by Samuel Bjork
Four o’clock behind the hideout.
Her cheeks were tingling now. She sat down on the bed, only to get straight up again. Two hours to go. Dear God, how would she cope? How slowly the hands moved. Way too slowly. She paced restlessly up and down the floor a couple of times, not knowing what to do with herself.
You’ll be fine, the voice said. It’s only two hours.
Isabella Jung nodded in response, and calmly sat down on her bed again, regretting not listening to it all the time, like she ought to have done.
It would be all right.
Everything would be just fine.
She closed her eyes, and tried imagining what it would be like.
Behind the hideout.
In just a few hours.
The fifteen-year-old rested her head on the pillow, and she smiled as she curled up very carefully so the white dress would not get creased.
Chapter 64
Munch took another deep drag on his cigarette; he was finding it hard to think straight. The headache. The nail going into his brain. He had swallowed painkillers throughout the day, but it refused to shift. Yesterday had been bad enough, with Mia’s performance in the interview room, and Anette Goli, who had been after him about all the rules they had broken, bringing in and keeping Skunk purely on a hunch of Mia’s. He had seen it in Anette’s eyes. The accusations.
He was a crap boss.
He pulled the hood of his duffel coat over his head and lit another cigarette with the tip from the first as he felt another dart of pain to his temple; he was forced to close his eyes and breathe deeply while he waited for it to subside. What the hell was this? He knew he was not the fittest person on the planet, but he had never felt pain like this before. Well, once before, but that was more than fifteen years ago. When he had lost his father. The days leading up to it. An articulated lorry on the other side of the road, and an intoxicated driver. The same nail into his brain, a physical manifestation that something terrible was about to happen. He did not believe in omens, though, obviously.
Munch closed his eyes until the pain began to fade away, and took a fresh drag on his cigarette as Mia emerged from the imposing front door of the grand building. A private hospital for the rich, some of whom clearly thought that there was a world after this one and that they had the right to make up any stories they liked, as long it enabled them to meet their fictitious creator with a clean slate.
‘Are you all right?’ Mia asked, tightening her jacket around her.
‘Eh? Yes, yes.’
Mia had a smile on her lips and could barely stand still. ‘So?’
‘So what?’ Munch grunted. ‘Was he telling the truth?’
There had been no need to ask.
It was clear that Mia, in contrast to Munch, was absolutely convinced that the story they had heard was true.
Mia pulled her woolly hat further down her ears and looked anxiously at him.
‘Are you really OK?’
‘What? Yes, of course.’ The fat investigator nodded, and chucked his cigarette on the ground.
It started to ease off. The pain from the nail in his brain. He found another cigarette, lit it and snapped out of the dark place he had been in his mind. The articulated lorry on the wrong side of the road. The look in Anette Goli’s eyes in the corridor last night.
‘So what are we waiting for?’
‘You really believe him?’
‘Why wouldn’t we?’
‘I don’t want to play devil’s advocate here.’ Munch sighed. ‘But it’s a bit far-fetched, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, Holger, don’t go all negative on me. I thought that was my job?’
Munch took another drag on his cigarette and smiled.
‘A couple visit a vicar in the early 1970s in order to get married. Only they can’t because she already has children, and he’s the heir to a shipping empire, and his father doesn’t want impure blood in the family.’
‘Yes.’ Mia nodded.
‘So they send the children to Australia and get married.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Seriously, Mia? The mother then dies in a mysterious car accident. The vicar is paid off to keep his mouth shut. Years later, the children are brought back, and this millionaire—’
‘Billionaire,’ Mia corrected him. ‘Carl-Sigvard Simonsen.’
‘OK.’ Munch sighed again. ‘This billionaire gives them money as compensation for their suffering? The girl buys a place where she can help other children who have had a rough childhood, just like she has. The boy buys a grocery shop? I mean, pull the other one, Mia!’
‘Why not?’
‘This is just another Fuglesang.’
‘For God’s sake, Holger.’
‘Did you see him? That vicar has practically left this world already. He went to cloud cuckoo land a long time ago. We should drop this. Follow other leads.’
‘Like what?’ Mia demanded.
He could see that she was annoyed with him now.
‘The wig,’ Munch said. ‘This hacker, Skunk. I don’t agree with Anette. I think there might still be something there. The film. It must have come from somewhere. The tattoo. The Animal Liberation Front. This is a dead end, Mia, I mean it.’
‘I’ve seen him,’ Mia said, looking sternly at him.
‘Who?’
‘The brother?’
‘Yes, but …’
‘I met him. Out at Jim Fuglesang’s place.’
‘The bicycle-helmet guy?’
Mia nodded.
‘I thought he was being pumped full of drugs at Dikemark?’
‘Yes, but I went to his house anyway.’
‘When?’
‘Doesn’t matter when,’ Mia snapped. ‘But he was there.’
‘Who?’
Munch threw his cigarette on the ground, and was about to light yet another one when the front door opened and Curry popped his head out.
‘He’s awake again. Singing like a canary. I think you need to hear this.’
Munch looked at Mia. ‘No, let’s call it a day,’ he said.
‘For Christ’s sake,’ Mia said, despairing now.
‘No,’ Munch insisted, taking out his cigarettes again. ‘We’ll work with what we have. Team briefing at six this evening. This is a wild-goose chase.’
‘Come on,’ Curry urged them from the doorway. ‘You’ve got to listen to this.’
‘No,’ Munch said, finding his car keys in his pocket.
‘He says the brother liked dressing up as an owl,’ Curry persisted.
Munch stopped in his tracks and saw Mia look at him.
‘Feathers on his body. I mean, why the hell would he say that if he’s just talking nonsense?’
‘Holger?’ Mia said.
Munch looked at her, put his car keys back in his pocket and quickly followed her up the steps.
Chapter 65
Isabella Jung was glad she had put on a warm jumper, because it was freezing cold behind the hideout. She had put on tights under her dress as well. Not so flattering, perhaps, but autumn had suddenly turned into winter, and shivering as she sat here was not a good look.
Four o’clock behind the hideout.
But it was five now, and there was still no sign of him. She pulled her sleeves over her hands, wishing she had brought a woolly hat. Normally, she didn’t care about such things, how her hair looked, but it had seemed important today, so she had left her hat behind in her bedroom.
One hour late.
Not very nice. Not very gentlemanly. She started to think about her dad to pass the time. She had had an email from him not long ago. He had been to the Mediterranean. She knew what kind of trip it would have been. They would have gone there to drink; they did that sometimes, he and his friends. They’d buy plane tickets to Spain when one of them got their benefits, or won something on the horses, and they would stay down there until they had drunk up all the money. Drinking abroad was cheaper. She had learned that as a child.
&nbs
p; During the short periods she had been allowed to live with him in Fredrikstad, she would often listen to him and his mates through the wall. They rarely argued, they would just sit and chat as they drank; at times they played music, sometimes cards. Occasionally she would hear a glass fall to the floor, or someone stumble in the passage on the way to the loo, but they never bothered her. He had been very careful with that. Anyone who went into Isabella’s room was never allowed back in the house. Every morning she would tidy up, unless someone was sleeping in the living room on the sofa or on the floor; then she would stay in her room, or perhaps go outside and just wander around. But if no one was there, she would tidy up, make it nice for Dad when he woke up. It was important to be a gentleman. They talked a lot about that, through the wall. Open doors for ladies. Be polite. Be on time. Things like that.
This one was not very punctual.
At seven o’clock, she gave up. It was simply too cold. Her ears were bright red and she could barely bend her fingers. She was also starting to get cross. Why would he write that he wanted to meet her in secret and then not turn up? She knew he was at the Nurseries. She had seen him there.
The more she thought about it, the angrier she grew.
She got up from the tree stump where she had been sitting and marched resolutely through the woods. It was pitch black now, and starting to get a bit scary, but she would soon see the light from the yard ahead of her and then she would feel much safer.
She was going to confront him.
Isabella Jung might be only fifteen years old, but she had guts; she was tougher than most boys she had met. No, his behaviour was unacceptable. She would not allow herself to be treated like this.
Isabella had just reached the light from the lamp in the yard when she saw Paulus come running from the main building.
Perfect timing.
The young man with the dark curls was putting on a puffa jacket and heading in her direction.
‘Where were you?’ Isabella demanded to know, stopping him.
‘What?’ Paulus was confused.
‘Why didn’t you turn up?’
‘Eh?’ Paulus shook his head. ‘I don’t have time for this,’ he said, trying to get past her, but she prevented him.
‘What do you think you’re doing, Isabella?’
‘This,’ Isabella said, taking the note from her pocket.
Please would you meet me? In secret.
Just you and me?
Four o’clock behind the hideout.
Are you my chosen one?
‘Why didn’t you turn up? Were you ever going to turn up? Or were you just having me on? Are you that kind of guy?’
‘What?’ Paulus said, looking even more confused.
‘You didn’t write this?’ Isabella said, shoving the note right into his face while grabbing his puffa jacket.
‘No!’ Paulus declared. ‘Absolutely not. What kind of guy do you think I am?’
The truth dawned on her as he stared back at her. It was not from him. She had been set up. She could feel her face grow hot, her cheeks reddening, and she quickly let go of his jacket.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I just—’
‘Listen, I really don’t have time for this,’ Paulus said, looking as if he neither understood nor cared what she was talking about.
‘Has something happened?’ Isabella said.
‘They’ve arrested Helene.’
‘What!’
‘And Henrik, her brother.’
‘What? Why?’
‘For the murder of Camilla Green,’ he stuttered, looking gravely at her.
‘But …’
‘Sorry, I really have to go,’ Paulus muttered, then he rushed off.
Leaving the fifteen-year-old girl all alone in the yard.
Chapter 66
Helene Eriksen was ashen-faced and so nervous that she jumped when Mia and Munch entered the small interview room.
‘He hasn’t done anything. You have to believe me,’ she implored them, and got up from her chair.
‘Hello, Helene,’ Mia said. ‘You should probably sit down again. We’re going to be here for a while.’
‘But I … Please, believe me. Holger?’
The normally confident manager of Hurumlandet Nurseries was a shadow of her former self. She looked almost beseechingly at Munch before slumping back in her chair and covering her face with her hands.
‘It doesn’t look good for either of you,’ Munch said, sitting down next to Mia.
‘Me?’ Helene sounded frightened. ‘But I haven’t done anything.’
‘But you think he might have?’ Mia said.
‘What? No, Henrik hasn’t done anything either. Dear God, he’s as gentle as a lamb, he would never hurt anyone. I don’t care what people have been telling you, you must believe me.’
‘And what have they been telling us?’ Mia said calmly.
She looked at Munch, and down at the tape recorder on the side of the table, but Munch shook his head discreetly.
‘Where is Henrik?’ Helene asked desperately.
‘Your brother is next door, waiting for his lawyer.’
‘He doesn’t need a lawyer,’ Helene said. ‘He hasn’t done anything wrong, I keep telling you.’
‘He definitely needs a lawyer,’ Munch went on coolly. ‘We have advised him to get one because, in a few hours, he’ll be charged with the murder of Camilla Green. He’ll be brought before a judge in order to be remanded in custody overnight.’
Helene looked at Munch again, then swiftly down at the tape recorder, but Munch shook his head again.
‘No, no, no. Please believe me. He hasn’t done anything.’ Helene Eriksen was on the verge of tears now. ‘I don’t care what people might have told you. You have to listen to me, I’m begging you. Besides, he wasn’t at home. He was—’
‘And what do you think people have told us?’ Mia cut her off.
The blonde woman paused, then she continued. ‘The business about the feathers,’ she said in a low voice. ‘People can be so mean. They gossip. Why can’t they just mind their own business. It makes me so mad that—’
‘You could kill someone?’
‘What?’ Helene Eriksen said, looking at Mia. ‘No, of course not. I was just—’
‘Were you there? Or did you just help him cover it up?’ Munch said.
‘What?’
‘After all, he is your brother,’ Mia said. ‘I mean, it’s understandable. You’re very close, aren’t you? After everything you have been through?’
‘No, when did you …?’ Helene Eriksen stuttered. ‘Of course I didn’t help him.’
‘So he acted alone?’
‘No, Henrik hasn’t done anything. Why won’t you listen to me?’
‘But you knew that he – well, how can I put it? – liked dressing up as a bird?’
‘But that was years ago. I hate small towns, nothing but curtain twitchers. Sometimes—’
‘So he has stopped?’
‘Stopped what?’
‘Dressing up as a bird?’ Mia continued.
‘Yes, for God’s sake, I just told you—’
‘How long ago?’
‘Years, I mean, it hasn’t happened since—’
‘So you admit that he liked dressing up as a bird?’ Munch said.
‘Yes, but that was in the past. I just told you.’
Munch was aware that Mia’s eyes were starting to sparkle again.
‘Was this before or after you were brought back from Australia?’
Helene Eriksen grew quiet now, as if she had to travel back in her mind to a time she would rather forget.
‘Not immediately after we came back,’ she said quietly. ‘He needed help, don’t you understand? They had hurt him. It wasn’t his fault. It doesn’t make him a killer. Those psychos down there kept us imprisoned. They made us believe all sorts of things, punished us for the slightest offence. I’m proud of him, I am, let me tell you that.’
Helene Eriksen str
aightened up a little in her chair and, for a moment, they could see something of the woman they had first met at the Nurseries.
‘After everything he has been through, he has done incredibly well. I’m proud of him. Not many people would survive something like that. He’s the best person I know. I would do anything for him.’
‘And indeed, you did,’ Mia said.
‘What?’
‘When did you realize that he had killed Camilla?’ Munch said.
‘What?’ Helene stammered. ‘Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said?’
‘No, Holger,’ Mia said, looking at Munch. ‘That wasn’t the question you were supposed to ask.’
‘Oh?’ Munch said, looking back at Mia Krüger rather than Helene Eriksen.
‘You were supposed to ask when she began suspecting that her brother had done it,’ Mia said.
‘Right, sorry, my mistake.’ Munch smiled, turning to Helene Eriksen again. ‘When did you begin to suspect that Henrik had killed Camilla Green?’
‘I don’t know,’ the blonde woman said, drumming her fingers nervously on the table. ‘Are you asking about the first time, when I thought that perhaps—’
‘When Henrik’s name first came to mind, yes.’ Munch nodded cautiously.
‘It was that picture in the papers, of course. When I saw that the forest floor was covered in feathers,’ Helene Eriksen said tentatively, glancing quickly up at them both. ‘Well, you know. Where Camilla had been lying.’
‘Because he didn’t stop it immediately? I mean, after you came back from Australia?’ Mia said in a friendly voice.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Dressing up as a bird,’ Munch said.
Helene Eriksen glared at them.
‘You don’t recover from something like that overnight. Have you any idea how we were treated? What Henrik was subjected to? They locked him in a beaten-earth cellar. Not just once, several times. We were treated like lab rats. I mean, for God’s sake, I was nearly three years old. Henrik was nearly five. When we were sent there. Do you know what we had to suffer? We thought it was how the world really was, do you understand? Is it any wonder he got ill? That he found a place inside his mind where he could escape?’
‘So he carried on doing it?’ Munch asked.
