by Samuel Bjork
‘Shhh.’
‘Me?’ Curry hissed again, more quietly this time.
Mia nodded.
‘For real?’
‘I know.’
‘What the hell gave them that idea?’
‘It’s a long story,’ Mia said again, and tried to calm him down, but he was consumed with outrage now.
‘What the hell am I supposed to have done?’
He slammed the palm of his hand so hard against the table that her cup clattered. The bartender startled behind the counter and looked nervously in their direction.
‘Calm down,’ Mia said. ‘It doesn’t matter, does it? I’ve told them it’s not you. Repeatedly. It’s not you, is it, Jon?’
She tilted her head and looked at him. He could see how tired she was now.
‘Of course not,’ he fumed. ‘Why the hell would I do something like that?’
‘There you go.’ Mia smiled. ‘Then you have nothing to worry about.’
‘But, fuck,’ Curry mumbled, then ground to a halt, unable to finish his sentence.
Heroin?
Him?
‘I need your help,’ Mia said, leaning even closer.
‘What the …?’ Curry muttered under his breath, still struggling to make sense of it all.
Someone on the inside?
Trafficking drugs?
How the hell could anyone have thought …?
‘Earth to Curry?’ Mia said, bringing his attention back.
He saw it clearly now.
Shit.
He had mistaken it for alertness. He could not have been more wrong. It was the exact opposite. His frail colleague was so tired she struggled to sit upright on the chair.
‘Are you OK? Mia?’
She took a breath, closed her eyes and looked as if staying awake was a struggle.
‘Mia?’
‘I’m fine. I’m just …’
‘You haven’t slept?’
She shook her head.
‘For how long?’
‘Nearly twenty-four hours. Nothing to worry about,’ she said, and dismissed it with a wave of her hand.
‘What the hell is going on?’ Curry leaned across the table now. ‘Internal Investigations think I’m bent? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost. Why haven’t you slept? What have you been doing?’
‘Trawling the streets,’ Mia mumbled, and rubbed her eyes. ‘I’ve been all over town.’
‘Why?’
‘Listen,’ Mia said, pulling herself together. ‘I need your help and I don’t know who else to ask.’
‘Of course, Mia. Anything.’
He could see the gratitude in her eyes now as she pushed her hair behind her ear again and flashed him a tired smile.
Christ, she really wasn’t OK.
‘It’s about Sigrid,’ Mia said at last.
‘Your sister?’
‘Yes. I …’
‘But she is …?’
Mia closed her eyes again and Curry began to fear that she might pass out altogether, just collapse across the table right before his eyes.
‘I need your help in finding someone.’
‘Sure, Mia. Who?’
‘You know the scene, don’t you? You were on the Drugs Squad for a long time?’
‘Of course. Who are you looking for?’
‘His name is Kevin,’ Mia said quietly. ‘I went all over town last night, but I just …’
‘A junkie?’
Mia nodded.
‘Here in Oslo?’
Her head flopped forwards again, and this time she almost couldn’t pull it up from her chest.
‘Of course I’ll help you,’ Curry said quickly, and gently put his hand on hers. ‘Do you know anything else about the guy? Is his name all you’ve got?’
‘Cisse,’ Mia mumbled.
‘Cisse?’
‘Kevin and Cisse. One or, better still, both of them. Will you help me?’
‘Definitely,’ Curry said. ‘Can I ask why, or is it …?’
Mia blinked and ran a hand over her weary face.
‘She has something that belongs to me.’
‘This other junkie? Cisse?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m on it. Damn, Mia, of course. If you promise me one thing?’
‘What is it?’
‘That you go home and get some shut-eye, OK?’
Mia smiled wearily at him.
‘No, that—’
‘I mean it, Mia. Kevin and Cisse? Leave it with me. And don’t you worry. But you have to get some sleep now, OK?’
A long silence ensued.
‘OK,’ said Mia after a while.
‘Good.’ Curry took his mobile out of his pocket.
Chapter 61
Munch crossed the cordons, walked up the steps to St Olav’s Cathedral and was met by Torgeir Bekk, the head of the response unit, a police officer he already knew. They had played chess before and after only a few games Munch had been forced to acknowledge that he still had a lot to learn.
‘Pathology is already here,’ Bekk said.
‘What about the crime-scene technicians?’
‘They’re on their way. Have you any idea what’s going on?’
‘What do you mean?’ Munch stubbed out his cigarette.
‘It’s total chaos everywhere, I can’t get hold of anyone,’ Bekk said, scratching his head.
‘It’s all about finding Ivan Horowitz now.’
‘I know, but even so, the whole police force?’
Munch ignored this and entered through the big door. The cathedral was dimly lit. His footsteps echoed in the cavernous space. He could see Lillian and her team working over by the confessional.
‘Who found him?’
‘An Italian woman. She’s in the priest’s office. Shocked. Can’t stop crying. There’s an attaché from the Italian Embassy with her now. I believe she’s the wife of the Italian ambassador.’
‘Right.’
‘Do we need to detain her?’
‘Have you interviewed her?’
‘To some extent. She came here for confession. Thought the priest was sitting in there. Which, in a sense, he was.’ Bekk raised his eyebrows.
‘Get her contact details, then let her go,’ Munch said, and made his way towards Lillian Lund.
‘Hi, Holger.’ Lund smiled and removed her face mask.
‘What have we got?’
An unnecessary question, really. He could see right into the confessional now, where the priest sat slumped backwards in a cubicle with a terrified expression in his eyes.
‘There’s a camera in there.’ Lund pointed.
‘In the other cubicle?’
She nodded.
‘It looks as if the killer confessed his sins. Gave the priest the dose through the lattice most likely. Then the killer switched to the other side and did what he was there to do.’
‘Have you looked in?’
‘I couldn’t help it.’
‘And?’
‘Twenty-nine.’
‘What the hell.’
‘It certainly looks like hell in there,’ Lund said, no hint of irony in her voice.
‘Any damage to his mouth?’
‘Not as far as I can see, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Not everyone reacts in the same way.’
‘But there is a needle mark?’
‘Yes, in the same place.’ Lund nodded and pulled the mask back over her face as Anette Goli came rushing across the echoing floor.
‘What have we got?’ she said as soon as she had got her breath back.
‘Number twenty-nine,’ Munch said quietly.
He produced the list from the pocket of his duffel coat.
‘Paul Malley. Priest.’
‘Oh, no,’ Anette mumbled, taking the piece of paper.
‘Do you still disagree?’ Munch looked at her.
‘About what?’
‘Paul Malley? Perhaps we should start warning people.’
Anette Goli chewed her l
ip but made no reply. Munch shook his head in irritation, thrust his hands into his pockets and walked towards the crowd that had gathered around the altar.
Chapter 62
The call came in a matter of hours. Luna had looked strangely at him several times, but Curry had been adamant.
‘So no beer?’
‘No, just coffee.’
He could tell from her smile that she didn’t mind at all. The room was quiet, only some old regulars who were sitting over by the jukebox, but even so Curry had felt paranoid.
Were they watching him?
Were they undercover …?
Of course they weren’t police officers. He had seen the men in here several times so thoroughly wasted they could barely stand up. Hell. He couldn’t help it. His pride. It hurt a little – no, it hurt a lot. How could anyone think he was on the take? What the hell had he done? And how many people were thinking this, people he knew? And how long had it been going on? Now that he had calmed down and thought about it, it was starting to make sense. The guys in the sports jackets by the bar that afternoon when he had been unlucky, drunk too much and forgotten to eat. They had looked out of place; he had thought that at the time, hadn’t he? What a mess.
An unknown number showed up on his mobile, which was lying in front of him.
Don’t answer it. Wait a few minutes then call back on another number.
Jimbo.
Curry didn’t know why but that was how Jimbo wanted to be contacted. When Curry had realized what Mia was after he had known exactly who to call.
Jimbo Monsen.
He had known the talented police officer since their time at the academy. They had worked together on the Drugs Squad, but then Jimbo had gone undercover and stayed there. While the others from their year had risen up the ranks, Jimbo had chosen to stay on the streets. Curry had asked him why over a beer some years ago but he hadn’t got a clear answer.
Jimbo had merely said, ‘I like it,’ with a shrug, and they had spoken no more about it.
Jimbo Monsen.
The obvious choice.
And now he had made contact.
He waited until he thought enough time had passed and entered the number he had been sent earlier that day.
‘Curry?’ the deep voice said.
‘How did it go?’ Curry was tense.
‘Bingo. Kevin, wasn’t it? Young guy? Funny eyebrows?’
‘Yes. And Cisse.’
‘I couldn’t find her. I know who you mean, but they say she’s gone. OD’ed on H.’
The years undercover had not only changed his appearance but also his language. The last time they met, Curry had barely recognized him. He had thought he was a vagrant and had almost gestured for him to go away.
‘She’s dead?’
‘I’m not one hundred per cent, but that’s what they say.’
‘But this Kevin? Do you know where he is?’
‘I just said I did, didn’t I? You want to meet the guy?’
‘Yes, please. Is that possible?’
‘Anything is possible.’ Jimbo coughed. ‘Got any readies?’
‘Readies?’
‘I can set up a meeting, but I doubt that he’ll turn up unless he gets a few quid out of it, if you know what I mean. Talking to the cops is a quick way to earn a bad name for yourself for guys like him.’
‘Yes, yes, sure. How much are we talking about?’
‘A grand should do it.’
‘A thousand kroner?’
‘Let’s make it two – that way he can get high for a few days. We have to help where we can, don’t you think?’
‘Whatever,’ Curry said. ‘So how do we do it?’
‘I’ll call you,’ said Jimbo, and rang off.
‘Refill?’
A smiling Luna came over with the coffee pot in her hand. Curry nodded and wondered whether to ring Mia straightaway. No. Better to wait. Let her sleep. It was a long time since he had last seen her looking so exhausted.
What a bloody mess.
And what was really going on?
Why hadn’t he seen this coming?
It was all because of the booze.
He blamed the booze.
He was outraged.
Him, bent?
No way.
He was a bloody good cop, he really was.
Bloody brilliant, really.
A fresh start.
And this time he meant it.
Curry muttered curses under his breath then raised the coffee cup to his lips as he stared out of the filthy window.
Chapter 63
Gabriel Mørk was sitting in the incident room with his laptop, unable to think straight. The wall facing him was almost completely covered now. Ludvig Grønlie’s collage. Photographs, pieces of paper and notes in various colours. And on the wall by the door, all on its own:
Ivan Horowitz.
Munch had been vague, Goli rather evasive. The morning briefing had been a strange experience, yet he had spent the day doing what he had been told to do. The new suspect. Ivan Horowitz. Vanished without a trace in 2012, but could he possibly have left a footprint on the Internet?
He hadn’t found much. Nothing, really, and nothing recent. Just an old Facebook page. A few pictures of Horowitz in uniform, squinting against the sun and holding an automatic rifle. Last posting in the spring of 2011. Home on leave soon, smiley face. See you, Ivan! Only one comment, someone called Caroline whom he had phoned every now and then, but she appeared to be just as ignorant as the rest of the world. Haven’t seen him. Sorry. No idea. It hadn’t seemed as if she cared very much, except for claiming the bragging rights, the excitement, something to tell her friends. I know Ivan, we were friends. You know that serial killer they’re hunting for? The police called me. I’m important.
Gabriel had developed a bad taste in his mouth halfway through the conversation and simply rung off.
Ivan Horowitz.
Born in Gjøvik, 21 November 1988.
A man about his own age. Gabriel shook his head and carried on reading the notes.
Mother: Eva Horowitz, died 2007 (car crash)
Father: Anatol Horowitz, died 2007 (same)
Siblings: None
Education: Gjøvik College, 2006 to 2008
The army, Telemark Battalion, 2008 to 2010
Medically discharged from the army in 2010.
Admitted to Blakstad psychiatric hospital, 2011 to?
And that had got his attention. Blakstad psychiatric hospital. Horowitz had been a patient there? Gabriel could still remember how nervous and twitchy he had been when he’d visited the office building near Ullevaal Stadium, only to be told now to ignore the information he had gathered.
He had been a little disappointed, he had to admit. All that work for nothing. True, he hadn’t been able to find a way of searching the files but, even so, to be told to just drop it? He had been tempted to ask Mia if they shouldn’t do a little digging anyway. Sit down together, perhaps, see if there was something in there after all, but it hadn’t worked out that way. He hadn’t seen her for a while. She didn’t turn up for meetings. She was nowhere to be seen. Mia had suddenly disappeared and neither Munch nor any of the others seemed to care. It was strange, but then again everything at the office had been weird ever since this new prime suspect had appeared, completely out of the blue, out of nowhere. Neither Munch nor Anette had given them any explanation; all they knew was that this was the man they were looking for. One hundred per cent of their focus on him. Sources deep within military intelligence, they were told. Don’t ask any questions.
The media talked of nothing but the hunt for Horowitz.
The soldier.
The serial killer.
Who was still at large in the streets of Oslo.
Gabriel had been home for a quick visit earlier that day and could almost see it in people’s faces. Rushing from A to B, their arms wrapped protectively around their children. Neighbours he would normally stop to have a chat with had avo
ided him, practically run to safety behind their front doors.
He couldn’t blame them.
He had sent Tove and Emilie up to stay with Tove’s mother in Hadeland.
‘Are you serious, Gabriel?’
‘I’m sure you’ll be fine, but please, for my sake?’
‘Yes, of course, and I know she’ll be pleased to see us.’
He had kissed them quickly as they left and felt a sense of relief as he saw the red rear lights of the Volvo disappear.
‘Well, this is exciting.’
An ironic Ylva entered the room with her laptop and flopped down on a chair next to him.
‘Heard anything new?’
‘Not since the last time.’
‘There has to be something we can do other than just sit here?’
The young Icelandic woman sighed and rubbed her eyes. Gabriel knew what she meant. The office, which was normally teeming with life, phones ringing off the hook, people running up and down the corridors, had been turned into a lunar landscape, just the two of them left now. Ludvig was down at police headquarters in Grønland. Munch and Anette were up at the cathedral – another victim, a priest this time. Gabriel had been hoping they might stop by, have another briefing meeting, a fresh update, but no, it seemed that they had better things to do. And, of course, he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Mia for a long time.
‘So when were you going to tell me?’ Ylva said, nudging his shoulder.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh, you can’t fool me.’ She smiled.
‘What?’
‘Your little mission,’ Ylva teased. ‘Come on! I can see right through you. What were you doing for Mia?’
‘What do you mean?’ Gabriel said again, aware that his cheeks were growing hot.
‘OK, so that’s how we’re playing it,’ she said, affronted. ‘A secret mission? And you won’t tell me anything? Oh, come on! What did you do?’
Gabriel Mørk sighed now. He realized it no longer mattered. Munch didn’t seem to care any more. And they weren’t going to use the information anyway.
‘I hacked Wolfgang Ritter’s database.’
‘You’re kidding me? Without a warrant?’
‘Depends how you look at it,’ Gabriel mumbled. ‘It was at Mia’s request.’
‘Bloody hell.’ Ylva chuckled. ‘So how did you do it? You went to his office? You accessed his computer?’
‘I sat in the waiting room,’ Gabriel said, cringing somewhat in the chair. ‘Do you think I shouldn’t have done it?’
