by Samuel Bjork
Mia was increasingly talking to herself. Her knotted thoughts began to unravel, all the things that had lain concealed in the shadows of her mind.
“This woman is incredibly caring. She loves children. She wants to protect them. She washes them and she gets them ready. It’s not going to hurt. Now, two things.”
Mia coughed slightly. She felt exhausted, but she had to go on.
“Two things. This was what confused me to begin with. The chaos, the symbols, I didn’t see at first, so many traps and hints, and yes . . . well, I didn’t see this initially, but I think we’re dealing with two separate issues. One is the girls. She doesn’t want the baby to be alone. That’s it, that’s it. It was her fault that the baby died. She was responsible. She wants to make amends. Find some friends for the baby. But that was our mistake. We should have stopped her. Damn, I’m losing my train of thought here.”
“Two things,” Curry prompted her gently.
“Yes, thank you. Two things. Number one: She kills the girls so that the baby, who is now six years old, won’t have to be alone. In heaven. Number two: She wants to get Munch. Sorry, it was obvious all along. But that’s why it was so muddled to begin with. That’s why we made such a mess of it. We need to look at everything from both of those angles even though she’s mixing two motives to confuse us. Number one: She kills the girls so that the girl she stole won’t have to be alone in heaven. Number two: She wants to get her own back on the police. Take revenge. Get Munch. Somehow she killed the baby, but she blames Munch. I think . . .”
Mia Krüger was completely exhausted now. She was barely able to talk.
“What do you think, Mia?” Munch said to support her.
“She wants to be caught,” Anette said.
“What do you mean?” Munch said.
“She wants to be caught,” Anette continued. “She shows us what she’s doing. Toni J. W. Smith. The girls at the fort. Calling the journalists. She wants to be caught, doesn’t she, Mia?”
Mia nodded. “I agree. Good thinking. She wants to be stopped. She’s almost reckless. She’s revealing more and more to us. Because she’s going up there, too. To heaven. To be with her baby again. She’s going to be . . .”
“Are you all right?”
Mia nodded again slowly.
“This is starting to make sense,” Munch said, turning to the team. “It’s damned brilliant. A woman. I believe it. I can see it. So which women have we already considered?”
“The woman with two different-colored eyes,” Ludvig said.
“Someone from the church?” Curry said.
“Staff at Høvikveien Nursing Home,” Gabriel said.
Mia looked at Ludvig Grønlie. “Anything? Any links? Veronica Bache’s cell phone?”
“I’m sorry, nothing yet, we’re still working on it,” Ludvig said.
“Oh, Christ, I’m slow!” Mia burst out.
“What is it?”
“Charlie. Charlie Brown.”
“Who?” Munch said.
“A friend. He runs a transvestite club in Tøyen. He told me about her. The woman with different-colored eyes. He’s seen her several times. God, I’m an idiot!”
“Bring him in,” Munch said. “We have to find this woman. Perhaps she’s the woman from the police sketch, the one our eyewitness saw in Skullerud. God knows it’s a long shot, but why not give it a go? We’ll let this Charlie meet every woman whose name has cropped up in the investigation, who would have been in a position to pay Veronica Bache’s cell-phone bills after her death, all staff at the nursing home, and anyone connected to this church. And if we get a hit, check with the old man and see if it’s the same woman.”
As Mia was heading out the door, Anette pulled her to one side.
“Are you sure about this?” Anette whispered.
“About what?”
“This whole setup? You don’t think Munch is too close? I mean, a threat has been made against his grandchild. His mother might be involved. Shouldn’t he step aside? Let someone else take charge?”
“Holger knows what he’s doing,” Mia said sharply.
“Let’s hope so,” Anette said.
50
“What do you think?” Charlie said, twirling in front of Mia in the bedroom.
He was dressed as a dandy in a black suit with a pink tie and patent-leather shoes. He looked like a cross between James Bond and Jimmy Cagney.
“What do you think?”
Charlie smiled and spun around once more.
“Stunning,” Mia said.
“Am I man enough now?”
“Very manly. The ladies at the nursing home will throw roses at you.”
“Do you think so?” Charlie chuckled.
“I’m sure of it,” Mia said. “Now, come on.”
Charlie followed her out to the waiting car. On their way to Høvik, Mia wondered if she should tell Charlie that he was not going there to perform but simply to look at photographs of the staff on a computer. She decided against it. The police had called the nursing home in advance, and fortunately they had photographs of all staff members on record. New security requirements made it essential for all staff to carry photo ID; it would make their work so much easier.
Holger Munch was waiting outside the nursing home for them when they arrived.
Charlie bowed and greeted him politely.
“Nice to meet you,” Munch said, smiling slightly. “Like the suit. Has Mia explained to you why we’re here?”
“I’m working undercover, isn’t that right?” Charlie winked.
“Yes, exactly. What we need you to do is to look through some photographs on a computer here, tell us if you recognize Roger Bakken’s friend.”
“I can do that,” Charlie said.
“Her eyes were different colors, am I right?”
“Yes,” Charlie confirmed. “One brown and one blue. I knew there was something mysterious about her.”
“Well, that might be going a bit far,” Munch said. “We just want to have a word with her, that’s all.”
“I understand.” Charlie nodded. “Top-secret police business.”
At that moment the door opened and the woman Holger had been talking to outside the last time they were here came out.
“This is Karen Nylund,” Holger said.
The woman, who looked to be in her late thirties, was slim, with long, strawberry-blond hair and a beautiful smile. Charlie bowed and took her hand.
“This is Charlie, he’s helping us today. And this is Mia, my colleague.”
Mia shook Karen’s hand.
“Nice to meet you,” Karen said. “I’ve been trying to get hold of Karianne, but she’s not answering her phone. She’s quite strict about things like that. She doesn’t want to be disturbed when she’s off work.”
Mia did not ask but concluded that Karianne must be the manager of the nursing home.
“But is it all right if we take a look?” Holger said.
“Yes, I don’t see why not,” Karen agreed. “I’m glad to be of service.”
Mia still said nothing. She’d been a little worried about the paperwork; they needed a warrant, and these things usually took time, but she expected that Holger must have called in a favor from the staff at the nursing home because they already knew him.
“Excellent,” Holger said. “Shall we go inside?”
They followed Karen inside the nursing home and into one of the offices. Charlie strutted like a peacock through the corridors, bowing politely right and left.
“Here we are,” Karen said, indicating a computer on a table.
Suddenly she looked a little hesitant.
“This is a shared computer used by all staff members, and none of the residents have access to it, but I guess it’s okay for you to look at it. I mean, you are the police.”
Karen glanced at Holger, who nodded to reassure her. Mia suppressed a smile.
“It’ll be fine, Karen,” he said, patting her tentatively on the shoulder. “I’ll take responsibility, so you don’t have to worry about a thing.”
“Do you want me to stay?” she asked.
“Yes, that would be good. In case we have any questions.”
“Not a problem,” Karen said. “We’ll be serving lunch in a little while.”
“Good,” Holger said, taking a seat in the chair next to Charlie. He grabbed the mouse and clicked on the file Karen had found for him. “Do we scroll down?”
“Just use the arrows,” Karen told him, pointing to the keyboard.
Holger pressed the arrow key, and the first picture appeared. The caption identified her as Birgitte Lundamo.
“No,” Charlie said, looking very grave to prove that he was taking the job seriously.
Holger pressed the key again. This time a picture of a Guro Olsen appeared.
“No,” Charlie said again.
“How many employees have you got?” Mia asked.
“We have fifty-eight residents and twenty-two—no, twenty-three staff in total. Some work full-time, others part-time, and in addition we have a list of temps we call on when someone’s off sick.”
“And they’re all in the file?”
“Yes, we have details of everyone,” Karen said.
“No,” Charlie said.
Holger Munch pressed again. This time the name Malin Stoltz came up on the screen.
“That’s her,” Charlie said with a nod.
“Are you sure?” Mia said.
“Absolutely,” Charlie said.
“But her eyes aren’t different colors.”
“It’s her,” Charlie insisted.
Mia swore softly. She had met this girl. It was the girl with the long, raven-black hair she’d chatted with the first time she was here while she waited for Holger.
“Do you know her, Karen?”
“Yes, I do.” Karen looked slightly frightened for the first time. “What has she done?”
“It’s too early to say,” Holger said, noting down the address on the screen.
“How well do you know her?” Mia asked.
“Really well,” Karen said. “But only through work. She’s nice enough. All the residents like her.”
“Have you ever been to her home?”
“No, I haven’t. Please tell me why you’re looking for her. It makes me feel . . . well, it makes me feel a bit scared.” She looked at Munch, who rose to reassure her.
“She’s just a witness, Karen.”
“Ugh.” Karen shuddered and shook her head.
“Like I said, just a witness.”
“Have we got her address?” Mia asked.
Munch glanced over Karen’s shoulder and passed Mia a note with the address. He gestured for her to go outside to make the call so as not to upset Karen further.
Charlie sat there looking slightly put out. “Was that all?”
“It was,” Munch confirmed. “Well done, Charlie.”
“Good job, Charlie,” Mia said, half running outside to call Curry.
“Yes?” Curry answered.
“We have a name and an address,” Mia told him.
She could barely conceal her excitement.
“Malin Stoltz. Born in 1977. Long, pitch-black hair. About five six, weighs about one forty.” She read out the address on the note to him.
“Is that her?” Curry said.
“Yes, Charlie identified her immediately.”
She could hear Curry shout orders into the room before he came back on the phone. “We’re on our way now. I’ll see you there.”
Mia had spoken to her. Stood very close to her. Not realized it. She’d had blue eyes. Contacts, probably. Damn, how stupid could you get?
Charlie appeared outside on the steps, closely followed by Munch and Karen, who was still looking anxious.
“I’ll call you,” Munch said, taking Karen’s hand.
“Thanks for your help, Karen,” Mia said.
“Oh, don’t mention it,” said the woman with the strawberry-blond hair, trying to muster a smile and not quite succeeding.
Munch said good-bye to Karen and walked quickly to his car. “Are you coming with me, Mia?”
“Yes.” Mia nodded, following him.
“What about me?” Charlie said, flinging out his arms.
“He’ll give you a lift home,” Mia said, pointing to the police officer who had driven her and Charlie up here.
“Not even a cup of coffee?”
“Next time!” Mia shouted as she jumped into the car.
Munch hit the accelerator and pulled out on Høvikveien so fast the tires squealed on the asphalt.
51
Malin Stoltz had slept badly. She’d had such bizarre dreams. That an angel had come to carry her off. That it was all over. Now I can stop doing this, she had thought in her sleep or in her dream—she wasn’t sure which was real and which was not. But an angel had come to her. A beautiful, white angel girl. The angel had held out her hand to Malin and told her to follow. She could leave the earth now. She would never have to do this again. And Malin Stoltz had been so relieved and so happy that when she woke up, she was unable to go back to sleep. She had different-colored eyes today. One brown and one blue. This was who she was. For real. She had been teased about it when she was little. People had called her a freak and a weirdo. Only cats had different-colored eyes. You look like a stupid cat. And they hadn’t meant a nice cat either, but a stray. Whose fur fell off in clumps because it was riddled with disease. Even though her doctor had said it was a common condition. Heterochromia. No, not common. It was not common, but neither was it as unusual as many people thought. The doctor had explained to her that it was a genetic fault. No, not a fault. When genes changed at the embryonic stage, a mutation might occur where the gene for blue eyes might partly dominate in an individual who was meant to have two brown eyes. A mutation. A mutant. The doctor had called her a mutant. She was a mutant with different-colored eyes, and that explained why she was not herself. Why she should have been someone else. That was what the doctor said. Or had she read it somewhere? The doctor had said nothing of the sort. She’d read about it on the Internet. And in Science Illustrated. The doctor had issues of Science Illustrated in his office when she came to find out if she was able to have children. The doctor had said that she could not have children because she was a mutant. That she was not supposed to be who she was, that she should have been someone else. Even though many celebrities had different-colored eyes. Dan Aykroyd. David Bowie. Jane Seymour. Christopher Walken. None of them had to be anyone else, even though some of them had changed their names, too. Malin Stoltz had dreamed that an angel had come for her, that she would not need to do this ever again, and she’d been so happy that she had woken up. Afterward she couldn’t fall asleep again. She had spent a couple of hours in front of the bathroom mirror. The doctor had given her pills. Told her she was not normal. That she was a mutant who had to take pills. Malin did not like the pills. She took them only occasionally, when she heard voices in her head, but she did not take them often enough to be normal.
Malin Stoltz stood in front of the stove. She was hungry. She hadn’t eaten for a long time, and she’d slept badly. And she’d forgotten to buy eggs even though she put them on the list yesterday. Malin Stoltz was good at faking. She was good at being someone other than herself. As long as she was someone other than herself, everything was fine. Finding work was easy. As long as she was not herself. She returned to the bathroom without knowing why, so she went back to the kitchen and opened the fridge. The clock near the kitchen window showed eight. She was not going to work today, and that was good, because she had slept badly.
M
alin Stoltz decided to get dressed and go to the shops. Going shopping was easy as long as you remembered to get dressed. The shops opened early today. It was easy to buy eggs as long as you remembered to put them in your basket, pay for them, and take them home in a bag. Malin Stoltz went to her bedroom to find some clothes, but when she opened the door to her closet, it was full of dairy products. Milk, butter, and cream. She closed the door again and discovered that she was in the supermarket. There was a sour smell. It was very early, and people had slept badly—that explained the smell. Malin Stoltz had dreamed that an angel had come for her, told her she did not have to be on earth any longer, but now she was in the supermarket buying eggs because she was hungry. Not all days were bad. There were things she could do to make herself feel better. Pretending to be someone else, that made everything better. When she was herself, things did not go so well, just like today, but she had to be herself now, because today was a day off, and she was hungry. She hadn’t had a day off for a long time. She had been good, worked hard, been Malin Stoltz, who was polite and normal and had the same color in both eyes. Soon she would stop being Malin Stoltz, she would become someone else, and she was looking forward to that.
She closed the door to the dairy cabinet and found the place where they kept the eggs. She put four boxes in her basket. Her basket was blue, she could see that, if she closed the eye that was brown. If she closed the eye that was blue, the basket turned brown. It was not true, but everything was possible if you just pretended. Four times twelve eggs equals forty-eight. She tried but failed to remember what else was on her list. Yes, bread. She went to the bread counter and chose a whole-wheat loaf. There was still a sour smell in the shop, so sour she had to pinch her nose. Carrying the basket with the eggs with one hand was difficult. The boy behind the register also smelled sour. He, too, had slept badly—that must be the explanation. She had money in her bank account. It said “approved” on the terminal. The shop really was starting to reek now. She just about managed to put the eggs in her shopping bag and run outside into the open air before the whole shop rotted behind her. She sat on some steps for a moment until the air felt fresh again. Then she picked up the bag with her right hand and started walking home.
