The Owl Always Hunts At Night

by Samuel Bjork

  Mia got out of her car, fetched the flowers from the back and walked slowly towards the graves. She tended to her grandmother’s grave first. Then her parents’. She saved the biggest bouquet for last, and stood in front of the grey stone with the same deep grief she always had out here.

  Sigrid Krüger

  Sister, friend and daughter.

  Born 11 November 1979. Died 18 April 2002.

  It had been more than ten years, but it still weighed so heavily on her that she did not want to live. People said that the pain of grief would pass, diminish. That time was a great healer. But not for her. Mia Krüger felt the loss of her sister just as strongly now as the day her body was discovered in that filthy basement in Tøyen.

  Mia removed the flowers that had been killed by the frost and placed the new bouquet in a pot in front of the gravestone. She knelt down to clear away twigs and leaves, and the grass felt cold to the touch. Winter had come far too early, and it would only get worse. And darker. Like her thoughts. Perhaps they were better off without her. The team. After all, she had made up her mind, hadn’t she? To leave all this behind?

  She felt barely human, anyway, so why not just let go? Her body and her mind were running on artificial stimulants: alcohol, pills; she had opened the pill jar again last night and let the little white friends lull her to sleep; she had been exhausted after the interview. Her body was full of sharp thorns. Anette Goli had patronized her and shaken her head – I think you need to go back to your therapist – even Holger had mumbled into his beard and left her standing alone in the corridor.

  Yes, sure. You can have some time off, Mia.

  Take all the time you need.

  So she had imploded. At home in her empty flat. Given up trying to act like a normal human being. Be positive. Quit the pills. Hell, no. She had been tempted to end it right there and then, but she had not had enough pills. She had swallowed most of them that afternoon when Holger had unexpectedly knocked on her door, and she had not got round to getting more. She had enough to knock herself out, make the thorns in her body stop hurting her; she had curled up in a blanket on the balcony and let the city lights dance in front of her eyes until they finally grew so blurry that she did not know whether or not she was dreaming. She had staggered inside, huddled under the blanket, her cheeks red, cold on the outside but warm on the inside, and her final thought before she disappeared was:

  I’m coming, Sigrid.

  And yet she had woken up after all, in a dark and lonely room, and she could not stand it any longer. No more loneliness. She wanted to be with them. This was where she belonged.

  Mia got up and looked at the grave in front of her. She would lie next to her sister. She smiled faintly; it was a thought that had not occurred to her before, but it soothed her. Her parents were in the same grave, of course. What a dimwit she had been. She should be lying next to Sigrid. It was how it ought to be.

  Sigrid and Mia Krüger

  Snow White and Sleeping Beauty

  Born 11 November 1979.

  Together for ever.

  ‘What medication are you currently on?’

  Her therapist. Mattias Wang. One of his many questions she had no interest in answering.

  ‘There are new drugs that I think might help you feel a bit better. If you decide to pursue that option, I mean?’

  She had no interest in feeling better. Did they not get it? Why was that so hard to understand? She wanted to disappear, that was her goal. And she had already made up her mind. Leave the world behind. She had found the perfect spot. Hitra. An island in the sea, where the sky looked as if it carried on for ever. Then Munch had turned up and brought her back. And she had solved the case. But still she was not free. She had been suspended, but she had clung to a belief that her colleagues were her new family, and that, if only she could get back to work, then everything would be all right. Only it wasn’t.

  It was clear now, wasn’t it?

  Not just to her, but to everyone else.

  The look Anette had given her. Munch’s eyes as he told her she could take as much time off as she needed.

  Mia pulled her woolly hat further down over her ears and stood in front of the grave with a sense of serenity she had not experienced for a long time.

  Come, Mia, come.

  Home. A kind of home. It was becoming increasingly clear to her now, as she stood facing the frost-covered stone. End this. She had tried, but she was clearly no longer up to the job. She had lost her touch. Her ability to help. To enter the minds of these sick people. She had been suspended. Only to suffer on her own every night in a cold flat in a cold city; she did not need that any more. They could manage without her.

  Take as long as you need.

  Would they miss her? Yes, perhaps, but so what? What good would it do? Would solving this case help? There would always be new cases. They had fetched her from peaceful Hitra in order to help them, and she had done that. Only it had not been the end of it, had it? There were fresh cruelties. Mia Krüger made her living from her mind, delving into this darkness that had always been a part of her.

  Mia muttered curses under her breath. She detested the feeling that had come over her. This weakness. It was not like her. She had made a mistake with the hacker. Skunk. She had looked like an idiot in front of the others.

  Sigrid and Mia Krüger

  Born 11 November 1979.

  A new gravestone. She would need to organize that. To be sure to get the wording right.

  Together for ever.

  She had organized all three gravestones. Four funerals. Her whole family, everyone she loved, she had arranged them all. She knew exactly who to call to get the stone she wanted.

  Mia took her mobile out of her pocket with cold, stiff fingers, just as it started ringing with a number she did not recognize, and she answered out of habit: ‘Yes?’

  An unfamiliar voice on the other end, and Mia had to concentrate to make out what the caller was saying. It was an elderly woman.

  ‘My name is Ruth Lie,’ the woman’s voice said. ‘Am I speaking to Mia Krüger?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I work at the Natural History Museum in Tøyen,’ the voice said. ‘I gather you wanted me to call you?’

  ‘Ruth who?’ Mia said, regretting taking the call.

  ‘Lie,’ the voice continued. ‘The Natural History Museum. Olsen, our senior curator, gave me your card. I believe you had some questions about a school visit?’

  Her brain slowly went into action and, finally, it came back: Tor Olsen’s secretary. Up at the Botanical Gardens.

  ‘Yes, of course, hello,’ Mia said. ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘We have it,’ said Ruth Lie, who sounded brighter than her boss.

  ‘Have what?’ Mia said.

  ‘Am I speaking to the right person?’ said the voice on the phone. ‘Mia Krüger?’

  She left the phone for a moment, as if she wanted to double-check the business card Mia had left with the curator.

  ‘Yes, that’s me.’ Mia cleared her throat.

  ‘You’re looking for a list of all the schools who have visited us recently?’

  ‘Yes, that’s it,’ Mia said, pulling herself together.

  ‘I have it here in front of me,’ the voice continued. ‘Are you interested in anyone in particular?’

  ‘Hurumlandet Nurseries,’ Mia said, starting to get a grip.

  ‘Ah, you mean Helene,’ the woman chirped.

  ‘Have they visited you?’

  ‘Oh, yes, they come here every year. They’re not like most schools, are they, but she does a great job, and I always enjoy their visits. You know, the young people there, everything they have been through, and what she has achieved. I’m so happy every time she calls.’

  ‘So they’ve been?’

  ‘Oh, yes, every summer,’ Ruth Lie said. ‘Our gardens – well, you’ve been here?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve been there. So when did they last visit?’

  ‘The third of A
ugust,’ the woman on the phone said. ‘Every year. Always early August. Olsen said you were asking about CCTV recordings? It’s about the break-in, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ Mia said. ‘The stolen owls.’

  ‘I’m so glad that someone cares,’ the voice on the phone went on. ‘You know what the police are like. Break-ins and burglaries, it’s almost as if people can get away with anything these days.’

  ‘I do understand,’ Mia said, managing to follow the conversation now. ‘So? What do you have?’

  ‘Footage of everyone who visits the museum. No night-time recordings – our budget won’t stretch to that – but we have footage of everyone who visits during opening hours.’

  ‘Including the group from Hurumlandet?’

  ‘Of course,’ the voice on the phone said. ‘Do you think it might have been one of them?’

  ‘What?’

  There was a pause, as if the voice on the phone still did not quite believe she was speaking to the right person.

  ‘Someone from Helene’s group? Who stole the owls?’

  ‘We don’t know that yet,’ Mia said, pulling herself together again.

  ‘I really hope not, but – who knows? They’re not regular students, are they?’

  ‘No,’ Mia mumbled.

  ‘So do you want me to send it to you?’

  Mia Krüger had a strong urge to just hang up. The real world in her ear. They could all go to hell. She had made up her mind, yet they had talked her into coming back. She had done what she was supposed to. Talked to a therapist, trying to become normal not for her personal benefit, but so that they could use her for their own ends.

  ‘Hello?’ the voice on the phone said again.

  ‘It would be great if you could send it over,’ Mia said. ‘But don’t send it to me. Please would you email it to my colleague, Ludvig Grønlie?’

  ‘Of course,’ Ruth Lie said. ‘Do you have his email address?’

  Mia found Grønlie’s details on her mobile and gave them to the woman on the other end.

  ‘Great. I’ll send it as soon as I’ve spoken to our technician, who has the footage.’

  ‘Good.’ Mia nodded. ‘Thank you so much.’

  ‘Happy to help,’ the voice on the phone said, and disappeared.

  Mia looked at her phone and decided to turn it off. There was no need to have it switched on any more. No need to be in contact with the rest of the world. She was done with it. So done with it.

  Together for ever.

  She pressed her finger against the top of her mobile, intending to keep it there – one final push and it would go black – when it started ringing again.

  She stared at the display.

  Curry.

  Mia pressed ignore, but to no avail; his name reappeared a few seconds later.

  ‘Yes?’ She sighed as she answered her phone.

  ‘Where are you?’ Curry asked. He sounded excited and breathless, almost as if he had run a marathon.

  ‘Åsgårdstrand,’ Mia said absent-mindedly.

  ‘Why weren’t you at the briefing?’

  Mia said nothing. Curry just carried on.

  ‘I’ve just had a call from Sunniva. You have to come in.’

  Mia shook her head. Curry and Sunniva. Trouble in paradise. Mia no longer cared.

  ‘Listen—’ she began, but he refused to shut up.

  ‘No, it’s not what you’re thinking,’ Curry said, as if he could read her mind. ‘She has been calling me for days, only I didn’t pick up, because I …’

  Two crows were sitting in a tree. Mia watched them while Curry’s voice droned on in her ear. They looked peaceful as they sat there. Two birds in a tree in a cemetery. Soon there would be two girls sharing the grave below them. She smiled faintly to herself as the crows took off and flew towards the pale October sun.

  ‘What?’ she exclaimed, as Curry’s news slowly sank in.

  ‘I know,’ Curry enthused. ‘Sounds insane, doesn’t it, but I believe her, there’s no reason for her to lie. I know her, she would never—’

  ‘Tell me again,’ Mia interrupted him, feeling herself slowly wake up.

  ‘A vicar, a patient at the hospice, who knew them when they were little,’ Curry panted, far away. ‘Helene Eriksen. She has a brother.’

  He was rambling now. He could barely get the words out in the right order.

  ‘He wanted to confess his sins. He’s dying, I think. Something about him not going to Heaven unless he put things right.’

  ‘Helene Eriksen has a brother who is dying?’

  ‘No, not him, the vicar. Listen, why don’t you just come over? They’re waiting for us upstairs, and I don’t want to meet her on my own, you know … Something about a sect in Australia. And him taking money. He wants to atone for his sins.’

  ‘Curry,’ Mia said, trying to calm her colleague down, but he refused to be placated.

  ‘He came home sick.’

  ‘The vicar?’

  ‘No, the brother. Sick in the head.’

  ‘Curry.’

  ‘They’re waiting for us now, they’ve asked us to come—’

  ‘Curry,’ Mia said, sternly now, and finally managed to shut the bulldog up.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Haven’t we had enough of this by now?’

  ‘What?’ Curry was confused.

  ‘Random people confessing to killing her?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Mia heaved a sigh. She regretted taking the call. Not turning off her mobile.

  ‘Fuglesang with his bicycle helmet. God knows how many others have called. I don’t know why, but, in cases like these, some people are overcome with an urge to confess their sins. You know that, don’t you? And this time – who did you say he was? A vicar on his deathbed? I mean, give me a—’

  ‘He knew stuff,’ Curry went on, but Mia could feel she was already drifting away again.

  No. Enough. No more.

  ‘I believe they were given money,’ Curry said, refusing to give up. ‘When they came home. Some form of compensation. Helene Eriksen opened the Nurseries. And her brother bought a grocery shop when he had recovered.’

  Mia was only half listening. The crows had disappeared, and the cemetery lay completely silent around her.

  ‘Talk to Munch.’ She sighed.

  ‘He’s in a bloody awful mood. Have the two of you had a row?’

  ‘Listen, Curry,’ Mia began, but she did not have the energy to go on.

  ‘It sounds legit,’ Curry said, refusing to back down. ‘Sunniva called and talked for ten minutes without a break. I mean, the fact that she even called me …’

  Something else popped up in her head as Curry continued rambling into her ear.

  ‘What did you say?’ Mia said, now fully engaged.

  ‘That we have to check it out—’

  ‘No, not that. Helene Eriksen. She has a brother?’

  ‘Yes, he runs a shop in the area, but I …’

  Jim Fuglesang.

  ‘I mean, why else would she call me, you know she doesn’t want to talk to me, so …’

  The white van in the yard.

  ‘Anyway, it’s worth checking out this vicar. I mean, it’s not as if we have a lot else to …’

  His eyes over the beard.

  In the middle of nowhere.

  Delivering groceries.

  Outside the cottage which had given her the creeps.

  ‘Find Munch,’ she said quickly, and started running down the gravel path.

  The logo on the side of the van.

  Hurumlandet Supermarket.

  ‘Eh?’ Curry said.

  ‘Get hold of Holger. Tell him to meet us there.’

  ‘You think there might be something in it?’

  Mia fumbled for her keys in her pocket. ‘Where does she work?’

  ‘St Helena’s Hospice, it’s a private hospital up at—’

  ‘Text me the address,’ Mia said, getting into the car.

  ‘Wh
at do you mean? Are you coming in?’

  ‘I’m on my way. Get hold of Munch. Now.’

  Mia rang off, stuck the key in the ignition and heard the wheels spin on the gravel as she stamped on the accelerator and saw the cemetery disappear in her rear-view mirror.

  Chapter 63

  Isabella Jung sat in her bedroom with butterflies in her tummy. It was not yet time, but it soon would be. Soon it would happen. She had dressed up. She was not wearing her ripped jeans; today, she was wearing a dress, she had put on make-up, spent hours in front of the mirror – not that it mattered, perhaps, how she looked, but, she had decided to dress up all the same. Do her hair. She smiled as she twirled around.

  Please would you meet me? In secret.

  Just you and me?

  Four o’clock behind the hideout.

  Are you my chosen one?

  The fifteen-year-old girl could barely believe her luck. It was almost like a dream, all of it. All these years. First in Hammerfest with her mum. Then with all these strange families where she did not belong. The tiny voice at the back of her head that kept saying to her:

  One day.

  One fine day, Isabella.

  Everything will turn out all right.

  Only it had not seemed like it. She had been angry with the voice many times. It had lied to her, tricked her, said things to make her feel better, and she had almost given up hope at the eating-disorder clinic in Ullevål, when she had found the knife in the kitchen and cut into her head. Afterwards they had called her crazy, but she was not, she had only tried to cut it out, make it go away. This stupid voice that had promised her so much but only ever lied to her and deceived her, and yet it had turned out to be truthful after all. She had apologized to it, the voice, some days after arriving at Hurumlandet Nurseries. Because it had been right. Not immediately, but over time. The peace and the security. Her very own room. The flowers. Helene, who made her feel good about herself. As if she were worth something. She had apologized many times in her bed at night.

  Sorry, you were right.

  And the voice had forgiven her.

  Never mind, and it’s going to get even better for you.

  And now she realized what it had meant. She got up and admired herself in the mirror once more. Smiled at herself and ran her hands across the white dress.