by Samuel Bjork
“I will,” Torben said, skipping out of the bedroom and into the bathroom.
Emilie did not want to know the state of the bathroom. She could barely conceal her despair any longer over these two brothers who had to live in these conditions without anyone taking care of them.
She waited until she heard the shower being turned on before she went downstairs and outside to make the call.
“Ringerike Police.”
“Yes, hi, my name is Emilie Isaksen, I’m a teacher at Hønefoss School, and I would like to report a child missing.”
“Hold on,” the voice said. “I’m connecting you.”
Emilie waited nervously while she was transferred through the system.
“Holm speaking.”
Emilie introduced herself again and explained the situation.
“And where are his parents?” said the man on the phone.
“I don’t know. I found his younger brother home alone. He’s been on his own for a week.”
“And the boy we’re talking about—Tobias, was that his name?”
“Iversen. Tobias Iversen.”
“When was he last seen?”
“I’m not sure, but he left behind a note that was found last Saturday. The note said he had gone into the woods to look for . . . well, it’s a religious group that has bought the old rehab center up there. Perhaps you’ve heard about them?”
“We have,” the police officer said.
He fell silent for a moment. It sounded as if he was covering the mouthpiece on his phone. Perhaps he was consulting some of his colleagues.
“So we’re talking about the boy who you say is missing, and his parents are gone as well—is that what you’re telling me?”
Emilie could feel that she was starting to dislike him. “Yes, that’s what I’m saying,” she said curtly.
“So how do you know that he’s not with his parents?”
“I don’t.”
“So he could be with his parents?”
“No, he’s up in the woods!”
“Says who?” the voice said.
“He left behind a note for his brother.”
The man on the telephone heaved a sigh.
“Listen,” Emilie said, losing her patience now. “I’m here with a seven-year-old boy who has been home alone for one week. His brother is gone. His parents are gone. And you’re telling me that you can’t . . . ?”
She could feel the rage surging now; she had to breathe deeply to keep the conversation going.
“I’ll make a note of it, and we’ll see what we can do about it tomorrow. Would it be possible for you to drop by the station sometime later today?”
“Tomorrow?” Emilie shouted. “Are you going to let a boy who’s been in the woods for a whole week spend yet another night outside? What if something has happened to him?”
“I understand, but I can’t just . . . I mean, what if the parents have gone on holiday and taken the boy with them?”
“And left his seven-year-old brother home alone?”
“Worse things have happened,” the police officer said. “I’ll make a note of your number. I’ll look into it, and someone will call you back.”
“You do that,” Emilie snarled.
She gave him her number and hung up.
66
Gabriel Mørk was standing outside the exclusive apartment building in Frogner, getting absolutely no response. He was starting to grow annoyed with Ludvig, who had dispatched him here. He had not realized that his job would involve shopping for groceries. He knew he wasn’t a senior member of the special unit—after all, he had only just started—but to go shopping, surely someone else could have done that? He had more important things to deal with right now. He looked up at the apartments and rang the doorbell again. There was still no response. It was a fashionable development. The most desirable part of West Oslo. Each apartment had large windows and a terrace overlooking the park. He thought about his girlfriend and the baby she was carrying. He’d been so worried to begin with. Where would they live? How would they pay the bills when the baby came? They had to buy so much stuff, and he was embarrassed at how ignorant he’d been. He really hadn’t known the first thing about becoming a father. Cribs and strollers, and that was only for starters. But not anymore. Now he had a job. Out of the blue. A cool job at that. An important job. He had never thought that something like this would turn up. The police had been . . . the enemy, to be blunt. To the other hackers he knew. But they had no idea what they were talking about. They hadn’t met Mia Krüger. And Holger Munch. And Curry. And Anette. And Ludvig. And Kim and all the others. They didn’t know what it was like to have colleagues. Going to work, being a part of something where people smiled and said hello and knew that you belonged to the team, who liked you and respected the work you did. He felt he was helping to make the news somehow. He had never cared much about the news before, not until now, but it was completely different when it was about your own work. Also, the equipment the technicians from Grønland had brought him was brilliant. He would never have been able to afford this himself; for the first few days he had almost felt like a little kid at Christmas.
He rang the doorbell yet again and waited. He was just about to try it once more when the front door opened and an old lady came out. He smiled politely at her, held the door open, and slipped inside.
He carried the bags up the stairs and reached the second floor. Ludvig had explained that it was the apartment at the far end of the corridor. He was about to ring the bell when he noticed that the door was ajar.
“Hello?” he called out softly. “Is anyone here?”
He carried the shopping bags inside the foyer.
“Hello? I’ve brought you some things from Holger Munch.”
That was when he discovered the body.
What the hell?
He threw down the bags, called 112, and knelt down by the woman lying on the floor.
67
Mia Krüger broke the speed limit, but so what? She’d been wrong, wrong all along. It was the wrong Munch. The killer was not coming after Holger. She was the target. Not the right Munch. Not Holger. But Edvard Munch. Åsgårdstrand. It was her. Mia Krüger. She was the target. Not Holger. She was ashamed. She’d been wrong. Damn, why didn’t Munch pick up his phone? She passed a car, a camper, turned the steering wheel with one hand as she swerved back to the inside lane in the nick of time. She pressed the cell phone to her cheek, considered using the police radio but decided against it. You never knew who was listening in, and she didn’t want anyone to hear what she had to say.
She was just about to try Munch once more but was interrupted when her phone rang. It was Gabriel.
“Where is Munch?” Mia said.
“Where are you?” Gabriel said.
“On my way to the office. Where is Munch?”
“God only knows,” Gabriel said. “He’s not answering his damn phone, Mia.”
She realized how distraught he sounded. “What’s happened?”
“Marion is gone.”
“Jesus Christ!”
“She . . . she really is.” The young man was almost stuttering now. “I went to the apartment with some groceries, and I found her on the floor.”
“Who?”
“His daughter.”
“Miriam?”
“Yes.”
Fuck.
“Is she all right?”
Mia moved into the opposite lane again, passing three cars.
“She’s unconscious, but she’s breathing.”
Miriam must have been drugged. Had Mia not told them they needed to have an officer posted outside 24/7?
“And no trace of Marion?”
“None,” Gabriel said.
The young man was almost on the verge of tears now.
“Have you tracked Holger’s phone? The last time I talked to him, he was on his way to the nursing home. His mother had taken a turn for the worse.”
“His mother?” Gabriel asked.
“Forget it, I need to speak to him right now.”
“I’m not at the office,” Gabriel said. “I’m at the apartment.”
“Get back to the office,” Mia said, sounding her horn at a motorbike that was hogging the lane in front of her.
“We . . . work . . . noise red . . .”
“You’re breaking up,” Mia said. “Say it again.”
At last she had passed the biker and could hit the accelerator once more.
“We’re working on the film right now, noise reduction,” Gabriel said.
“Good, when will we have it?”
“As soon as it’s ready.”
“Yes, but when will that be?”
She was losing her temper and took a deep breath. This wasn’t his fault. He’d done a good job.
“I can’t say for sure,” Gabriel said.
“Get yourself to the office and call me when you’re there.”
She ended the call and rang Ludvig.
“Where have you been?” her colleague wanted to know. “All hell has broken loose here. Haven’t you heard?”
“Yes, I’ve heard. Where’s Holger?”
“No idea, he’s not answering his phone. Are you far away?”
“Twenty minutes, half an hour,” Mia said.
“Damn. This is a total mess.”
That was undoubtedly true. They’d had Marion under police protection, and now she was gone.
She ended the call and phoned information. It had started to rain now. The raindrops beat the windshield hard, and visibility was diminishing. She turned on the wipers but didn’t take her foot off the accelerator.
“Number, please?”
“Please put me through to Høvikveien Nursing Home.”
“Would you like me to inform you of the number?”
“No, damn it, just put me through!” Mia snarled, hitting the brakes when she realized that she was dangerously close to the shoulder.
It took a long time before anyone picked up.
“Høvikveien Nursing Home, Birgitte speaking.”
“Yes, hello, this is Mia Krüger. You wouldn’t happen to have Holger Munch there, would you?”
“He was here a while ago,” the voice said.
“I know, but is he there now?”
“No, I haven’t seen him.”
Shit.
“Is Karen there?”
“Yes, Karen is here, hang on.”
A million seconds passed. Mia felt like screaming into her phone. She had to turn the wipers up to max in order to be able to see out the window. A million more seconds passed before Karen finally arrived.
“Yes, Karen speaking.”
“Hi, Karen, it’s Mia Krüger.”
“Hi, Mia, nice to hear from you.”
“Have you seen Holger today?”
“Yes, he was here earlier. His mother had a turn, but fortunately it was nothing serious. The doctor gave her something to make her sleep and—”
“Yes, all right, fine,” Mia interrupted her. “But is he there now?”
“No, he’s left.”
“Do you know where he went?”
“No, I don’t. He was completely exhausted. I told him that . . .”
Mia swore under her breath. She did not have time for this.
“. . . so I woke him an hour later. He didn’t look all that well when he left, but—”
“But you don’t know where he went?”
“No, he got a call and ran out. He didn’t even say good-bye,” Karen said.
“Okay,” Mia said. “Thank you.”
“Listen,” Karen said just as Mia was about to disconnect.
“Yes?”
“I don’t know if this is important, but her car is outside.”
“Whose?”
“Malin. Malin Stoltz. Her car is here.”
It was now raining so heavily that Mia was forced to slow down. The raindrops battered the windshield almost like hailstones. She could see the cars in front of her hit the brakes, their red lights glowing at her in a blur. She eased off the accelerator and exhaled. Holger had gotten a call. Who from? Someone had called him, and he ran. Holger never ran. He hadn’t even said good-bye. But run? Who on earth made Holger Munch run?
The killer.
It was obvious. Marion had been abducted. The killer had called Holger. Holger for his part had not called anyone from the team. He’d run off without saying good-bye. It had to be Marion. He would never run for anyone else.
“Are you still there, Mia?”
“Sorry, Karen, what did you say?”
“Oh, it’s probably not important. We can talk about it another time.”
“No, what did you say? About her car?”
“It’s downstairs in the underground parking garage. I don’t know if it means anything, bu—”
“What kind of car is it?”
“It’s a white Citroën.”
A white Citroën.
Mia stared ahead of her. Trying to work out where she was. She saw a sign saying Slependen. She wasn’t far from the nursing home.
“I’ll be there shortly,” she said. “Is the car locked?”
“I don’t know,” Karen said. “But she might have left a spare key in her locker in the staff room. She can be a little distracted, misplacing things. I think I heard her say that—”
“Great, Karen,” Mia interrupted her again. “Please, would you find out for me. I’ll be there soon, okay?”
She ended the call and dialed Anette.
“Anette speaking.”
“Hi, it’s Mia.”
“Thank God, where have you been?”
“Åsgårdstrand. Has Munch called you?”
“No, have you heard?”
“Yes, what a nightmare.”
“Yes, it certainly is. And Mikkelson is here. He’s freaking out.”
Mia realized that she didn’t give a damn what Mikkelson thought.
“Who is in charge now?” she said, scouting for the exit.
“Mikkelson,” Anette replied.
“But he doesn’t have a clue about what’s going on. Anette, you have to take over.”
“What do you want me to do? By the way, where are you?”
“I’ll be in Høvik soon. We’ve found Stoltz’s car. Any news about her?”
“No, nothing. What do you want me to do?”
“Get hold of Gabriel and get the GPS location from that damn film. And make him put a trace on Munch’s phone. I think the killer might have called him and that he’s on his way to a meeting.”
“Okay,” Anette said. “Anything else?”
“We have to—”
Mia saw the exit for Høvik and turned off. The worst of the rain was easing up now, and she could actually see where she was going.
“Have to what?”
She couldn’t think of anything else. “Just get that lousy film sorted out and trace Munch’s phone.”
“Okay,” Anette said. “Oh, yes, Ludvig has something for you.”
“What is it?”
“A photograph. The therapy group in Hønefoss.”
Brilliant. Her hunch had proved to be spot-on.
“Ask him to forward it to my cell.”
“But nothing on Stoltz?”
“Not a word.”
“Okay, I’m just about to arrive. I’ll be in touch if the car turns out to be interesting.”
Mia ended the call and pulled into the nursing home.
68
Lukas was sitting on the bench by th
e lake, wrapped in a blanket. He was wearing dry clothes, but he still struggled to warm up. Pastor Simon had held him underwater. He had almost drowned. Pastor Simon had asked him if he could see the devil, but he could not, and then the pastor had pushed his head under the water. Lukas was confused. First the pastor nearly drowned him, then he brought him dry clothes. He had kept the dry clothes and the blanket in the car. The pastor must have planned this. Why?
Pastor Simon returned from the car with a packed lunch and a thermos. He sat on the bench of the picnic table facing Lukas. Brown-cheese sandwiches. He unscrewed the lid on the thermos and poured hot chocolate into the cup.
“Eat and drink,” the pastor said.
Lukas took a sip of the cocoa and felt the warmth flow down his throat. He ate the sandwiches slowly while the pastor watched him. The pastor did not say a single word. He sat on the bench with his hands folded in front of him, looking at Lukas with a soft, warm gaze. Lukas was still a little scared, but he was starting to feel much better. The pastor didn’t take his eyes off him for one second. Usually he would look above his head, toward heaven, or at some other point—at any rate never directly at him, never fix his eyes on him like he did now. Slowly, Lukas’s body began to warm up. He tried meeting the pastor’s gaze but was only partly successful. He had eaten all the sandwiches and drunk three cups of hot chocolate before the pastor finally started talking.
“God sent his only son, Jesus Christ, to earth to take upon himself the sins of the world,” the pastor said. “The people had the chance to save Jesus, but they chose Barabbas, the thief, instead.”
Lukas nodded softly.
“What does this tell you about people?” the pastor asked him.
Lukas did not reply. He didn’t want to get it wrong and end up under the water again. He could still feel the panic coursing through him.
“That people don’t know what’s good for them,” the pastor continued. “People should not be allowed to decide for themselves. You understand that, don’t you, Lukas?”
Lukas nodded. They had talked about this before. Most people were stupid. They didn’t know what was good for them. For that reason God had chosen only a few who would go to heaven. Only the special ones. The initiated. Those who had realized this. Forty people from the church. And a few others. People from across the world whom they would meet in the course of time.
