by Samuel Bjork
Chapter 12
Tobias Iversen found another branch and began making yet another arrow while he waited for his brother to come back. He liked using the knife. Liked the way the blade sliced its way through the wood, liked how steadily he had to angle the knife between the bark and wood in order not to dent the arrow. Tobias Iversen was good with his hands; it was in art and woodwork lessons where he received the most praise. He was only average in the other subjects, especially in maths, but when it came to his hands, then he was gifted. And in Norwegian, too. Tobias Iversen loved reading. Up until now, he had preferred fantasy and sci-fi, but last autumn they had got a cool, new Norwegian teacher, Emilie, who laughed out loud and had lots of freckles; it was almost as if she were not a teacher but a really nice, grown-up girl whose lessons were incredible fun, so different from their last teacher, who had just … come to think of it, he couldn’t remember anything they had done during those lessons. Emilie had given him a long list of books she thought he ought to read. He had almost finished Lord of the Flies, one of her suggestions, and realized how much he was looking forward to going home so he could carry on reading in bed. Or, at least, the reading in bed part; he wasn’t very keen on being at home. On paper, Tobias Iversen was only thirteen years old, but he was much older inside and he had experienced things that no child should. He often thought of running away, packing what little he owned into his rucksack and heading out into the world, away from the dark house, but it was a pipe dream. Where would he go? He had saved up some money from birthdays and Christmas, but it was not enough to travel anywhere and, besides, he couldn’t abandon his younger brother. Who would look after him, if not Tobias? He tried to think about something else, sliding the blade of the knife smoothly under the bark and smiling contentedly to himself when he managed to slice off a long strip without breaking it.
Torben was keeping him waiting. Tobias glanced into the forest, but did not worry unduly. His younger brother was an inquisitive little boy, he had probably just stumbled across an interesting mushroom or an anthill.
‘Why don’t we shoot the Christian girls?’
Tobias had to laugh. Kids, eh, so innocent; they knew nothing, they would say just about anything that came into their heads. It was the opposite in Tobias’s class or in the school playground, where you had to watch every word and thought in case it didn’t fall in line with the majority. Tobias had seen it happen so many times. It was just like in Lord of the Flies. If you showed weakness, you were marked out as a victim straightaway. Right now, he was worried about PE; he was athletic, fortunately, could run quickly, jump long and high, and his football skills were good. The trouble was his PE kit. A couple of new boys who had moved out here from Oslo had brought with them other ways, more money. It was all Adidas or Nike or Puma or Reebok now, and Tobias had had a few snide comments recently about his crappy shoes and shorts, jogging bottoms and the old T-shirts that did not have the right logo or style. Luckily, there was one thing that mattered more, and that was if girls liked you. If girls liked you, then no one cared about your PE kit or how clever you were or what music you listened to, and girls liked Tobias Iversen. Not just because he was fit, but because he was a really nice guy. Then it didn’t matter that his football boots had only one stripe and the soles had holes in them.
The Christian girls. The rumours had started the moment new people had moved into the old farm near Litjønna which had been empty for a long time. They had done up the place; it looked completely different now, and everyone thought that was highly suspicious. Some of the locals thought the newcomers belonged to Brunstad Christian Church, but that turned out to be wrong; apparently, they used to belong to Brunstad Christian Church, but they had decided that they did not agree with it, so they had started their own religion, or whatever you would call it. Everyone thought they knew something, but no one really knew the full story, only that the children who lived there did not go to school and that it was very Christian and all about God and stuff. Tobias was pleased they had come; he had twigged quite early on that whenever people made comments about his clothes or about poverty in general, all he had to do was turn the conversation round to the Christian girls and, hey presto!, everyone forgot about designer labels. Once, after PE, he had even lied about having seen them, just to shut up the two new boys from Oslo, and it had worked a treat. He had made up a story about the girls wearing strange clothes and having almost dead eyes, and how they had chased him away when they spotted him. It had been a dumb thing to do, obviously, because he didn’t know the Christian girls personally, and had no opinion about them, but what else could he do?
Tobias put down the knife and looked at his watch. His brother had been gone for quite a while now, and he started to worry. Not that they had to get home: they had no curfew, no one noticed whether they were in or out. Tobias could only hope that there would be something in the fridge so that he could give his brother some dinner. He had taught himself most household tasks. He could change bed linen, use the washing machine, pack his brother’s schoolbag; he could manage most things really, except for buying food – he didn’t want to spend his own money on food, he didn’t think that was fair – but most of the time there was something in the kitchen cupboards, instant soup or a bit of bread and jam. They usually managed.
He stuck the arrow into the ground next to the tree stump and got up. If they were to have time to hunt bison up near Rundvann, they would have to get a move on. He liked having his brother in bed by nine o’clock, at least on school days. Both for his brother’s benefit and for his own, they shared the attic room, and he enjoyed the few hours he had to himself by the reading lamp once his brother had fallen asleep.
‘Torben?’ he called out.
Tobias started walking through the forest in the direction in which the arrow and his brother had disappeared. The wind had increased slightly and the leaves rustled around him. He wasn’t scared, he had been out here alone many times, and in stronger winds and worse weather; he loved how nature took over and shook everything around him, but his brother scared easily.
‘Torben? Where are you?’
Once more, he felt bad about the things he had said about the Christian girls. He had lied, invented stories in the boys’ changing room. He decided to go on an expedition soon, like the boys in Lord of the Flies who had no adults around. Sneak out, pack some provisions and his torch, make a trip up to Litjønna. He knew the way. See for himself if it was true what they said about the new farm and the fence and everything else. ‘Exciting and educational’: now he remembered the phrase his former Norwegian teacher had been so fond of; everything they were going to do was always exciting and educational, so they had to sit still and listen, but then it never was, it was never exciting and it couldn’t have been all that educational either, because he couldn’t recall anything from those lessons. Then he remembered something his grandfather had said once when they were out for a drive in the old red Volvo: that not everyone is suited to have children, that some people should never have become parents. It had struck a chord with him: perhaps it was the same with teachers? That some were not suited to it and that explained their sad faces every time they entered the classroom.
His train of thought was interrupted by a rustling in the bushes in front of him. Suddenly, his brother appeared out of nowhere with a strange look on his face and a large wet stain on his trousers.
‘Torben? What’s wrong?’
His brother looked at him with empty eyes.
‘There’s an angel hanging all alone in the forest.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘There’s an angel hanging all alone in the forest.’
Tobias put his arms around his brother and could feel how the little boy continued to tremble.
‘Are you making this up, Torben?’
‘No. She’s in there.’
‘Would you show me, please?’
His brother looked up at him.
‘She doesn’t have any wi
ngs, but she’s definitely an angel.’
‘Show me,’ Tobias said gravely, and nudged his brother in front of him through the spruce.
Chapter 13
Mia Krüger sat on the rock watching the sunset over Hitra for the last time.
The seventeenth of April. One day to go. Tomorrow, she would rejoin Sigrid.
She felt tired. Not tired in the sense that she needed sleep, but tired of everything. Of life. Of humanity. Of everything that had happened. She had found a kind of peace before Holger had shown her the photographs in the folder but, once he had left, it had crept over her again. This vile feeling.
Evil.
She took a swig from the bottle she had brought with her and pulled the knitted beanie further over her ears. It had grown colder now; spring had not come early, after all. It had only tricked everyone into thinking it was coming. Mia was pleased that she had the bottle to warm her up. This was not how she had imagined her last day. She had planned to cram as much as she could into her last twenty-four hours of life. The birds, the trees, the sea, the light. Have a day off from self-medicating so that she could feel things, be aware of herself, one last time. It had not worked out that way. After Holger had left her, her desire for sensory deprivation had only increased. She had drunk more. Taken more pills. Woken up without realizing that she had been asleep. Fallen asleep without realizing she had been awake. She had promised herself not to care too much about the contents of the file. Stupid, obviously – when had she ever been able to distance herself from anything in these cases? Her job. Well, it might be a job for other people, but not for Mia Krüger. Each case affected her far too deeply. They reached right inside her soul, as if it were her own story, as if she were the victim. Kidnapped, raped, beaten with iron bars, burned with cigarettes, killed by a drug overdose, only six years old, hanged from a tree with a skipping rope.
Why wasn’t Pauline Olsen’s name on the schoolbooks?
When everything else had been planned down to the last detail?
Sod it.
She had tried blanking out the image of the little girl hanging from the tree, but she could not get it out of her head. Everything seemed so staged. So theatrical. Almost like a game. A kind of message. But who for? For whoever found her? The police? She had trawled through her memories to discover if the name Toni had cropped up in any case she had been involved with, but had found nothing. This was exactly the kind of thing Mia used to be so brilliant at, but she no longer seemed to be able to function. And yet there was something here, something she could not quite put her finger on, and it irritated her. Mia watched the sun sink into the sea and tried to concentrate. A message? For the police? An old case? A cold case? There were only a few unsolved cases in her career history, thank God. Even so, one or two still troubled her. A rich, elderly lady had been found dead in her flat on Bogstadveien, but they had been unable to prove that it was murder, even though Mia, personally, was fairly sure that one of the daughters was responsible for the old lady’s death. She could not remember the name Toni in connection with that investigation. They had helped Ringerike Police in a missing person’s inquiry some years back. A baby had disappeared from the maternity ward, a Swedish man had claimed responsibility, killed himself, but the baby had never been found. The case had been shelved, even though Mia had fought to keep it active. No Toni in that investigation either, not so far as she could remember. Pauline. Six years. Hang on – wasn’t it six years since that baby disappeared? Mia drained the bottle and let her eyes rest on the horizon while she tried to guide her gaze inwards. Backwards. Six years back. There was something here. She could almost taste it. But it refused to rise to the surface.
Damn.
Mia rummaged around in her trouser pockets for more pills, but found none. She had forgotten to bring more. Her medication was laid out on the dining table now. Everything she had left. Plenty of it. Ready for use. She had imagined waiting until dawn, until the light came. Better to travel in the light, had been her thinking; if I travel in darkness, perhaps I’ll end up in darkness – but right now she didn’t care. All she had to do was wait until the clock passed midnight. When the seventeenth of April became the eighteenth.
Come to me, Mia, come.
It was not the ending she had imagined. She got up and hurled the empty bottle angrily into the sea. She regretted it immediately: she should not litter; this rule had stayed with her since her childhood. The beautiful garden. Her parents. Her grandmother. Instead, she should have written a message and put it in the bottle. Done something beautiful in her last few hours on earth. Helped someone in need. Solved a case. She wanted to go back to the house, but she could not get her legs to move. She stayed where she was, hugging herself, freezing, on the rocks.
Toni J. W. Smith. Toni J. W. Smith. Toni J. W. Smith. Toni J. W. Smith. Pauline. No, not Pauline. Toni J. W. Smith.
Oh, hell.
Mia Krüger suddenly woke up. As did her head, her legs, her arms, her blood, her breathing, her senses.
Toni J. W. Smith.
Of course. Of course. Of course. Oh, dear Lord, why had she not seen this earlier? It was so obvious. As clear as day. Mia ran towards the house – she tripped in the darkness, but got back on her feet – stormed into the living room without closing the door behind her. She continued into the kitchen. She knelt down by the cupboard below the utility sink and started going through the bin. This was where she had tossed it, wasn’t it? The mobile he had left for her.
In case you change your mind.
She found the mobile in the bin and rummaged around for the scrap of paper which had accompanied it. A yellow Post-it note with a pin code and Holger’s number. She went back to the living room, could hardly wait now, turned on the mobile. Entered the code on the small screen with trembling fingers. Of course. Of course. No wonder it didn’t add up. Everything had to add up. And it did. Toni J. W. Smith. Of course. She was an idiot.
Mia rang Holger’s number and waited impatiently for him to pick up. The mobile went to voicemail, but she rang the number again. And again. And again, until she finally heard Holger’s sleepy voice on the other end.
‘Mia?’ Holger yawned.
‘I got it,’ Mia said breathlessly.
‘What have you got? What time is it?’
‘Who cares what time it is? I’ve got it.’
‘What?’
‘Toni J. W. Smith.’
‘Seriously? What is it?’
‘I think that J. W. is short for Joachim Wicklund. The Swedish suspect in the Hønefoss case. Do you remember him?’
‘Of course I do,’ Munch mumbled.
‘As for Toni Smith,’ Mia continued. ‘I think it’s an anagram: It’s not him. Joachim Wicklund didn’t do it. It’s the same perpetrator, Holger. As in the Hønefoss case.’
Munch was silent for a long time. Mia could practically hear the cogs turn in his brain. It was almost too far out to be true, but even so. It had to be an anagram.
‘Don’t you think?’ Mia said.
‘But that’s insane,’ Munch said at length. ‘Worst thing is, I think you might be right. So, are you coming?’
‘Yes,’ Mia replied. ‘But this case only. Then I quit. I have other things to do.’
‘Of course. It’s up to you,’ Munch said.
‘Are we back in Mariboesgate?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll catch the plane tomorrow.’
‘Great. See you there.’
‘You will.’
‘Drive carefully, will you?’
‘I’m always careful, Holger.’
‘You’re never careful, Mia.’
‘Screw you, Holger.’
‘I love you, too, Mia. Good to have you back. See you tomorrow.’
Mia ended the call and stood for a moment, smiling cautiously to herself. Now feeling calm, she walked into the living room and looked at all the pills she had lined up on the dining table.
Come to me, Mia, come.
In
her mind she apologized to her twin sister. Sigrid would have to wait a little longer. Mia Krüger had a job to do first.
2
Chapter 14
Gabriel Mørk felt vaguely twitchy as he waited to be met in Mariboesgate. As far as he knew, Oslo Police had its headquarters in Grønland, so that was where he had expected to go, but it turned out not to be the case. He had received a short text message. Go to Mariboesgate. Will pick you up at 11 a.m. No sender. Nothing. Strange, really. Come to think it, his whole week had been strange – entertaining up to a point, sure – but Gabriel Mørk still didn’t know just what exactly he had signed up for.
A job. He had never had one of those before. Reporting to a boss. Working as part of a team. Joining the real world. Getting up in the morning. Becoming a responsible member of society. Not something this twenty-four-year-old was used to.
Gabriel Mørk liked staying up at night when the rest of the world was asleep. Much easier to think then. With the dark night outside and just the light from the screens glowing in his bedsit. Calling it a bedsit was a slight embellishment. Gabriel Mørk was always reluctant to admit that he was still living at home. Yes, he had his own entrance and his own bathroom, but his mother lived in the same house. It was not very rock ’n’ roll and definitely not something he would bring up on the rare occasions he met new people or bumped into old schoolfriends. Not that it was a problem. He knew several hackers who did the same. Who still lived at home. But even so.
However, his situation was about to change. Completely out of the blue. It was all happening a little too quickly. Or was this what he had been waiting for his whole life? He had met her online only seven months ago, and already she was pregnant. They were looking for a place together and now he was standing in the street having got himself a job working for the police. Gabriel Mørk had never felt that he was very good at anything, except computers – then, few were better than him – but not in other aspects of life. At school he had kept mostly to himself. Blushed whenever a girl had come over to invite him to join in something. During sixth form, he had spent his evenings at home while his classmates had drunk themselves senseless at Tryvann. He had signed up for some computer courses after sixth form, but never attended any lectures. What would be the point of that? He already knew all there was to know.
