the whole unit was now on red alert, so she had to. She watched the back of his duffel coat disappear around the corner as she pressed the green button.

‘Yes? Mia here.’

‘Are you Mia Krüger?’

The voice was unfamiliar.

‘Yes, who am I talking to?’

‘You’re hard to track down.’ The voice let out a sigh.

‘Is that right? Who is this, please?’ Mia said.

‘I’m sorry if this is a bad time,’ said the man on the other end. ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you for a while but, like I said, it hasn’t been easy.’

Mia followed Munch around the corner and watched her colleague peer through a window.

‘And what is this about?’ Mia said impatiently.

‘My name is Albert Wold,’ the man continued. ‘I’m the Verger of Borre Church.’

Borre Church.

Her whole family was buried in its cemetery.

‘Go on,’ Mia said.

‘Like I said, I’m sorry for disturbing you,’ the verger continued.

‘Has anything happened?’

Munch moved away from the window and continued to walk around the white chapel.

‘Yes. We discovered it a week ago, and the whole thing seems very strange. We didn’t know what to do, apart from contacting you, obviously.’

‘And what has happened?’

‘One of your family graves has been desecrated,’ the verger said.

‘What?’ Mia said. ‘How?’

‘Well, that’s the odd thing,’ the man continued. ‘It would appear that the only grave affected is your sister’s.’

Mia Krüger stopped in her tracks and forgot all about keeping an eye on Munch.

‘Sigrid’s grave?’

‘Yes, I’m afraid so,’ the verger said sadly. ‘As far as we can see, none of the other graves has been touched.’

‘Desecrated. How?’

‘I don’t know how to tell you this,’ the man went on. ‘The whole business is really very unpleasant. Someone has deleted your sister’s name.’

‘Deleted it? What do you mean?’

‘With a can of spray paint. At first we thought it was just ordinary vandalism, it does happen, with these out-of-control teenagers we have here, but we soon noticed that this was different, what made it so odd.’

Mia glanced around for Munch, but she couldn’t see him anywhere.

‘What do you mean, different?’

‘Now it says your name instead.’

‘What?’

‘Someone has painted over Sigrid’s name and written yours instead.’

A wave of unease washed over Mia Krüger just as she saw Munch reappear from around the corner of the building. He gestured to her that they were going back to the car.

‘Would it possible for you to come up here?’ the verger asked.

Munch tapped his watch and waved irritably to her on his way to the Audi.

‘I’ll try to get there as soon as I can,’ Mia said, and ended the call.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Munch shouted out to her. ‘This place seems deserted. We have to issue descriptions of both Lukas and this pastor.’

‘Pardon?’ Mia responded, distracted.

Someone had been to Sigrid’s grave.

‘We have to issue a description,’ Munch said again, getting angrier. ‘We have to find these idiots and bring them in for questioning.’

Munch started the car and drove down Bogerudveien. Mia was contemplating telling Munch about the conversation she had just had when his mobile rang. The conversation lasted less than ten seconds. When he rang off, his face was, if possible, even whiter than it had been a moment ago.

‘What is it?’ Mia asked anxiously.

Munch was almost incapable of speech now. He could barely squeeze out the words between his lips.

‘It was the care home. My mother has suddenly taken a turn for the worse. I have to go there straight away.’

‘Oh, God!’ Mia exclaimed.

‘I’ll drop you off in the centre of town. You sort out the wanted notice.’

‘Of course.’ Mia nodded.

She searched for some way to show her sympathy, but found none.

Munch switched on the flashing blue light, hit the accelerator and sped towards the centre of Oslo.