by Alex Dahl
‘I see. What about at work? Any threatening passengers?’ asks Gundersen.
‘Well, yes. In my job, you do meet the occasional loony.’
‘Loony?’
‘You know – weird people. Like, I’ve had male passengers try to feel me up while I’m serving them, for example. I’ve been sworn at and threatened when I’ve refused people more alcohol. That kind of thing.’
The woman nods, as though these scenarios are common in her job, too.
‘Has anyone you’ve come into contact with through your job tried to establish contact outside of work? Adding you on social media, for example, or otherwise attempting to access your personal information?’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ I say.
‘Have you had any marital indiscretions?’
‘No,’ I say, and find my voice suddenly weak.
What do they mean by marital indiscretions? Secrets between husband and wife? There are always secrets between husband and wife.
‘Have you engaged in communication with anyone other than your husband which could be interpreted as suggestive or sexual?’
‘No.’ Yes.
‘Why did you and Fredrik seek out marital counseling on two separate occasions, in 2008 and again in 2013?’
‘Because having children almost broke our relationship, like so many others, I imagine.’ Because I fell in love, I think to myself. I could tell them this, but I don’t, because it would only make everything even worse.
‘Are you close with your family?’ asks Kjeller.
‘Yes, reasonably close,’ I say. I picture my loving father, who was the single good thing about my life in Lillehammer, but then I can’t stop myself from shivering slightly at the thought of my stern, dismissive mother, the silent house I grew up in, the endless door-to-door visits. A more truthful answer would be hell, no. My child has gone missing, and still, my own mother has not been in touch.
8
Elisa
There is another break, and Fredrik and I are left for a while in a waiting room. Here too there are cameras and I can’t help but wonder if someone is watching our every move.
Fredrik looks bewildered, like he knows he’s supposed to be somewhere but can’t think where.
‘You okay?’ I ask.
‘No,’ he says. ‘We need to speak, Elisa.’ His voice is weak and hoarse, as though he’s been shouting at the top of his lungs.
‘Okay,’ I say. I want to know what he has to say, but at the same time, I fear his words. He has the power to wound me.
He glances up at me, and when I see the expression in his eyes I have to look away. When I finally bring my gaze back, his eyes are red-rimmed, wild, unfamiliar.
‘What’s going on, Fredrik?’ I ask. ‘Did you find the questioning tough? I mean, I did too, even though—’
‘Elisa,’ he says, cutting me short. He snorts and shakes his head, as though a second conversation is going on inside there. ‘Stop. Okay?’
‘Okay. Tell me.’ I reach across the low plastic table between us and place my hand on top of his, but he instantly recoils, as though my touch has seared him.
‘This is about three years ago.’
‘Three years ago?’
‘Yes. The summer of 2014.’
I try to remember what happened the summer of 2014.
I was unraveling at the seams. I was torn to pieces by grief. Much like now. Although back then, on the surface, things would have looked calm. Harmonious.
‘What about it?’
‘I’ve done something, Elisa. Something bad.’
My heart lurches in my chest and I stare at my husband hard. Could Fredrik, my placid, ordinary husband, really have done something bad, something which has come back to haunt us and taken everything? But Fredrik has never done anything bad. I was always the black sheep. Growing up, my parents called me exactly that, shaking their heads, at first with amusement, and later, with disappointment and shock and ultimately condemnation as I became a wild teenager. A very wild teenager. In marriage it’s been the same – the black sheep is me. Isn’t it?
‘What have you done, Fredrik?’ My voice is calm and controlled, a contrast to the chaos in my mind and heart.
‘I had a thing with someone…’
‘A thing.’
‘Yes.’ He won’t look at me now.
I almost laugh out loud at his nerve, and feel a crazy compulsion to tell him the things I keep filed away deep inside me, and we could sit here together watching our life burn to cinders. For a minute I am struck still by a wild fury. The desire for revenge is a breathtaking punch in the stomach. I could get it by telling him that I have only ever loved one man and it sure as hell isn’t him. But I don’t. Instead, I’m surprised to find that I’m crying. I never imagined Fredrik would do anything to hurt me.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says, and now it is him reaching across the table, trying to comfort me. I snatch my hand away and wipe at my tears, but they keep coming and I’m angry with myself for losing my composure. The thought that something Fredrik has done could have cost us our daughter is unbearable.
‘Why are you even telling me this now? Did you tell the police?’
‘Yes. Well, I had to. After what they asked about revenge, and whether anyone has ever threatened us.’
‘Wait, so you had what you call “a thing” with someone and now you think it could be linked to Lucia? Why would you even think that?’
‘Because she threatened me. She said she’d ruin my life, Elisa.’
He begins to cry, huge throaty sobs that fill the little room, and I want to scream and sob and lash out at him for having possibly brought someone dangerous into our lives.
‘Do you… think it could be her? What did the police say?’
Fredrik shrugs miserably. ‘It never occurred to me until now. We never even met in person—’
‘You never even met?’ If I wasn’t so worked up, I’d laugh. Fredrik’s big confession and they didn’t even meet! I’m hugely relieved, of course. But I’m not going to let him off the hook yet.
He shakes his head and continues to look painfully embarrassed.
‘It was just an ongoing flirty conversation on Messenger. I’ve never heard of a single case where a child is taken by a scorned ex-flirt before. Not one.’
‘Me neither.’
‘So it just didn’t occur to me.’
‘Why did it end – this “thing”?’
‘I didn’t want to meet her in real life. And she got mad. Really mad.’
‘Why didn’t you meet with her?’
‘Because I love you.’
At this, I laugh incredulously, though I know that it’s true. Fredrik does love me, deeply, and with an intensity that feels both safe and stifling.
‘When you say she got really mad, what do you mean exactly?’
‘I told her I would never jeopardize my family and she turned… you know… nasty. Then she abruptly stopped contacting me and I just wanted to forget the whole mess.’ He looks up at me, his eyes pleading, bloodshot, swimming with tears. ‘I felt terrible, Elisa. I really did. Still do.’
‘Jesus, Fredrik!’ I stare at him, seeing him in a different way for the first time in years. ‘She sounds like a random weirdo for sure. But not a child-snatcher. And you didn’t even do anything with her.’
‘I don’t know… The whole thing was so weird. But it was years ago, and I’d almost managed to forget about it until the investigators began to ask those questions.’
‘So what happens now?’
‘I’ve given the police the log-in details to all my social media accounts. They think they’ll be able to recover the conversation even though I looked for it a while back and the whole conversation was gone and so was her profile.’
‘What was her name?’
‘She called herself Karoline Meister. I’ve googled her name but nothing comes up.’
My fury has given way to the usual mild frustration with my husband. Here he is,
tearfully confessing to a ‘thing with someone’, insinuating it could be connected to our child’s disappearance, when actually all he’s done is engage in a bit of a chat with a strange-sounding woman.
‘Fredrik? Elisa? Will you come back through – we’ve managed to recover the conversation you referred to.’ As I sit back down, Hans Gundersen shoots me a strange look that I realize is pity. This makes me furious again, and I focus on not letting my feelings show, swallowing hard and making my face blank and unreadable.
‘Fredrik, do you consent to the conversation between yourself and Karoline Meister being viewed by Elisa?’ asks Gundersen.
‘Uh, yes.’ Fredrik’s voice is low and his cheeks burn red.
‘Elisa, are you sure you are comfortable with being present as we run through this? I will say, some of the material is very personal and inflammatory.’ I nod. It’s a Facebook chat from years ago that went nowhere. How bad can it be?
9
Elisa
I’m surprised by the sheer volume of the chat projected up on the screen. No wonder Fredrik wasn’t too keen on divulging his ‘little thing’. From June through August 2014 they’d chatted almost daily, sometimes for several hours.
Haakon Kjeller points the remote control at the screen, starting to scroll through the early conversations.
Karoline Meister: Hi there, hope you don’t mind me saying hello. Your profile is really interesting.
…
Karoline Meister: Yes, I realize you’re married – beautiful family. Friendship only ;)!
Fredrik Blix: Wow, love your new profile pic!
…
FB: What a coincidence, I love mountain hiking, too!
…
KM: You must work out a lot ;-)
Eye roll. If this wasn’t so embarrassing, I might have laughed out loud. Fredrik squirms in his seat, his face a deep red. Then, as I keep reading, I begin to understand why Fredrik made a big deal out of this ‘thing’ – he’s crossed more than a few boundaries, and I wonder if it would almost have been preferable if he’d just gone and slept with someone. I can feel the eyes of the police officers on me, watching my reactions carefully, and I will my face to be still and unreadable.
17 June 2014
Fredrik Blix: Hey there…
Karoline Meister: Hey you ;) What are you up to today?
FB: Just holding the fort at home. My wife’s in Cyprus all weekend.
KM: Woah. How come?
FB: Girls’ trip. Again.
KM: Does she go away a lot?
FB: Yeah. She’s away for work a lot, though she’s just changed jobs so hopefully she won’t have as many hotel nights in the future.
KM: That must be hard on you. And the kids.
FB: Yeah.
22 June 2014
KM: Just came back from a 10k run. Phew.
FB: Haha, Cool. Me too, actually!
KM: Nice. So, would you say you’re a sporty man?
FB: Definitely. Working out is really important to me.
KM: Me too. Does your wife go running with you?
FB: Nah. She hates everything that gets her pulse going.
KM: Everything? ;)
FB: Haha.
3 July 2014
FB: Hi, you there?
KM: Yeah.
FB: Missed talking to you yesterday…
KM: Yeah?
FB: Yeah.
KM: I was on a date, actually.
FB: Hm.
KM: Hm, says Mr Married.
FB: Touché.
KM: Don’t you want to know how my date went?
FB: Nope.
KM: Gonna tell you anyway. It was boring. I sat there, wishing he was you…
FB: Be careful what you wish for…
KM: I know what I wish for.
FB: So, are you going to see the guy again?
KM: Nope.
FB: ??
KM: I’m holding out for a handsome lawyer in Sandefjord who makes me feel like I am standing on top of a mountain, a fresh breeze of air sweeping across my face, actually.
17 July 2014
KM: Home alone?
FB: Yep. E’s working late. Kids at my parents’.
KM: Wanna Facetime?
FB: Okay…
(incoming video call 1:42:07)
18 July 2014
FB: Just a quick hello to say that last night was amazing. You’re beautiful.
KM: Out of 10?
FB: 11
KM: I win.
19 July 2014
(incoming video call 2:03:44)
21 July 2014
(outgoing video call 0:49:30)
22 July 2014
(outgoing video call 0:17:22)
24 July 2014
KM: Hey you. I missed you last night. So used to our clandestine calls by now.
FB: Haha, yeah. Me too. Sorry.
KM: What happened?
FB: She came home earlier than I’d thought she would. We had a bit of a tense evening, actually.
KM: …
FB: Nothing crazy. Just the usual. You know, disagreeing over who should be doing what at home, that kind of thing.
KM: Sounds riveting. Where is she tonight?
FB: Out with her girlfriends in Oslo. She’s staying over.
KM: How do you feel about that?
FB: Okay I guess. Nice to have the house to myself.
KM: Does she go out a lot?
FB: More than a lot of people with a four-year-old and a two-year-old, I’d imagine.
KM: If I was your wife, I’d spend my entire life snuggled up to you on the sofa…
FB: Haha. Said no one ever.
KM: Seriously, I would! I hope you don’t mind me saying this – I just feel like you sometimes get the short end of the stick.
FB: Do you mind if we change the subject? Been a long day.
KM: Of course. Wanna play a game?
FB: Go on.
KM: It’s called the Karoline is Going to Video Call You and Take Her Clothes Off Game.
(incoming call 01:20:52)
29 July 2014
KM: Hey, did you get a chance to think about possible dates we could meet up?
FB: Um, the next few weeks don’t look too great… We are leaving tomorrow for a week and then E is working back to back the week after, and the kids’ nursery’s closed that week. Thought I might take them down to my parents’ cabin in Kragerø.
KM: Sounds idyllic.
FB: Baby, don’t.
KM: Don’t what?
FB: Be like that. You know I want to meet you.
KM: Where are you guys going again? Tomorrow?
FB: Nice.
KM: Nice.
FB: Haha.
I remember that summer holiday. Fredrik was short-tempered and constantly on his phone, the kids cried, whinged and fought non-stop, I drank glass after glass of rosé, starting after breakfast and only stopping in the early evening when I’d pass out on the sofa when the kids finally went to bed.
KM: Will you do me a favor?
FB: Okay.
KM: Every time you fuck her, think of me.
FB: Done.
1 August 2014
KM: Hey
KM: Hello?
KM: The pics of your kids in the pool are so cute. Lucia looks just like you!
KM: Um. Hello?
2 August 2014
FB: Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’d rather we just talk about you & me and stuff.
KM: As opposed to what?
FB: My family.
KM: We hardly ever talk about your family?
FB: It feels like you ask about them a lot.
KM: I’m just curious about them, I guess. I love kids and yours are so beautiful.
FB: Thank you.
KM: The picture E posted of L&L on the beach with the kites was just so sweet.
FB: Where did you see that?
KM: On her Instagram.
FB: Why were you on her Instagram?
&
nbsp; KM: Why wouldn’t I be? Great feed.
FB: Karoline, I’m sorry, that’s a little weird.
KM: We met once, your wife and I.
FB: ??
KM: You know, back in the day. In Lillehammer.
FB: What were you doing in Lillehammer?
KM: I’m from there.
FB: Okay, this is getting really weird. You told me you’re from Tromsø.
KM: And you told me we were going to meet in person weeks ago. Over and over you said it.
FB: What does that have to do with anything?
KM: People lie.
FB: Hey. You’re freaking me out.
(outgoing call 0:00:00)
7 August 2014
KM: Hi there. Just sent your wife a friend request.
FB: Hey Karoline, seriously, wtf? I don’t understand what’s going on.
KM: No. You really don’t.
FB: Wtf? Trying to call you, pick up!
KM: No.
FB: Karoline, what’s going on?
KM: I’ve fucking had enough of you, that’s what’s going on. Go back to your perfect family and enjoy it while you can.
FB: Karoline!
KM: Enjoy your little life while you still have it. You’re going to be so fucking sorry for this, asshole.
‘Oh my God,’ I whisper.
The police officers all look at the table, a gesture of privacy, perhaps, as Fredrik and I stare at each other.
‘I’m so sorry. Elisa, I don’t know what I was thinking… I’m so—’
‘Fuck you, Fredrik.’
10
Elisa
It’s past 11 p.m. when the chauffeured car meanders through the hushed, deserted streets of Sandefjord. I can’t look at Fredrik, but his presence next to me in the back seat is like a giant bleeding wound. I’m not actually that mad at him, not anymore. But I am hurt. I’m especially hurt that he divulged so many personal things about me as a wife and mother to this random stranger on the internet. I do my best.
The police were interested in Fredrik’s confession, though they didn’t seem terribly alarmed by it. ‘This is most likely a bored housewife or a disturbed and harmless individual,’ said Hans Gundersen, shaking Fredrik’s hand, then mine, surprisingly gently, as we left. ‘But don’t worry, not a single stone will be left unturned in this investigation.’
Another storm has pummeled Sandefjord today, leaving flooded pavements by the harborside and broken twigs and branches in Hvaltorvet square, blown across from the park. There isn’t a single person out tonight; everyone is huddled inside their safe, beautiful houses with their safe, beautiful families. I realize I don’t care that much about Fredrik’s confession – I care about getting my daughter back and rebuilding my family. That’s the only thing that matters to me. I want to run from door to door, inspecting every house, loft, basement and garage, screaming my daughter’s name at the top of my lungs until I find her. I have to find her.
