by Samuel Bjork
No. There was no way she could pour out her soul to a shrink. She washed her face.
Like hell.
This had nothing to do with her mental health. It was just a combination of not enough sleep, too much pressure, this case, and then that idiot Curry, to top it all. She was in total control. Mia nodded to her reflection in the mirror.
Total control.
She continued to stand in front of it for a few more minutes, until the colour returned to her face, then she walked back across the yard.
‘Is everything all right?’ Anders Finstad asked. He looked concerned.
‘Pardon?’ Mia smiled, and followed him into the stable. ‘Yes, of course. Which one was her locker?’
She was a police officer again.
‘This one,’ Finstad said. ‘Would you like me to open it?’
‘Well, there’s not much point in just looking at the door from the outside, is there?’ she joked.
Finstad smiled. Fiddled briefly with the keys on the bunch in his hand, before finding the right one, while Mia took out a pair of latex gloves from the inside pocket of her jacket.
‘Can I help you with anything?’ Finstad asked when he had unlocked the door for her.
She could see that he was curious about the contents of the locker.
‘I’ll give you a shout if I need your help.’ Mia smiled, and waited until he had left the stable before she opened the door to the locker.
A red riding jacket. A pair of knee-high black boots, a beige blouse on a hanger. A small piece of paper was stuck to the inside of the locker door. A hand-written note.
I like you.
There was a drawing underneath.
A bird.
It had been at the back of her mind, though she hadn’t had time to process it since bumping into Curry. Munch’s words from last night. The feathers at the crime scene.
Owl feathers.
Mia took out her mobile from her jacket and rang Munch. There was no reply, so she texted him a quick message instead: Call me now.
I like you.
A drawing.
A bird.
An owl.
Chapter 27
It should not have come as a surprise, and yet it did: how the light in the sky refused to come out, although it was early afternoon. Holger Munch lit a cigarette and watched his cold fingers in the orange glow from the tip and, yet again, the thought came back to him, the one he had had so many times recently: that people were never meant to live up here. This far north. An historic mistake. An anomaly. The Norwegian race were descendants of people who must have taken a wrong turn somewhere in the past; why else pick this cold, this darkness, when the planet was full of sunshine and beaches, fertile lands, gardens of Eden? There was little evidence of that here, he decided, as he stood with the hood of his duffel coat up, trying to discern a pattern in the information he had gathered from the hours of interviewing the girls. So far, not one of them had given them anything on which they could build any kind of investigation. They all seemed terrified, and none of them was keen to speak to the police.
Munch tightened his duffel coat and took another drag on his cigarette as the door to the main building opened and Helene Eriksen walked down the steps towards him.
‘You can smoke indoors, if you like,’ she said, attempting a smile, although she clearly had to force it.
She had seemed broken the first time he had met her, and the last couple of days had not helped. That little spark of life he had seen in her eyes then was completely gone now, and Munch could not help but feel sorry for her.
‘And we can get you some coffee,’ she offered cautiously. ‘Today has been just as long for you, as it has been for us.’
‘I don’t drink coffee these days,’ Munch said politely, ‘but a cup of tea would be nice.’
‘I have tea as well,’ Helene smiled, and led the way back inside, where she showed him into a small sitting room on the ground floor.
‘My sanctuary,’ the manager said when Munch had taken a seat. ‘Sometimes it’s good to have a place where you can be on your own.’
Munch put his coat over the armrest of the chair. He was growing to like this woman. She helped people. She ran a home for troubled youngsters. A good person with a big heart.
‘I don’t have many varieties to choose from,’ she said, placing a bowl of teabags on the table in front of him.
‘That’s quite all right,’ Munch said. ‘Anything to get the cold out of my bones.’
‘I couldn’t agree more.’
Helene sat down in the armchair opposite him as Munch picked a random teabag and poured water from a kettle into his mug.
‘Do you mind if I have one?’ she said, gesturing to his cigarettes on the table.
‘Of course.’
‘I don’t smoke, not really,’ Helene said apologetically, placing a cigarette between her lips. ‘I quit a long time ago, it’s a filthy habit, I know, but, well …’
‘I understand.’ Munch smiled as he reached across the table and flicked his lighter for her.
Helene leaned back and blew smoke up at the ceiling. She looked as if she was mulling something over, as if she had something on her mind, something she wanted to share with him, but nothing came.
‘We’re almost finished,’ Munch said, to reassure her. ‘You’ll be left in peace soon, we’ve got a lot done, spoken to most people on our list today.’
‘Have you learned anything? Has it been useful?’
‘I can’t discuss the details with you. I hope you can understand that,’ Munch said. ‘But yes, I think we’ve found out what we needed to.’
‘Good.’ Helene smiled. ‘If you need anything from me, it goes without saying that you can contact me any time. You just let me know, OK?’
‘Thank you, Helene. You have been nothing but helpful. We really appreciate that.’
‘That’s good,’ she said, taking another quick drag on her cigarette, before stubbing it out in the ashtray and turning to Munch with another smile.
‘I used to smoke twenty a day, but now I can manage on just a few puffs.’
Helene Eriksen sat staring into space, and Munch was suddenly reminded of Mia’s words after the first interview they had held out here.
She knows something.
He coughed lightly, stubbed out his own cigarette and got up to leave.
‘Thanks for the tea, but I had better get back to work. We still have quite a few names left on the list.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Helene Eriksen said, walking with him out of the sitting room.
‘There was just one thing,’ Munch said when they were back in the corridor.
‘Yes?’
‘I gather from the lists of residents and staff that not everyone is here today. Am I right?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s just that …’ Munch said.
‘Yes?’
‘There’s one person I’m not sure about; he might be here, but I haven’t managed to arrange an interview with him.’
‘Aha. Who are you thinking of?’
‘Rolf Lycke,’ Munch said with a light cough.
‘Rolf?’ Helene Eriksen said with a frown.
‘Yes? I gather he’s a teacher here?’
Helene shook her head. ‘No, no. He stopped working here ages ago.’
‘But he used to teach here?’
‘Yes, but only for a brief period. He was, well, I would say, a good teacher, of course, and I would have liked him to stay, but I don’t think this was the job for him. I don’t want to speak ill about my girls, but, in academic terms, the level isn’t terribly high – am I allowed to say that? I think Rolf Lycke had big ambitions. If you want to talk to him, I can arrange it. I mean, I still have his number somewhere, I think. Would you like me to look for it?’
‘Oh, no,’ Munch said. ‘I’ll just stick to the lists we have here.’
‘OK.’ Helene nodded.
Munch’s mobile began to vibrate. He had turned
the ring tone off during the interviews but, as usual, he had forgotten to turn off vibrate. Anette Goli’s name appeared on the display.
‘Yes?’ Munch said.
‘I think we’ve got him. Have you spoken to Mia? She has been trying to get hold of you. She found something at the riding school, but it doesn’t matter now …’
‘Who?’
‘We have a confession.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes,’ Goli went on. ‘He handed himself in. We have him in custody. He’s down at Grønland. He has confessed to the murder.’
‘I’m on my way,’ Munch said. He pressed the red button, made his excuses and ran out to the black Audi outside.
Chapter 28
Munch opened the door and saw that Mia was already there, in the small room adjacent to the interview room. Anette Goli was leaning against the wall, her arms folded across her chest and a satisfied smile playing on her lips. Mia was sitting on a chair munching an apple, still wearing her leather jacket, and he could tell immediately from the look on his younger colleague’s face that she was entirely unimpressed.
‘What have we got?’ Munch said, hanging up his coat and taking a seat on the chair in front of the one-way mirror.
‘Jim Fuglesang,’ Anette Goli said. ‘Aged thirty-two. Lives in Røyken. Less than a forty-minute drive from Hurumlandet Nurseries. Turned up at reception just under an hour ago. Confessed to the murder of Camilla Green. He used to work for the post office. He’s on disability allowance now. I don’t know why, but I’ve asked Ludvig to look into it.’
‘Why is he wearing a bicycle helmet?’
‘He refuses to take it off,’ Anette Goli said, shrugging her shoulders.
‘It’s not him,’ Mia said, taking another bite from her apple.
‘Why not?’ Munch said.
‘Oh, come on, Holger. The papers reported the murder last night. How many times have we seen this before? People who want to confess? Don’t ask me why, but some people would do anything to get attention. I don’t understand what we’re doing here, frankly. Didn’t you get my text message?’
Munch got the distinct impression that Mia was extremely put out.
‘I’ve been conducting interviews all day,’ Munch said, by way of explanation.
‘The drawing at the riding school,’ Mia said, never taking her eyes off the man in the white bicycle helmet.
‘What drawing?’ Munch said.
Mia made no reply.
‘Anette?’ Munch said, turning around.
The blonde police lawyer shook her head; she seemed a little annoyed at the suggestion that she had dragged Mia and Munch in here for nothing. She was holding up a file, which she had not yet shown to Mia, because she had been waiting for Munch to arrive.
‘I’m not a complete idiot,’ Anette said, placing two photographs on the table in front of them.
‘Jim Fuglesang. Aged thirty-two. On benefits. Wears a white bicycle helmet that he refuses to take off. Turns up here. Confesses to the murder. And yes, I’m not completely wet behind the ears, I know about false confessions. I wouldn’t have called you if he hadn’t brought these along.’
She pointed to the two pictures she had just shown them. Unwillingly, Mia turned her attention to the photographs Anette had placed in front of them.
‘Bloody hell!’ Munch exclaimed.
‘Exactly,’ Anette Goli said triumphantly.
‘What the …?’ Mia said, turning to Anette.
‘Didn’t I tell you?’ Anette Goli said, folding her arms across her chest.
Two photographs. Blurred, but the subjects were quite clear. There could be no doubt.
‘I don’t understand this,’ Mia said.
‘I told you we had him.’ Anette Goli smiled.
‘OK,’ Munch said, getting up. ‘Let’s go and find out what this nutter has to say.’
Chapter 29
Gabriel Mørk was sitting in the incident room, watching Ludvig Grønlie put up pictures on the wall. He had not told anyone yet because he did not want to come across as a starry-eyed youngster, but the hacker had had a very exciting day at work, perhaps his best ever since starting here.
He had been out of the office. He had conducted interviews at Hurumlandet Nurseries, a job that was normally the preserve of Munch, Mia and Kim Kolsø, but the scope of the investigation, or rather the sheer number of people who needed interviewing, meant that Munch had dispatched all of them, except Ylva, who had stayed behind to hold the fort at the office, and had looked envious as they left.
Gabriel sympathized. He, too, had felt like an outsider at the start – the rest of the team shared routines and codes, references he did not understand – but it was different now. It was a little like a baptism. He smiled to himself and took a swig of his Coke as Ylva entered and pulled out a chair next to him.
‘Why are you still bothering with this?’ the young woman asked, nodding towards Grønlie, who had just put up a picture of one of the girls from Hurumlandet Nurseries and written her name below it.
Isabella Jung.
‘Bothering with what?’ Gabriel asked.
‘Well, we’ve caught him, haven’t we?’
‘We don’t know that for sure,’ Ludvig Grønlie said, putting up another picture next to the previous one and writing another name below it.
Paulus Monsen.
‘Anette seemed quite confident,’ Ylva said.
‘We’ve seen this before.’ Ludvig picked up another photograph from the table in front of him.
‘Seen what?’
‘People claiming responsibility for murders they didn’t commit,’ Gabriel explained, looking quickly to the experienced investigator.
‘Exactly.’ Ludvig put up another picture on the wall next to the others.
Benedikte Riis.
‘But she seemed so sure,’ Ylva said, popping a piece of bubble gum into her mouth. ‘Anette Goli, I mean.’
‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure.’ Ludvig smiled as he put up yet another picture, this time above all the others.
Helene Eriksen.
‘So have you heard anything?’ Ylva asked.
‘Not yet,’ Ludvig said, carrying on with what he was doing.
Cecilie Markussen.
‘I hope they’ve got him. That we’ve solved this already,’ the young woman said, blowing a bubble.
‘I agree.’ Ludvig nodded and smiled at her. ‘But until we’re told that’s the case, I think it’s important to do this. There are just so many people involved.’
He let out a sigh and studied his collage, which was almost complete.
‘It’s a bit of a mess,’ Ylva remarked.
‘Oh, do you think so?’ Ludvig looked at her.
‘Oh, no,’ the young woman hastened to add. ‘No, not your wall – I meant the whole case. Messy; so many potential suspects. It’s not easy to know where to start.’
Ludvig smiled, put up the final photograph and took a step back to assess his work, checking if the display was clear enough.
‘So, talk me through it,’ Ylva said, studying the picture wall with interest.
‘Helene Eriksen. She’s the boss out there. She set the whole place up.’
Ylva nodded.
‘Paulus Monsen. Helene’s – well, what shall we call him? – right-hand man. Aged twenty-five. An ex-resident, but now a kind of caretaker.’
‘OK.’
‘Two teachers,’ Ludvig continued, pointing them out. ‘Karl Eriksen. Eva Dahl.’
‘And what were they like?’ Ylva wanted to know.
‘Munch and Kim interviewed the teachers,’ he said. ‘So we don’t know the details yet. Pity, really.’
‘What is?’
‘That we haven’t managed to debrief and review everything as a team yet. It’s a bit chaotic here, if you ask me.’
The grey-haired man took another step back and sized up the picture wall again.
‘So it’s just girls at the Hurumlandvet Nurseries?’
>
‘No, I don’t think that was the original intention,’ Ludvig said. ‘Am I right, Gabriel?’
‘You are, the place is for both boys and girls. There are two dormitories, but, for some reason, they only have girls living there now. We didn’t find out why, did we, Ludvig?’
He looked at Ludvig, who shook his head and scratched his neck.
‘So these eight girls make up all the residents?’ Ylva said, pointing to them.
Something in Gabriel’s pocket buzzed. He eased out his iPhone and glanced at it quickly; he would rather hear what Ludvig had to say, but when he saw the message that had just arrived, the photographs and his colleagues in the room ceased to exist for him.
Phoenix to Electron, are you there?
It took a few seconds before he understood the importance of it.
He could not remember the last time he had heard from his old friend; he typed a quick reply.
Electron here. What’s up?
The reply arrived a few seconds later.
I’m outside. It’s important.
Outside?
Gabriel quickly texted back.
Outside where? What’s important?
The reply came swiftly this time as well.
13 Mariboesgate. I have something for you. The girl with the flower in her mouth.
How on earth was Skunk connected to her?
Gabriel scrambled to his feet, mumbled an apology to his colleagues, rushed out of the room and then ran as quickly as he could down the stairs.
Chapter 30
‘The tenth of October. The time is 17.05. Present in the room are the head of the homicide unit at 13 Mariboesgate, Holger Munch, and investigator Mia Krüger.’
‘Please state your full name,’ Mia said to the man wearing the bicycle helmet as she pointed to the tape recorder.
Mia still seemed agitated and crotchety, and Munch was tempted to tell her to calm down, but he thought better of it.
‘Jim,’ the man said.
‘Your full name,’ Mia said, pointing to the tape recorder again.
The man in the white bicycle helmet looked at her.
‘That is my name,’ he stammered, with a quick glance at Munch.
