by Samuel Bjork
‘It’s possible.’ Munch looked like he was considering lighting another cigarette straightaway, but decided against it. ‘But then who drove that one?’
‘He brought a bicycle?’
Munch shrugged.
‘There may be some cameras further down the road. There’s a Co-op not far away. We’re on it.’
‘Naked?’
‘Dressed only in swimming trunks. His clothes were in a bag in the front of the car.’
‘He undressed him up here? But, Holger, it—’
‘I know.’ Munch decided to light another cigarette after all. ‘I’m starting to think you might be wrong.’
‘About what?’
‘That the victims are randomly chosen. I think he knows exactly who he wants. And what he wants to do to them.’
Munch frowned and his expression grew darker as his mobile rang. He shook his head and walked away to answer it.
‘Mia Krüger?’
‘Yes?’
A dark-haired woman the same age as Munch came towards her, pulled down her face mask and shook Mia’s hand.
‘Lillian Lund. Pathologist. We’re ready to take him away now.’
‘Was it you who examined Vivian Berg?’
‘Yes.’ Lund nodded.
‘And Kurt Wang?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you sure we’re talking about the same man?’
‘The method is the same, yes. I don’t know if it’s a man. Evidence of a needle to the heart. No obvious injuries anywhere, something I find strange.’
‘Why?’
Lund gave her a puzzled look.
‘No evidence of a struggle? No resistance? Why not? Isn’t that strange? Not on any of them?’
‘No nail scrapings?’
The pathologist shrugged.
‘We have to check in the lab to be a hundred per cent sure, but not as far as I can see. It’s just like the others.’
‘Any injuries to his mouth?’
‘Was it you who first spotted it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good catch. We have the same thing here. Under the tape this time.’
‘Tape?’
‘Yes. Over his mouth. Do you want to have a look at him before we take the body away?’
‘Yes, please,’ Mia said reluctantly as Munch came rushing back.
‘Holger.’ Lillian Lund smiled.
‘Hello, Lillian.’
‘What’s going on?’ Mia asked.
‘They’ve found him,’ Munch whispered eagerly.
‘Who?’
‘Raymond Greger. He’s on his way up from Larvik.’
‘Do you want me to interview him?’
‘We’ll do it together. And there’s no hurry. He’s asked for a lawyer.’
‘Shall we?’ Lillian Lund asked again, pulling her face mask back on.
‘Absolutely.’ Mia followed the new pathologist over to the open boot.
Chapter 34
Munch was standing behind the mirror with Anette Goli; he had decided to let Mia start the interview on her own after all. Sometimes it was more effective. Less intimidating. They were short of evidence against Raymond Greger. They had only hearsay to work with, an old story from Bodø. No forensic evidence. No witnesses who could place him near any of the crime scenes. No mobile-phone traffic, no pings from any masts. There was a family connection, but that wouldn’t help them much if they couldn’t get him to talk.
He turned to Anette as Mia began the interview.
‘Please would you turn up the volume?’
Anette nodded and adjusted the button on the panel by the door.
‘The time is twelve fourteen,’ Mia said, leaning closer to the microphone. ‘First interview of Raymond Greger. Present in the room are Raymond Greger, his lawyer Albert H. Wiik, and homicide investigator Mia Krüger.’
Her voice was soft and gentle. She had smiled nicely to both men as they entered. Well played. He had seen her lose control several times in there, letting her emotions take over, but not today.
‘Let me start by putting on record that my client is baffled as to why you’re holding him,’ the lawyer said, adjusting the knot in his tie. ‘If you’re not going to charge him, we ask that he’s released immediately, and may I also advise you that we’re considering suing the police for releasing my client’s name to the press.’
Lawyers.
Munch shook his head and undid a button on his coat.
‘We’re not charging your client with anything,’ Mia said, still with a hint of a smile on her lips. ‘And I’m sorry about what happened. As I’m sure you’re aware, we have forty-eight hours now to question your client, but we obviously hope to get this sorted out as quickly as possible. If you work with us, tell us what we need to know, you’ll soon be able to leave. That’s how we look at it. You were at your cabin, right? On sick leave?’
Greger glanced briefly at his lawyer, who nodded.
‘Recently, it started to get to me. The workload, I mean. I wanted to carry on teaching, I really did, but my doctor thought I needed a few weeks’ peace and quiet.’
‘I understand,’ Mia said. ‘And that’s why you didn’t know what had happened, your niece being found dead?’
‘No, sadly not,’ Greger said, appearing genuinely upset. ‘It’s not my cabin. It belongs to a friend who lets me use it. He likes simple living, as they call it, no Internet or television, just power from a small solar panel.’
‘So when the police turned up, you were completely surprised?’
A neighbour in the archipelago had called them after Greger’s name had been broadcast on TV2.
‘That’s right, I knew nothing. Poor girl. What a tragedy.’
‘You’re Karoline Berg’s brother, is that right?’ Mia said, flicking through the notes in front of her.
Again, it was just an act. She knew precisely what they contained.
‘Stepbrother. My mother remarried. Her father. And I was part of the deal, so to speak.’
‘What happened to the two girls in 2007?’ Mia said out of the blue.
Greger jumped in his chair. His lawyer also looked taken aback. Munch enjoyed the sight and took off his coat.
‘What do you mean?’ Greger asked.
Idiot.
Munch shook his head.
Greger must have known they would find out about this, even if it wasn’t on the official record.
‘I advise my client not to—’ the lawyer began, but the middle-aged teacher stopped him.
He took off his glasses and rubbed his face.
‘It wasn’t me,’ Greger said at length, shaking his head slightly.
‘Not you?’ Mia flicked through her notes again. ‘Camilla was seven. Hege was nine. You picked them both up when they were on their way home from school, on separate occasions. You persuaded them to get into your car. You held them captive for several hours. You like little girls, don’t you? You like to play?’
‘I really think—’ the lawyer mumbled, slightly red-faced now, but Greger interrupted him again.
‘It wasn’t me,’ he said in a surly voice.
‘You didn’t do it?’
‘Yes, but it wasn’t me.’
‘I think you’re going to have to explain that.’ Mia put her friendly smile back on. ‘Two young girls? Taken during the day, against their will?’
‘Listen,’ Greger said. ‘I was … I had … It was a bad time for me. My wife had left me. She lied about everything, do you understand? The judge sided with her. She got full custody of my daughter, and I haven’t seen my daughter since.’
Mia glanced almost imperceptibly over her shoulder towards the mirror.
‘He has a daughter?’ Munch said, addressing Anette.
‘Sorry, we didn’t know. My mistake,’ his colleague mumbled. ‘I’m on it.’
She took her mobile quickly out of her pocket and left the room.
‘Your daughter?’ Mia asked. ‘How old are you?’
‘F
ifty-seven.’
‘And how old is she?’
‘Her name is Nina,’ Greger said. ‘She’ll turn thirteen this summer.’
‘So in 2007 she was seven years old?’
Munch could hear the irritation in Mia’s voice and he understood her only too well. She had gone into the interview without being fully briefed. It was on his head. It was amateurish.
‘So what—?’ Mia began, but Greger cut her off.
‘I’m not excusing what I did. It was wrong of me. I know it. Of course I do, it was just, well, like I said, it was a difficult time. Everything I had built was suddenly snatched away from under my feet. Nina, she was, she is, yes …’
Greger took off his glasses again and wiped away something that would appear to be a tear.
Play-acting?
Munch couldn’t tell from where he was standing.
‘So you missed your daughter and decided to find someone else to play with?’ Mia said, her voice devoid of warmth now.
‘Yes.’ Greger stared down at the table.
The lawyer sat with his jaw hanging open and didn’t say a word. He looked as if he felt just as wrong-footed as Mia.
‘You do know what this sounds like, don’t you? Two little girls? Kidnapped?’
‘I know. I know. I wasn’t myself. I didn’t hurt them. We just—’ Greger buried his head in his hands.
‘Played?’ Mia said archly.
‘I actually asked to be punished,’ Greger said quickly. ‘I didn’t want to hurt them. Lock me up, that’s what I told them.’
The door opened again and Anette appeared at Holger’s side.
‘A daughter. Aged thirteen. His wife divorced him in 2007, got full custody, no visitation rights. Accusations of physical and mental abuse on both sides. I tried to find the judge who dealt with the case, but I couldn’t get hold of her, I just spoke to someone in the archives.’
Mia glanced at the mirror again.
Help me out here, would you?
‘So why didn’t you get to see Nina?’
‘My wife lied,’ was all Greger said.
‘About what?’
The lawyer had given up now; he was just leaning back in his chair and watching it all play out.
‘She said I treated them both badly.’
‘And did you?’
‘Listen, I’m not perfect, I’m not, but then again …’
Munch’s phone pinged. He quickly took it out of his coat. A text message from Ludvig Grønlie.
We have found where the doll’s house came from! Send Curry?
‘What do we do?’ Anette said. ‘Is he our guy?’
Munch shook his head.
‘We don’t have anything on him, do we?’
‘There’s nothing to suggest it right now.’
‘No contact with Vivian?’
‘No, not according to Gabriel.’
‘Get her out of there,’ Munch said, and shook his head.
Mia threw up her hands when she entered the room behind the mirror.
‘What the hell, Holger?’
‘I know,’ Munch said. ‘Blame me.’
‘Do you want me to explore his relationship to Karoline Berg?’
‘Do you think it’s him?’
‘We don’t have anything on him, do we?’ Mia said with a look at Anette, who shook her head.
‘But even so, playing with little girls?’ Mia went on, looking at Greger through the mirror.
‘We’ll keep him,’ Munch said. ‘See if we can get him to say anything else, but I think we can cross him off the list for now.’
‘Do you want me to do it?’ Anette offered.
‘You don’t want me to continue?’ Mia asked.
‘We’ve found the shop where the doll’s house was bought,’ Munch said.
‘So quickly?’
‘Yes. Ludvig found it. Curry is on his way. You go with him, all right?’
‘Is Curry at the office?’
‘I think so.’
‘Creepy guy,’ Mia said, still facing the interview room.
‘Anette will deal with it,’ Munch said, gesturing to Goli, who nodded. ‘Will you call me afterwards?’
‘OK,’ Mia mumbled, and glanced through the mirror one last time before zipping up her leather jacket and leaving the room.
Chapter 35
Erik Rønning had ordered tempura crayfish with kimchi and tarragon and a glass of Petit Chablis, but what he really fancied was a cola. He had a slight hangover after over-indulging last night, but a cola obviously wouldn’t do, not here at the legendary Grand Café. The waiter disappeared with the menus and Rønning could feel that he had butterflies in his stomach. He was back in his boss’s good books. That hadn’t taken long.
Grung, on the other side of the table, could barely contain his excitement.
‘So where is it?’ the old newspaper editor whispered, looking around the room.
Erik Rønning smiled and tapped his mobile.
‘And it shows the whole killing?’ Grung said, wide-eyed.
Rønning nodded.
Oh, how fortune had favoured him.
He had had a flash of inspiration by the crime scene, hadn’t he?
‘May I see it?’ Grung asked nervously, reaching for the mobile.
‘Not here,’ Rønning said. He winked and quickly slipped his mobile back into the pocket of his suit jacket.
Fortunately, he had been home to change first. The trip up to Maridalen was proving lucrative, but his outfit had paid the price. Would he be seen at the Grand with mud stains on his trousers and dirt on his shoes? Not bloody likely. He had chosen a dark-blue Ermenegildo Zegna suit with a simple, black Armani tie and brown Mantellassi shoes.
‘So tell me again,’ Grung said as the waiter brought their food.
Grung had wanted to see the footage immediately; of course he had.
What are you telling me?
Come to the office, now!
But Rønning had had other plans. The office? Out of the question. Before he knew it the others would want a piece of the action. Silje Olsen. Or that idiot Ellingsrud. No, he wanted Grung to himself. And why not make an occasion of it? Celebrate? After all, he had had to spend his whole morning in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of idiots. Rønning raised the wine glass to his lips and felt almost drunk already. Grung hadn’t looked at him like this for a long time. His boss was bordering on awestruck.
‘OK, so here I am standing by the cordons,’ Rønning began.
Grung had heard most of the story on the phone yet he listened patiently. His phone continued to vibrate in his pocket, but the editor showed no signs of wanting to answer it.
‘They were all there, you know – Lund, Vikhammer, the usual suspects.’
‘Of course.’ Grung nodded.
‘But then I had an idea,’ Rønning went on, pleased with himself. ‘Why hang around down there? We can’t see anything here. And they couldn’t possibly have managed to cordon off the whole area already, could they?’
‘Good thinking.’ Grung smiled.
‘It was, wasn’t it? The message had gone out about an hour earlier. A surprising number of people had turned up, I must say. NRK and TV2 had outside-broadcasting vans there already.’
‘The ballet dancer.’ Grung prodded his steak tartare. ‘Everyone is on full alert.’
‘It turned out that they had actually cordoned off the whole area,’ Rønning said with a shrug. ‘Still, the trip up there turned out not to be wasted after all. It was almost as if …’
He took another sip of his wine and tapped his nose.
‘… you know when it just feels meant to be?’
Grung reached for his glass now.
‘I don’t quite understand,’ the editor said, unable to rein in his impatience any longer. ‘What did any of this have to do with prostitutes?’
‘I think I need to start at the beginning,’ Rønning said, signalling for another glass of wine. ‘I recognized a face up there. In the
crowd.’
‘Among the onlookers?’
‘I could tell from his face straightaway,’ Rønning said triumphantly. ‘He wasn’t there to watch. He was there to take down the cameras.’
Grung shook his head.
‘Cameras? Slow down, will you? What did you say his name was?’
‘Pål Amundsen.’
‘And who is he?’
‘Do you remember one of our old stories?’ Rønning said in a low voice, leaning across the table. ‘That tip-off we got some months ago about men looking for prostitutes, picking up girls in the city centre and driving up there in order to, well, complete their business?’
‘You put up cameras?’ Grung said sternly, and wrinkled his nose.
‘No, no, not officially, but yes, I was tipped off about a guy who might be able to help me with such things. Have you heard of those motion-sensitive cameras people use for making wildlife films?’
‘You know we can’t do that, Erik. What the hell were you thinking?’ Grung shook his head irritably.
‘And we didn’t. There’s nothing that can link me to this guy Amundsen. Relax.’
His boss looked as if he were about to say something, but he decided against it.
‘We dropped the story,’ Rønning went on. ‘We didn’t get any results, as you remember, but I, yes, I could see it in his face …’
‘He hadn’t taken the cameras down?’
‘Dirty old sod.’ Rønning laughed drily. ‘He was probably hoping to get something he could enjoy in private. I could tell straightaway. The man reeked of guilty conscience. It took me only ten seconds to get him to admit it.’
The waiter returned with more wine. Rønning let him finish pouring before he continued his story.
‘Twenty minutes later we’re in the guy’s home, on his computer, and there it was.’
He grinned and put his mobile back on the table.
‘Unbelievable,’ Grung said, shaking his head. ‘And you’ve seen it?’
‘Of course.’
‘And it … well?’
‘The whole show.’
‘Right from? Do you see the …?’
‘Everything.’
‘May I?’
Rønning smiled, sliding his mobile across the white tablecloth.
‘Be my guest.’
‘Thank you.’ Grung slipped the mobile into the pocket of his suit jacket.
