by Samuel Bjork
Holger Munch scratched his beard and looked up in the rear-view mirror at the big, pink present with golden ribbons on the back seat. It was his granddaughter Marion’s birthday. The six-year-old apple of his eye. The real reason he had agreed to drive up to Røa, although he had sworn never to set foot in the house ever again. Munch took a deep drag on his cigarette and realized he was rubbing his finger where his wedding ring used to be. He had worn it for ten years after the break-up, unable to make himself take it off. Marianne. She had been the love of his life. He had imagined that they would always be together, and he had not gone on a single date since the divorce. He had had opportunities. It had never felt right. But he had done it now, removed his wedding ring. It was in the bathroom cabinet at home. He had not been able to throw it away.
Holger Munch heaved a sigh, took another drag on his cigarette and had another quick look at the pink present. He had probably gone overboard – again. His daughter, Miriam, constantly reproached him for spoiling little Marion, giving her anything she wanted. He had bought her a present which he knew Miriam would disapprove of, but it was something his granddaughter had set her heart on. A Barbie doll with a massive Barbie house and her own Barbie car. He could already hear the lecture. About spoilt children. About the female body and role models and unattainable ideals, but for Christ’s sake, it was only a doll. What harm could it do if it was what the little girl wanted?
His mobile rang again; Mikkelson for the second time, and again Munch pressed the red button. When his mobile rang a third time, he was tempted to pick up, because the caller was Mia Krüger. He was extremely fond of his younger colleague, yet still he did not take the call. He had to put his family first. He would call her back later. Perhaps they could have a cup of tea at Justisen sometime tonight? Talking to Mia after the family reunion would probably do him good. He had not spoken to her for ages, and he only now realized how much he missed her.
Six months ago he had gone to bring Mia back from an island off the coast of Trøndelag. She had isolated herself from the world, had no telephone; he had had to fly all the way up to Værnes, rent a car and get the local police to sail him to the island to find her. He had brought with him a case file. It had persuaded her to return with him to the capital.
Holger Munch prided himself on the strength of his team, but Mia Krüger was unique. He had hired her while she was at the police college, still in her early twenties, after a tip-off from the head, an old colleague. Holger Munch had met her in a café, an informal meeting away from police headquarters. Mia Krüger. A young woman in a white jumper and tight black trousers, with long, dark hair almost like an American Indian, with the brightest blue eyes he had ever seen. Intelligent, self-assured and poised. He had been taken with her at once. She appeared to have guessed that he was there to test her, and yet she had answered his questions politely, with a glint in her eye: do you think I’m dumb or something?
Mia Krüger had lost her twin sister, Sigrid, many years ago. They had found her dead from a heroin overdose in a basement in Tøyen. Mia had blamed Sigrid’s boyfriend for her death and, during a routine search of a campervan by Lake Tryvann some years later, they had happened to bump into him, now with another victim by his side. Mia Krüger had killed the boyfriend with two shots to the chest, a crime of passion. Holger Munch had witnessed the shooting and knew that it could be justified as self-defence on Mia’s part, but, as a result of backing her, he had been transferred out of the city as punishment and Mia had been hospitalized. After two years in the sticks, Munch had finally been reinstated as head of the investigative unit in Mariboesgate in Oslo. Munch in turn had reinstated Mia. However, after that first case back on the job, Mikkelson still had concerns. He’d suspended Mia for a second time, with orders not to set foot inside the building until she had seen a psychologist who was willing to declare her fit for duty.
Munch rejected yet another call from his boss in Grønland and continued to look at himself in the mirror. What was he really doing here? It had been ten years.
You’re an idiot, Holger Munch. Mia’s not the only one who should be seeing a therapist.
Munch sighed again and got out of the car. It had grown colder outside. Summer was definitely over, autumn, too, it would appear, though October had barely begun. He pulled his duffel coat across his stomach, took out his mobile and replied to Juri: 48 metres ;) HM
He finished his cigarette, picked up the extravagant present from the back of the car, took two deep breaths and slowly made his way up the gravel path.
Chapter 3
The lips of the man with the thin moustache were moving, but Mia Krüger could not be bothered to listen to him. His words failed to reach her ears. She missed the seagulls. The smell of the sea as the waves crashed against the rocks. The silence. Yet again she wondered why she was putting herself through this. Seeing a therapist. Talking about herself. What good would that do? She took another lozenge from her pocket and regretted for the umpteenth time ever agreeing to therapy in the first place. She should have quit on the spot.
Unstable and unfit for duty.
Bloody Mikkelson. He didn’t know which way was up; he’d never worked a case, he’d only got the job because he knew how to suck up to politicians.
Mia sighed and tried to work out what the man behind the desk had said; she was clearly meant to respond, but she had not heard his question.
‘What do you think?’ she said, as she remembered the waiting room filled with magazines whose covers made no sense to her. ‘Mindfulness and wellness’. ‘Easy ways to fitness’.
‘The pills?’ the therapist said, possibly for the third time, as he leaned back in his chair and took off his glasses.
It was a sign of intimacy. A signal that she was safe here. Mia sighed and placed the lozenge on her tongue. He really had no clue as to who he was dealing with, did he? Ever since she was a little girl, she had been able to look inside people’s heads. It was the reason she was missing the seagulls. No evil to be found in them. Only nature. Waves crashing against rocks. The sound of silence and nothing else.
‘Good,’ Mia said, hoping it was the right answer.
‘So you’ve stopped taking them?’ the therapist said, and put on his glasses.
‘Haven’t been taking them for weeks.’
‘And the drinking?’
‘Haven’t touched a drop for ages,’ Mia said, lying again.
She looked at the clock above his head, at the hands, moving far too slowly, telling her she was doomed to stay here a while longer. She loathed Mikkelson. And this psychologist. But she couldn’t blame him. He was only trying to help. And he was said to be one of the good ones. Mattias Wang. She had been incredibly lucky; she had picked a name from the Internet after agreeing to give therapy a try. No way was she going to see one of the people available through the police force. Patient confidentiality at police HQ? Not likely, not for her, not for Mia Krüger.
‘I guess we ought to talk about Sigrid?’
Mia had dropped her guard slightly, but now the armour was back on. No matter how nice and empathetic he was, Mia was not here to talk about her feelings. She was here to get back to work. Have the required sessions with a psychologist. Get the piece of paper she needed. She seems in good health, conversations are meaningful, she is working on her issues. I recommend that she is reinstated to full duties with immediate effect.
She smiled to herself, and in her mind she gave Mikkelson the finger.
Unfit for duty.
Screw you, had been her first thought, but after five weeks alone in the new flat she had bought in Bislett, surrounded by removal crates she did not have the energy to open, trapped in a body still screaming for the pills she had drugged it with for so long, she had backed down. She had lost everyone she loved. Sigrid. Her mother. Her father. Her grandmother. The only person missing from the cemetery outside Åsgårdstrand was her. All she had wanted was to leave this world. Say goodbye to all this misery. But then Mia had begun to re
alize that she had grown fond of her colleagues. Being back at work after her solitary existence on the island had made her believe that it might be possible, that life might be worthwhile after all. At least, she was prepared to give it a go. For a while. Her colleagues were fine people. Good people. People she actually cared about.
Munch. Curry. Kim. Anette. Ludvig Grønlie. Gabriel Mørk.
‘Sigrid,’ the man behind the desk prompted her.
‘Yes?’ Mia said, as her thoughts wandered back to the girl she had seen leave the consulting room who had had the appointment before her, probably fifteen years separating them, but equally shameful: that’s right, me too. I’m not normal, either.
‘We need to, don’t we?’
Sigrid Krüger
Sister, friend and daughter.
Born 11 November 1979. Died 18 April 2002.
Much loved. Deeply missed.
The therapist took off his glasses again, and leaned back in his chair once more.
‘We ought to talk about her soon, don’t you think?’
Mia zipped up her leather jacket and pointed to the clock on the wall.
‘Definitely.’ She nodded and gave a small smile. ‘But it’ll have to wait until next time.’
Mattias Wang looked almost disappointed when he realized the hands of the clock were telling him that the appointment was over.
‘Yes, of course,’ he said, putting down his pen on the notepad on the desk in front of him. ‘Same time next week?’
‘OK.’
‘Because it’s important that …’ he started, but Mia was already gone.
Chapter 4
Holger Munch felt irritable but also relieved when he entered his former marital home. Irritation at having agreed to this, celebrating Marion’s birthday here. Relief because he had dreaded being surrounded by old memories; he could not have known how he would react, but the house he was inside now bore little resemblance to the one he remembered. They had renovated. Knocked down walls. Painted them in different colours. To his surprise, Munch found his old home very attractive and, the more he looked around, the calmer he grew. Nor could he see any signs of Rolf, the teacher from Hurum. Perhaps the afternoon would not be so bad after all?
Marianne had met him in the doorway with the same facial expression as on every other occasion they were forced to spend time together, be it confirmations, birthdays or funerals, with a polite and pleasant hello. No hugging or signs of affection, but nor had there been any signs of bitterness, disappointment or hatred in her eyes, which had certainly characterized the early days of their divorce. Just a measured yet pleasant smile: Welcome, Holger. Why don’t you take a seat in the living room? I’m just decorating Marion’s cake – six candles. Can you believe she’s growing up so fast?
Munch hung up his duffel coat in the hallway and was about to carry the present into the living room when he heard a high-pitched squeal followed by eager little footsteps coming down the stairs.
‘Grandad!’
Marion raced towards him and gave him a big hug.
‘Is that for me?’ the little girl exclaimed, her eyes widening as she gawped at the present.
‘Happy birthday.’ Munch smiled and stroked his granddaughter’s hair. ‘So what’s it like to be six years old?’
‘Not very different, actually, it’s almost like yesterday when I was five.’ Marion smiled precociously, never once taking her eyes off the present. ‘Can I open it now, Grandad, right now? Oh, please may I?’
‘We should probably wait until we’ve sung “Happy Birthday”,’ said Miriam, who had also come down from the first floor.
His daughter came over to Munch and hugged him.
‘I’m glad you could come, Dad. How are you?’
‘I’m well,’ Munch said, helping her carry the big present into the living room, to a table that held several presents already.
‘Oh, they’re all for me! Please, please can we open them soon …’ the little girl pleaded; it was clear she felt she had already been made to wait far too long.
Munch looked at his daughter, who returned his smile. The warmth in her eyes did him good. After the divorce, their relationship had been far from easy, but the hatred his daughter had felt for him all those years was slowly fading.
Ten years. A frosty relationship between father and daughter. Because of the divorce. Because he had been working too hard. And yet, oddly, it was his job that had brought them closer to each other again, almost as if there were some kind of justice in the world. A major case less than six months ago, possibly the most serious his unit had ever investigated, in which Miriam and Marion had been directly involved. The five-year-old girl had been abducted; Munch had feared that it would only widen the gap between them, that his daughter would hold him accountable for this, as with everything else, but the opposite had happened. Miriam had not blamed him once; she was only grateful that the unit had solved the case. A new-found respect. He thought he could see it in her eyes, the way she looked at him. It was different now; she finally understood how important his job was. They had had therapy, both of them, Miriam and Marion, with a skilled police psychologist, to help them process the terrible events, but, luckily, they did not appear to have left deep scars in the little girl. Too young to understand how badly things could have ended, perhaps. Yes, there had been some broken nights, Marion crying after waking from distressing nightmares, but they had quickly passed. It had been worse for her mother, of course, and Miriam had continued with the sessions on her own for a while. Perhaps she still went, he was not sure; they were not so close that she told him absolutely everything, but at least they were heading in that direction. One step at a time.
‘Where is Johannes?’ Munch asked when they had sat down on the sofa.
‘Oh, he was on duty and they called from Ullevål Hospital, so he had to go in. He’ll try to get back if he can. It’s not easy when you’re an important person, you know,’ his daughter said with a wink.
Munch reciprocated her wink with a friendly smile.
‘The cake is ready,’ Marianne announced, entering the living room with a smile on her lips.
Holger Munch watched her furtively. He did not want to stare, but neither was he able to take his eyes off her completely. She made eye contact with him for a moment, and Munch was overcome by the desire to drag her to the kitchen and hold her tight, just like the old days, but he managed to restrain himself. Marion, who also had trouble controlling herself, though for different reasons, provided a welcome distraction.
‘Please let me open one? Presents are more important than some silly song.’
‘We have to sing “Happy Birthday” and blow out the candles on the cake first, you know that,’ Marianne said, stroking her granddaughter’s hair. ‘Besides, we need to wait until everyone is here, so we can all see the nice things you’ll be getting.’
Marianne, Miriam, Marion and him. Holger Munch could not have wished for a better setting for a more pleasant afternoon. However, his ex-wife’s words, saying they needed to wait for everyone, was like a line from a play, a cue for someone to make an entrance. The front door duly opened, and there was Rolf, the teacher from Hurum, holding a huge bouquet of flowers in his hands and grinning from ear to ear.
‘Hi, Rolf,’ Marion chirped. She raced to the door and threw her arms around him.
Munch felt a pang of jealousy as he saw his granddaughter’s small arms embrace the man he absolutely loathed. He prized the little girl more than anything in the world but, as far as she was concerned, it had always been like this: Grandad on his own. Grannie and Rolf together.
‘Look how many presents I’ve got!’
She dragged Rolf into the living room so that he could admire the display.
‘How nice,’ he said, stroking her hair.
‘Are they also for me?’ Marion smiled, pointing to the big bouquet of flowers in his hand.
‘No, they’re for Grannie,’ Rolf said, looking over his shoulder at a blushing Mari
anne, who was watching them from the doorway.
Munch saw the way his ex-wife looked at Rolf. And it was all over. The good feeling. Playing happy families. He stood up to shake Rolf’s hand and watched as the man he despised gave his ex-wife the extravagant flowers and kissed her cheek.
Thankfully, Marion came to his rescue for the second time. Her face now red with excitement, she refused to wait any longer.
‘Oh, please can we get that singing over with?’ the little girl implored them.
They sang hurriedly. Marion was not paying attention, in any case. She blew out the candles on her cake and attacked her presents.
Less than thirty minutes later the little girl was done, and was sitting quite exhausted in front of her spoils. The Barbie doll had been a big hit. Marion had flung her arms around Munch’s neck and, though he had expected a reproachful look from Miriam because he had ignored her wishes – again – it never came. His daughter had merely smiled, almost as a thank-you, and made him feel that everything was all right.
There was one awkward moment after the presents had been opened. Marianne and Rolf were sitting on the sofa on the other side of the coffee table, and there was pressure to engage in conversation, which none of them really wanted. Luckily, Munch was saved by his mobile. It was Mikkelson and, for once, his timing was perfect. Munch made his excuses and went outside, lit a much-needed cigarette and took the call.
‘Yes?’
‘Have you stopped answering your phone?’ an irritable voice grunted on the other end.
‘Family time,’ Munch replied.
‘How nice,’ Mikkelson quipped. ‘However, I’m afraid I’ll have to wreck your family time. I need you.’
‘What has happened?’ Munch asked, curious.
‘A 233. Teenage girl,’ Mikkelson continued, less acerbic now.
‘Where?’ Munch said.
‘On the outskirts of Hurum. A botanist found her earlier today.’
Munch took a deep drag on his cigarette. He could hear little Marion laugh on the other side of the door. Someone was chasing her around the house, probably that idiot who had usurped him. Munch shook his head irritably. Celebrate Marion’s birthday in his former marital house – what had he been thinking?
