by Samuel Bjork
There had been a major internal investigation some years ago. It was another occasion when Curry had been booted back to police headquarters. Munch and Mia had been following up a lead in the search for a missing girl that had taken them to a campervan up by Lake Tryvann. When they got there, they found someone they hadn’t expected to bump into. A well-known drug dealer and junkie, Markus Skog. The ex-boyfriend of Mia’s twin sister, Sigrid. Mia had shot him twice in the chest. She had been suspended immediately and, when Munch spoke up in her defence, they had disciplined him too. Reassigned him to somewhere out of town. Closed down the special unit.
‘It was self-defence,’ Curry said, hoping they could now change the subject.
‘But she fired the gun?’
‘Yes, she did. Munch didn’t enter the campervan until afterwards, I don’t think.’
‘So how could he defend her?’
Dahl took a sip of his coffee and winked at him.
‘Was it the press that gave her that name?’
Curry sighed again. So that was going to be the topic of today’s conversation. The Tryvann case had been picked up by the media and, overnight, Mia Krüger had become Norway’s number-one celebrity. Fair game. The paparazzi’s new favourite. Fortunately, it hadn’t lasted long – the vultures had flown on to their next victim – but within the police force there were clearly those whose curiosity remained undiminished.
‘What name?’
‘Mia Moonbeam?’
‘No, that name came from her grandmother.’
Curry put down his coffee cup and turned irritably to his partner.
‘Because of her jet-black hair and bright blue eyes. She’s adopted, by the way. Did you know that?’
‘Really? No …’
‘Yes, they were twins,’ Curry continued. ‘Adopted at birth. Mia and Sigrid. By a couple from Åsgårdstrand. They’re dead now, all of them, buried in the same cemetery. She’s the only one left. And she has a scar over one eye. Some guy she was interviewing attacked her – a crackpot – she was lucky not to lose her sight. And she’s missing a joint on one finger. A Rottweiler, I think. It sank its teeth right into her hand. I believe she had to shoot it.’
Dahl ran a hand through his thinning hair and gave him a small grin and a nod.
‘Yes, and then she has a tattoo, I think, of a butterfly, somewhere on her hip.’
Curry pulled up his jumper.
‘Here, I believe.’
‘All right, all right,’ Dahl muttered. ‘I was only asking. Christ, do we have to sit here all day doing sod all.’
‘Yes, why do we?’ Curry wanted to know. ‘The girl is clearly not going anywhere. She’s probably floating around on a pink cloud while we’re wasting resources that could be better used elsewhere.’
‘Orders,’ Dahl said in a surly voice, and shrugged. ‘What is it with you today? Did you get out of the wrong side of bed?’
Curry shook his head and took another slug of water. Working for the Drugs Squad was just as frustrating as it had always been. And now Oslo had been flooded with heroin in recent weeks and rumour had it that the product was very strong. The overdose team had been working overtime, and there was no doubt in Curry’s mind that something was very wrong in Norway, which was supposedly the best country in the world. Perhaps legalizing the crap was the right thing to do, after all? Get some sort of quality control in place. People had a need to get high, there was no doubt about it, so why not let the state run the whole thing? Not heroin, perhaps, but less serious drugs – cannabis, marijuana; cut people some slack, take away the profits, decriminalize everything? It would make everything so much simpler. Why put a seventeen-year-old junkie under surveillance? Surely her life was hard enough already. What was the point?
Dahl sat silently in the seat next to him; he had clearly got the message.
Put Mia Krüger down?
No way.
Not on his watch.
Jealous bastards.
‘So,’ Dahl piped up after a while, in an obvious effort to mend fences. ‘The woman they found up at the lake? Strange case, don’t you think? In a ballet costume? Have you heard anything about it?’
‘No.’
‘It’s odd that we haven’t been told anything, don’t you think? There should be information posted internally by now, shouldn’t there?’
‘That’s Kripos for you. They always keep their cards close to their chest.’
‘Well, I think there’s more to it than that.’
‘Do you?’
‘You didn’t hear this from me, but I have a friend in Forensics who told me they’d discovered something strange.’
‘What?’
‘She didn’t tell me what it was – everyone has been muzzled.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, there’s definitely something they’re not telling us.’ Dahl yawned. ‘I’m starving. Do you need a break? I don’t mind sitting here alone. Perhaps you could go and get us something to eat?’
‘But you only went to get us coffee five minutes ago. Why didn’t you get some food at the same time?’
Dahl shrugged and nodded towards the flat as if to indicate that he wanted to miss as little as possible.
Curry sighed.
He was just about to get out of the car when he received a text message on his mobile. Curry couldn’t suppress his smile when he read it.
‘What’s up?’
‘You’ll have to get your own food.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘That was Anette Goli. The special unit has been reopened. Good luck with the junkie.’
Curry smiled and gave his partner a friendly pat on the shoulder before getting out of the car and hailing a taxi to take him into town.
Chapter 8
Judging by her eyes, Karoline Berg looked like she had been sedated, but there were no pills in all the world that could disguise the fact that something inside her had died and would never come back to life. She was in her early forties with shoulder-length blonde hair and had insisted on standing up when she met them, though it was clear that her legs could barely support her.
‘Like I said, we’re so very grateful that you could take the time to talk to us,’ Munch said, once the introductions and formalities had been dealt with and Karoline Berg was back in her hospital bed.
Mia had a bad feeling about this. The blonde woman from northern Norway seemed far away, not present in the room, and certainly not ready for an in-depth interview. She was tempted to leave right away.
‘I can’t believe that she’s gone.’
A feeble, squealing voice under a floating gaze.
‘I understand,’ said Munch, who had taken a seat in a chair near her bed. ‘And again we’re sorry that we’re having to trouble you in this way, but we so very much want to try to find out what happened.’
Meeting the victim’s relatives. It always affected her much too deeply. Fortunately, Munch was her direct opposite. She had seen several times how the big teddy bear in him came out and made it possible. There was something calm and paternal about him that made grieving relatives feel that they were in safe hands. She had often thought that if Munch had been religious he would have made an excellent priest.
‘I didn’t think it was her at first,’ Karoline Berg mumbled, and stared out of the window. ‘She didn’t look like herself. She was always so lively. The essence which was Vivian was no longer there, and so it couldn’t be her.’
‘I understand.’ Munch nodded sympathetically. ‘And again, Karoline, if this gets too much for you, just let me know. We will do this at your pace.’
‘Those pearl studs,’ Karoline Berg continued, as if Munch hadn’t said anything at all. ‘She would never have worn those. She hated pierced ears. I had offered to pay if she wanted to get them done – all the other girls have them – but no, she refused.’
Munch glanced at Mia and raised his eyebrows discreetly.
‘So the earrings were new to you?’
Karoline Berg n
odded to herself without taking her eyes off the window.
‘I really am very sorry, but we have to ask,’ Munch said. ‘Can you think of anyone who might have done this to Vivian? Did she ever mention something, well, that something had happened? Did she have any enemies?’
Karoline Berg turned to Munch. It seemed as if her dull eyes still couldn’t take in that he was there.
‘I don’t think that she and Sebastian were a couple. Only friends, as far as I could work out. All Vivian ever wanted to do was dance; she has never been terribly interested in boys.’
Mia cleared her throat and tried to make eye contact with Munch. It was obvious that Karoline Berg wasn’t ready for this. She wasn’t even replying to their questions.
‘Sebastian?’ Munch tried cautiously. ‘Do you remember his surname?’
‘Pearl earrings? No, that wasn’t you, Vivian. Did you want to look like Granny? You always said that you didn’t like them, that they were silly.’
Karoline chuckled quietly to herself as her eyes half shut again. Mia could see only the whites of her eyes now. The poor woman lay like this for a moment, until she appeared to surface and noticed them again.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she mumbled, and sat up in the bed.
Munch put his hand carefully on hers.
‘That’s quite all right, Karoline. Listen, I’m wondering if perhaps we should come back a little later so you can get some rest?’
He glanced briefly at Mia, who nodded and got up.
‘Are you leaving so soon? No, no. I want to help, please let me help. She can’t lie there all alone, someone has to help her. Vivian, Mummy is coming now.’
Karoline Berg tried to get up, but her hands couldn’t find the edge of the duvet.
‘It’s all right,’ Munch reassured her, and pressed the red button by her bed.
‘We don’t have anything to do with him any more!’ Karoline Berg suddenly exclaimed.
‘Who?’ Munch asked.
‘Promise me, Vivian. He’s no longer a part of our family!’
Her frail body was trembling now.
The door opened and two nurses entered the side ward. The first put her hand on Karoline Berg’s forehead and nodded to Munch.
‘I think it would be best if you left.’
‘Of course,’ Munch said, getting up.
‘Karoline? Can you hear me?’
The door opened again and this time a doctor entered.
Shortly afterwards they were back in the car park. It was a long time since Mia had last seen Munch so irate.
‘Who the hell gave the green light for this? We should never have been there.’
‘Don’t ask me,’ Mia said, getting into the Audi. ‘What are we thinking?’
‘About this Sebastian?’
‘I was thinking more about the last thing she said.’
‘Call the office.’ Munch started the car. ‘Speak to Gabriel. He was assigned to the Fraud Squad, but I think he’s back with us now.’
Mia nodded and took out her mobile from her leather jacket.
‘Where are we going?’
‘To see Vivian Berg’s boss,’ Munch said, pulling out on Ullevålsveien.
‘OK,’ Mia said, and rang Gabriel Mørk’s number.
Chapter 9
As Gabriel Mørk pressed the button in the lift, he realized he hadn’t felt this tingling sensation for a long time. He had been on assignment to the Fraud Squad. Not a bad job, but it was nothing like this; of course it wasn’t.
Mariboesgate number 13.
The special unit was back.
He smiled at his reflection in the lift door and thought about how much his life had changed in such a short space of time. Completely upended. He was a different person now. It was less than a year since Holger Munch had brought him in from a life of hacking in front of lonely screens in a basement and made him a police officer. Now he lived in a new flat in Torshov, he got up in the mornings and went to work. And, last but not least, he had a baby daughter.
Emilie.
In shock, yes, he probably still was. Him a dad? Gabriel Mørk didn’t know exactly what he had hoped to get out of his life, but definitely not that. Now he had found serenity. A sense of purpose. Something that was bigger than him. Some nights he would wake up just to watch her. Tiny fingers softly curled into soft palms. He would put his hand on her small stomach simply to feel her breathing.
What are you doing?
I just had to check she is all right.
For God’s sake, Gabriel, she’s asleep, she’s fine.
I know, but …
He smiled to himself as the lift doors opened.
Last autumn they had worked on a case which involved Munch’s daughter, Miriam. She had barely escaped alive. She had run blindly into a gorge and her injuries had been severe but, fortunately, she had survived. Munch had taken leave to look after her and the special unit had been scattered to the winds. Curry had been reassigned to the Drugs Squad, Ylva to Sexual Crimes and he to the Fraud Squad. Anette Goli and Ludvig Grønlie had kept the special unit going, but Mia – no, he didn’t know where Mia had been, but he realized that he was looking forward to seeing her again.
Back.
At last.
He got out of the lift and met a familiar face.
‘Oh, if it isn’t the new daddy!’
Curry, bullish as always, had come out from the break room and slapped him on the shoulder.
‘So is it Mia?’
‘Eh?’ Gabriel said.
‘Leave the boy alone, Curry,’ Ludvig Grønlie said. ‘Hello, Gabriel, good to see you.’
‘I was only asking,’ Curry chuckled. ‘After all, we have a bet going, haven’t we?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He’s just messing with you,’ Grønlie said, and disappeared down the corridor.
‘Oh?’
‘We were just wondering if you had named her Mia,’ the bulldog grinned.
‘No,’ Gabriel said, having finally worked out what it was all about. ‘We named her Emilie.’
‘Damn, there goes my money.’ Curry winked and slapped Gabriel’s shoulder again.
‘Ha-ha,’ Gabriel said, and went into his office.
It was no secret that Gabriel Mørk was very fond of Mia Krüger. And yes, he had considered naming the baby Mia, but his girlfriend, Tove, had put her foot down. She had hinted on several occasions that it was all very well that he was now working with such incredibly clever people, but did he really have to go on quite so much about one particular colleague? So, no, she hadn’t been named Mia.
Emilie.
He smiled as he thought of his baby daughter. He had just sat down at his desk and connected his laptop to the network when his mobile rang.
‘Yes?’
‘Hi, it’s Mia. I need you to check something for us.’
‘Sure, what is it?’
‘Have Vivian Berg’s mobile and laptop come back from Forensics?’
‘I don’t know, but I can check. Why?’
‘It looks like she might have had a boyfriend, but all we have is his first name.’
‘Which is?’
‘Sebastian. Please would you check?’
‘Of course.’
Gabriel wedged his mobile between his ear and his shoulder and typed on the keyboard. He brought up Vivian Berg’s Facebook page.
‘I’ve found a Sebastian Falk. They’re friends on Facebook, at any rate. Let’s see—’
‘What do you have on him? Is he a dancer too?’
He could hear Munch grunt in the background now.
‘No, it doesn’t look like it,’ Gabriel said, quickly skimming the page he was on. ‘He looks more like one of those guys who do extreme sports. It says here that he’s an outdoor instructor, whatever that means.’
A young man on a mountaintop. On an indoor climbing wall. Three men in a pub, each with a beer. A helicopter with something dangling underneath it. A kayak on a foaming river. Gabriel M
ørk had always been amazed how much of their private lives people were willing to share on this website.
‘Pictures of – well, how can I describe it? – outdoor activities, a link to Extreme Sports Week in Voss, photos of parachute jumps, mountaineering, and so on, there’s no mention of them being in a relationship, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.’
‘Do you have an address?’
Gabriel opened another tab and typed in ‘1881’.
‘There’s only one Sebastian Falk listed here; if it’s the same guy, then he lives in Tøyen. I can give you his number.’
‘Give it to Ludvig and tell him to call him straightaway.’
‘Sure thing.’
There was silence on the phone for a moment. Gabriel could hear Munch bark something in the background, but he didn’t catch what it was.
‘And I need something else from you. This is a bit more vague, but we have reason to think that a family member might have been involved in something.’
‘Like what?’
‘That’s what we don’t know. Please could you check if anyone in Vivian Berg’s family has a criminal record?’
‘Will do,’ Gabriel said.
‘Great,’ Mia said. ‘And could you text me if you find anything?’
‘Sure. So you’re not heading over here?’
‘No, we’re on our way to the Opera,’ she said.
‘OK, I’ll call you if—’ Gabriel began, but Mia had already rung off.
Gabriel took off his coat, found a can of cola in his bag and logged on to the system.
During his induction Gabriel had been shocked to learn just how much information the government stored on even ordinary citizens. A year ago he had used the Internet to find backdoors into places like this and now open access was only a keystroke away. To begin with, it had almost felt too easy.
Ten different databases, including the DNA Register, and the Photograph and Fingerprint Register, the Person Identity Register and, last but not least, Indicia, the Criminal Intelligence Register, where the police force could store information not just about people with criminal convictions but also people who were only suspected of wrongdoing, including all their family members, their circle of friends and their colleagues.
Big data.
