The Boy in the Headlights

by Samuel Bjork

  ‘Great.’ Munch lit a cigarette while he waited for what he presumed was coming.

  ‘So you’ve heard?’ his ex-wife said.

  ‘Heard what?’

  ‘About the wedding?’

  ‘She called me.’ Munch slightly regretted having answered the call. Just then, the clouds that had lain across the town all day finally allowed the sun to peek out for a moment.

  He didn’t really have time for this. Not now.

  ‘What do you think?’ Marianne asked, the touch of anxiety still in her voice.

  ‘I don’t see anything wrong with it.’

  ‘Have you met him?’

  ‘No, have you?’

  ‘Briefly.’

  ‘And?’

  He could see Grønlie waving to him through the window. Munch nodded and pointed to his mobile.

  ‘Well, he seems like a nice enough guy. I think she calls him Ziggy. They didn’t come in, stayed outside the front door. I don’t think she wants Marion to meet him yet. And I can see her point, but even so, getting married? So soon? It’s a bit quick, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes,’ Munch said. He wasn’t really listening.

  He had to redirect his troops, restructure his investigation. They had to prioritize the Iversen family. And follow up the interviews with the people who knew Kurt Wang. The jazz band. Something about the Portuguese man having a criminal record.

  ‘… do we do?’ Marianne said.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Do we think it’s OK?’

  ‘Well, she’s an adult.’ Grønlie appeared at Munch’s window again. ‘I don’t see that it’s any of our business.’

  ‘But what about our grandchild?’ His ex-wife’s voice had taken on a slightly different tone now. ‘We should be able to give advice, don’t you think?’

  ‘Marion is tough. Surely the most important thing is that Miriam is happy, don’t you agree? After everything she’s been through?’

  Grønlie disappeared again, as did the sun. This spring that refused to come. Munch tightened his duffel coat around him as a beeping told him he had a call waiting.

  ‘But that’s my point. How long has it been? Less than six months? She still can’t talk properly. And it’s a big decision. Don’t you think she ought to wait until she’s well? Until she’s herself again?’

  ‘I have to run,’ Munch said as the beeping stopped. ‘I’m in the middle of something. I’ve promised I’ll walk her up the aisle. I think she deserves it.’

  There was silence for a moment while his ex-wife seemed to brace herself to say something more.

  ‘So do we need to worry?’

  ‘Like I said, if that’s her choice, then I’ll support her.’

  ‘No, that’s not what I meant. What we’re seeing on TV – I’m guessing that’s what’s keeping you busy right now. All these terrible murders?’

  ‘You know I can’t talk about my work, Marianne.’

  ‘I know, Holger, but even so?’

  ‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ Munch said, hoping he had managed to sound convincing as the beeping started again.

  ‘You would give me a hint, wouldn’t you? Do we need to be careful? Should I take Marion out of school?’

  ‘No, no,’ Munch said as Grønlie popped his head out on the balcony.

  ‘Please could you take a call from Mia? I’ve tried to tell her that you’re on another call.’

  ‘Two seconds,’ Munch whispered.

  ‘Are you there, Holger?’

  ‘Listen, Marianne.’ Munch took another drag on his cigarette. ‘How about we let Miriam decide for herself, eh? And, as far as the other matter is concerned, just carry on with your life as normal. There’s no need to worry. OK? I have to go now. I’ll call you later. Give them both my love.’

  He ended the call before she had a chance to say anything else and pressed to speak to Mia.

  ‘Have you stopped taking my calls?’ Mia snapped at him.

  ‘I’m here now.’

  ‘I think it’s the same man.’

  ‘Based on what?’

  ‘I spoke to a make-up artist at the theatre. He says that the eyes are the same.’

  ‘Based on the sketch artist’s drawings?’

  ‘And the still from the footage. They could be brothers,’ Mia said, without listening to him. ‘The Brothers Lionheart, and all that, but yes, I think we should continue working on the theory that it’s the same man.’

  ‘OK. Will you be coming down to the office?’

  ‘No, I need time to think. I might turn off my phone. It’s annoying me. Might get a new one.’

  ‘Keep it switched on, would you?’ Munch said, but Mia had already gone.

  Munch was stubbing out his cigarette in the overflowing ashtray when his mobile rang again, an unknown number this time.

  ‘Munch speaking.’

  ‘Hello, Holger,’ a friendly voice said. ‘It’s Lillian Lund. The forensic pathologist. I hope it’s all right to ring you directly?’

  ‘Yes, of course. What can I do for you?’

  ‘Two things, really. Number one, I wanted to tell you that the cause of death is the same for all three victims. Ethylene glycol. A slightly higher dose this time, but there’s no doubt. I found nothing on the body. No signs of a struggle, nothing under the nails – well, you know the score. It was the same with Ruben Iversen as it was with Vivian Berg and the young man at the hotel.’

  ‘OK.’ Munch lit another cigarette. ‘Have you found out anything about the sores on their mouths?’

  ‘Yes.’ Lund hesitated. ‘I’ve just had the test results.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘That’s the second thing. I think I know,’ Lund said quietly.

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘Why they didn’t resist.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Listen.’ Lund cleared her throat. ‘I know this isn’t strictly by the book, but do you think we could meet? I would prefer not to do this over the phone.’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘How about a bite to eat? I was going to meet a friend, but she called it off at the last minute. I’ve booked a table, but I don’t like eating alone. Would you like to join me?’

  ‘Of course. When and where?’

  ‘Do you eat sushi?’

  ‘Not really, but I can make an exception.’

  ‘Great,’ Lund said warmly. ‘Alex Sushi? On Tjuvholmen? In just under an hour?’

  ‘I’ll see you there,’ Munch said, and rang off.

  Chapter 41

  Lillian Lund was already seated at a window table but got up when he arrived. He barely recognized her in civilian clothing. Gone were the surgical cap and mask. Her dark hair flowed loosely over her shoulders, and her white scrubs had been replaced with a yellow dress with a short, grey wool jacket on top.

  ‘Hello, Holger.’ She smiled. ‘I’m sorry about this.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be,’ Munch said, unbuttoning his duffel coat.

  ‘Well, it’s just that, eating on my own? I can’t do it. It feels all wrong. Do you feel the same way?’

  ‘I can’t say that I do.’ Munch smiled and sat down. ‘When it comes to food, some people might say that I have too few problems.’

  He laughed as a Japanese waitress discreetly approached their table and placed two menus in front of them.

  ‘I can recommend the maki.’ Lund smiled again. ‘You haven’t eaten maki if you haven’t tried the one they do here. I mean, everyone says so, but I didn’t know why until the first time I tried it. Are you allergic to anything?’

  ‘What? No.’ Munch coughed and got the feeling that it might have been wise to have nipped home first. Was he wearing yesterday’s clothes or those from two days ago? He was afraid to raise his arms in case the smell disturbed the other diners. Well, it couldn’t be helped. He was keen to find out what was so sensitive that she couldn’t tell him on the phone.

  ‘Do you mind if I order for both of us?’ Lund said, summoning the wai
tress.

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘Great.’ Lund said something to the young woman without looking at the menu.

  ‘So?’ Munch said when they were alone by themselves at the table once more.

  Lund placed her napkin on her lap. ‘Again, I’m sorry, but I thought it was best if we did this in person.’

  ‘And, like I said, it’s quite all right,’ Munch said, trying not to seem too eager.

  ‘The tests,’ Lund said, taking a sip of the water in front of her. ‘To be quite honest, it was exactly as I had feared.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Or no, that’s wrong, “feared” may be too strong a word, but yes, they …’ She glanced out of the window. ‘Scopolamine, hyoscyamine and atropine,’ the attractive pathologist said, and caught his eye again.

  ‘And what does that mean?’

  ‘Have you heard of scopolamine before?’

  ‘It doesn’t ring any bells.’

  ‘Devil’s tongue.’

  ‘Devil’s …?’

  ‘Tongue.’ Lund nodded. ‘That’s what they call it. Scopolamine. There’s a lot of uncertainty about this substance. Many people regard it as a myth.’

  She cleared her throat before continuing.

  ‘There have been reports, mainly from South and Latin America, of criminals using it to gain complete control over their victims. It’s not on the list of banned substances in Norway, but it’s said to be so strong that it takes effect immediately. A tiny prick is enough – skin contact, for example, through a quick handshake.’

  ‘And that’s what we’re dealing with here?’

  ‘Yes. There’s no doubt, unfortunately.’

  ‘Scolo—?’

  ‘Scopolamine. In Norway the substance is found in a plant called a thorn apple. You can find it in the botanical gardens, if you know what you’re looking for, of course. It induces extreme hypnotic intoxication. Strange, really, that it isn’t better known. Or good, I guess you could say.’

  She proffered him another quick glance and another smile.

  ‘And you can find it here in Norway?’

  ‘Yes, easily. Some people grow it, I believe.’

  ‘And you think …?’

  ‘The blisters to their mouths,’ Lund said, leaning towards him. ‘Because of them I double-checked the samples. I think they might have had a reaction.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Yes, it’s a toxin, don’t forget. It’s potentially lethal, if you overdose on it. I think we’re dealing with direct exposure here and that someone must have – well, squirted it into their mouths or something. I don’t know.’

  ‘Why haven’t I heard of it before?’

  ‘Like I said, it’s not terribly well known.’ Lund tucked her hair behind her ear. ‘The effect is said to be a form of brain paralysis. There are very few scientific studies, but there are examples of people meeting strangers in the street and then acting as if they’re in a trance the next moment. The attacker – or whatever term you would use – then follows the victim home. Clears out their house. Walks the victim to a cashpoint, empties their bank account. People have woken up several days later without any of their possessions or any recollection of what happened to them. Do you understand? It’s as if they were awake but not present at all? It’s really creepy.’

  ‘And you’re quite sure that’s what they were given?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The mixture. Scopolamine, hyoscyamine and atropine. It’s datura. Or thorn apple in Norwegian.’

  ‘But, for God’s sake,’ Munch mumbled, ‘why would anyone want to grow this?’

  ‘To get high,’ Lund said, and raised her eyebrows. ‘It has almost the same hallucinogenic properties as LSD, only it’s much stronger.’

  ‘But why …?’

  ‘Why didn’t I want to tell you that over the phone?’

  ‘That wasn’t what I was about to say, but go on.’

  Lund cleared her throat again and looked out of the window before taking another sip of the water in front of her.

  ‘Do you have children?’

  ‘A daughter, why?’

  ‘I have a son,’ Lund said. ‘Benjamin. Twenty-six years old. He is – well, how do I put it? Different. Struggling to find his place in the world, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘I certainly do.’

  ‘Benjamin.’ Lund coughed before she went on. ‘Well, like I said, he has had some problems adjusting to real life, if I can put it like that. He has always been creative by nature, you see. I’m sorry if this is getting a little too personal.’

  ‘Oh no, not at all.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Lund smiled and continued. ‘He went to Trondheim. To study Anthropology at NTNU. A random choice, I think, but who knows? Up there he shared a flat with some rather “alternative” people, I guess you could say. People who played in a band, and so on? They had heard the rumours, gone to a botanical garden there and found the plant. Stupid, of course, but that’s what they did. The boys didn’t come round until several days later, and in a completely different part of the town with absolutely no idea what they had done in between. He told me that he hadn’t tried it himself, but well, you know. I imagine he wanted to spare his mother the worry.’

  Munch was unable to hide his smile.

  ‘What is it?’ Lund asked with a frown.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to expect when you said you didn’t want to discuss it on the phone.’

  ‘Was it silly?’ Lund said with a faint smile. ‘It’s just that, in my profession … You get it.’

  ‘Sensitive information. Your own child. I understand.’ Munch nodded as the waitress appeared with their order.

  ‘So that’s what we’re dealing with,’ Lund said, unwrapping her chopsticks. ‘Devil’s tongue.’

  ‘If you’re right, it would answer many of our questions. I just can’t believe I haven’t heard about it before.’

  ‘Latin America and South America. Like I said, there are few or no studies, but its use is spreading, if Internet reports are to be believed.’

  ‘And it’s not illegal?’

  ‘Not currently, but it can only be a matter of time. By the way, you don’t have to eat with chopsticks.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Lund giggled.

  ‘Not if you don’t want to. In Japan many people eat with their fingers. It’s so typically Norwegian – we’re so terrified of making a mistake. The green stuff is wasabi. You can mix it with the soy sauce.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Oh, sorry. I forgot to ask if you wanted a beer or something.’

  ‘I don’t drink alcohol.’

  ‘You don’t?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Never?’

  ‘No. I tried it once. Not for me.’

  ‘Good heavens. A man after my own heart.’ The dark-haired pathologist winked and raised her water glass in a toast.

  Chapter 42

  Mia glanced through the windows of Lorry and changed her mind. Her usual booth was taken and there were too many people at the bar. Darkness had descended upon the streets of Oslo, but she still hadn’t been able to sleep. She had gone home to try again, but the circus in her stairwell just wouldn’t stop. The old lady was ranting away. Something about a pet that had gone missing this time. Have you seen my cat? Her neighbour on his way out of his flat, his eyes indicating that he hadn’t given up hope yet. So how about your holiday? She had seen the question form on his lips and just made it into her flat before it came. Her head hitting the pillow the next second, still dressed. Thumping from upstairs. A man’s voice complaining and a woman responding in the same tone. The banality of everyday life. She had pressed her eyes shut, but her mind refused to let her rest. She couldn’t shut out the world. All those people. It had always been her responsibility to keep them safe. So they could look for their cat. Help their sister. Argue with their husband. It was up to her. To make sure they didn’t end up
in a mountain lake in a ballet costume. In beds in dubious hotels. Alone and undressed in a car park in the middle of the night, unable to defend themselves.

  Your work is making you sick.

  You know that, don’t you?

  That you should be doing something completely different?

  Yet another well-meaning psychologist, and she had dismissed it, but it came creeping over her now as she crossed the street and found another place to hide. Kunstnernes Pub. A dive. A bearded man at the bar over a drink and a sketch pad. Three quiet faces at a chessboard, coarse hands around lukewarm beer glasses. She had found a table in the corner as her phone rang. It was Gabriel. She set down her bag on the chair and went back out into the street to answer the call.

  ‘Do you have two minutes?’

  ‘Of course, Gabriel. How did it go?’

  ‘I have everything,’ her young colleague said. ‘What do you want me to do with it?’

  ‘How much is there?’

  ‘A lot. I’m almost scared to look at it. It’s a bit private, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘Is there any way to search it?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The files – can you type in a word or something?’

  Gabriel laughed.

  ‘No. There’s no database. Just thousands of documents. Scanned PDFs of his own notes. You can’t search that.’

  ‘But Ritter must have had some kind of system?’

  ‘Well, he already knows everyone’s name, and then it’s not difficult. If you give me a name, it’ll take me ten seconds; or a date of birth, an address – something like that.’

  ‘Not to worry,’ Mia said. ‘Like I said, it was just an idea I had up there.’

  ‘You don’t have a name or anything?’

  ‘No, unless it says “Karl Overlind” anywhere.’

  ‘I did try that, but no. It was just an alias, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Leave it for now. We’ll find something we can link it to eventually.’

  ‘OK. Did you talk to Munch? This drug they found? Scopolamine? It explains why Vivian Berg walked to the lake herself, and why none of the victims fought back?’

  ‘It seems like it,’ Mia mumbled impatiently.

  She wanted to get back to processing the clues in her mind.

  ‘Creepy stuff,’ Gabriel said, ‘to know that he can take any one of us, at any time, without us being able to defend ourselves, don’t you think?’