by Samuel Bjork
‘What kind of guy are we talking about?’
‘A drug runner. Picking up and delivering parcels – you know.’
‘That sounds like it could be the break we’ve been waiting for.’
‘I should say so.’
‘Do we have an address?’
‘Last known address is a hostel down in Grønland. That is, if we’re talking about the same Roger Bakken.’
‘Have we dispatched a team?’
‘Mia and Anette are there now.’
‘I’ll be there in five minutes,’ Holger said, and rang off.
Chapter 23
Mia held the door open for Anette and followed her inside the dark reception area. Over the years, Mia Krüger had seen her fair share of hostels and, like all of them, this one had the familiar oppressive feeling of hopelessness between the walls. Last stop before the final destination. A place you only ended up when nobody wanted you.
‘Hello?’ Anette called out across the counter in the faded lobby, but no one came out.
‘Can’t we just go straight up?’
Mia walked across to a door which appeared to lead upstairs and pushed down the handle; it was locked.
‘I think we have to be buzzed in,’ Anette said, and peered across the reception desk. ‘Doesn’t a place like this usually have an entry phone? Surely they would want to have some control over who is coming and going?’
Mia Krüger looked around. The lobby was sparsely furnished. A small table. Two spindle-back chairs. A dried-out palm in a corner.
‘Hello?’ Anette called out again. ‘This is the police. Is anyone here?’
Finally, a door opened behind the counter and a skinny, elderly man appeared.
‘What do you want?’
‘Police. Violent Crimes Section,’ Mia said, placing her warrant card on the counter.
The man looked at them with scepticism. He glanced at the photograph of Mia while he polished off the sandwich he held in his hand.
‘Aha?’ he said, picking at his teeth with his finger. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘We’re looking for a man called Roger Bakken,’ Anette said.
‘Bakken, hmmm,’ the man said, glancing at a ledger lying in front of him.
‘Roger Bakken,’ Mia said impatiently. ‘Mid-forties, large eagle tattoo on his neck.’
‘Oh, him,’ the skinny man said, now cleaning his teeth with his tongue. ‘I’m afraid you’re too late.’
‘What do you mean?’
The thin man smirked slightly. He seemed almost pleased to put a spoke in their wheels. Clearly not a big fan of the police.
‘Checked out about a month ago.’
‘Checked out?’
‘Dead. All gone. Suicide,’ the thin man said, taking a seat behind the counter.
‘Are you messing with us?’ Mia said irritably. ‘By the way, I assume everything here is in order? Nobody staying here who shouldn’t be? And you don’t allow drugs here, do you?’
The thin man got up again, more smiling and obliging now.
‘No, of course we don’t. He killed himself, jumped from the roof and hit the tarmac. That is, if we’re talking about the same guy.’
‘Roger Bakken. Mid-forties. A tattoo on his neck.’
‘That sounds like our Roger,’ the man nodded. ‘Tragic story, but he wouldn’t be the first one. That’s life. Or it is for these guys.’
‘How did it happen?’ Anette asked.
‘Jumped from the balcony in the lounge on the eighth floor.’
‘You have a balcony? What kind of place is this?’
The thin man gave a shrug.
‘What can we do? Nail the windows shut? People have a right to make decisions about their own lives, even if they don’t belong to the upper echelons of society, don’t you think?’
Mia decided to ignore the sarcasm.
‘Please can we see his room?’
‘Sorry, someone else’s already living there. People queue up to stay here. We have a waiting list of several months.’
‘Did he have any family? Has anyone been to collect his things?’
‘Nope,’ the thin man said. ‘We called the police and someone came to pick up the body. Not many of our residents have a family. Or, if they do, then the family doesn’t want to know about them.’
‘Do you still have his stuff?’
‘It’s in a box in the basement, as far as I know.’
‘Thank you,’ Mia said impatiently.
‘You’re welcome,’ the thin man said.
Mia drummed her fingers on the counter. She had forgotten all of this. What it was like. To be a police officer in the capital. To be back in the world. She missed her house. Her island. The view of the sea.
Come to me, Mia, come.
‘I was thanking you for your help,’ she said at length.
‘You what?’
‘For fetching his stuff and handing it over without us having to waste the whole day.’
The thin man looked surly, but then he nodded and shuffled to the back room.
‘Bollocks,’ Mia muttered under her breath.
‘What’s wrong?’ Anette said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You don’t normally let people like that get to you.’
‘I slept badly,’ Mia said by way of excuse.
At that very moment, the door opened and Holger Munch appeared.
‘What have we got?’ He sounded breathless when he reached the counter.
‘Bad news.’
‘What is it?’
‘Roger Bakken killed himself a month ago.’ Anette heaved a sigh.
‘Before Pauline disappeared?’
Mia nodded.
‘Damn!’ Holger exclaimed.
His mobile rang. He stared at the display for a moment before deciding to answer the call. The thin man reappeared from the back room carrying a box.
‘Here we are. That was all he had.’
He placed the box on the counter in front of them.
‘Does it contain a mobile? Computer?’
The thin man shrugged his shoulders again.
‘Never checked.’
Mia produced a card from her back pocket and put it on the counter.
‘We’ll be taking it with us,’ she said. ‘Call me if you have any questions.’
‘What the hell?’
Anette and Mia turned simultaneously, startled at Holger’s sudden outburst on the phone. He ended the call and turned to them with a grim expression on his face.
‘Is that all?’ he asked, nodding towards the box.
‘Yep.’
‘Who were you talking to? Mia asked curiously.
‘My family solicitor.’
‘Problem?’
‘I have to go to see him now. I’ll meet you at the office.’
Holger Munch slipped his mobile into the pocket of his duffel coat and held the door open for his two colleagues.
Chapter 24
As Lukas rode his bicycle, he felt the lovely spring air on his face. He was in high spirits today; he had risen early, carried out his chores, morning prayer and housework. It was his responsibility to keep the chapel nice and tidy, an important job which he valued. To describe morning prayer as a chore was wrong. Morning prayer was a joy; sometimes, he would even start praying the moment he woke up while he was still in bed, even though he really ought to get dressed and have his breakfast first. But he just couldn’t help himself. It felt so right. Talking to God. For that to be his first activity as soon as he had opened his eyes. He started every prayer by expressing gratitude. He thanked God for taking care of his nearest and dearest. For Pastor Simon. For everyone up in the forest. Occasionally, he wondered if he ought to have included his former families in his thanks but, to be honest, he could no longer remember their faces. His birth family, who had given him up, his foster family, who hadn’t cared about him all that much, he was not angry with any of them – why on earth would he be angry? Forgive
them, Father, they know not what they do. It was a no-brainer as far Lukas was concerned. If he had not grown up the way he had, he would never have ended up at the campsite in Sørlandet, never had the chance to be completely happy in union with God and Pastor Simon. Lukas grinned from ear to ear and trod harder on the pedals. Why would he be dissatisfied with anything? He had no cause. Life was wonderful. Perfect. He chuckled to himself and whispered a short prayer. A thank you. Thank you, God, for the birds in the trees and this fine road. Thank you, God, for spring and all the other seasons. Thank you, God, for making me important, for finding Pastor Simon for me, because I wake up and fall asleep every day with joy in my heart. He said the latter out loud as he felt the warmth and the light course through his blood. A car passed him on Maridalsveien, a little too close, one of those godless wretches with no sense of direction in their lives and always in a hurry. Lukas was nearly knocked off his bike, but he decided not to get upset about it. It was a long time since he had wasted his energy on the heathens. On low-caste people. There was no reason for it. At first, he had felt sorry for them because they were not as lucky as he was, but that had stopped. Everyone was free to choose their own path in life. The key to happiness lies in your own hands; it’s a matter of realizing it, as Pastor Simon always said. It was one of Lukas’s favourite quotes; he could never get enough of listening to the pastor on the pulpit. No one can hurt you unless you let them. You should always do whatever you think you can’t. Grief is a plant that cannot live without being watered; it is up to you to decide whether or not it lives. Lukas smiled to himself again. The pastor had many more sayings like it. He was in direct contact with God, Lukas could bear witness to that himself; it was not nonsense. He had seen it happen several times. He had seen God in the room. Thank you, God, for purifying me. Thank you, God, for the beautiful wildflowers along the road. Thank you, God, for the whisperers. Thank you, God, for the shouters. Thank you, God, for making my life complete.
Lukas got off his bicycle, kicked out the stand and sat down on a rock. They met in various places, and this layby was one of them. Not that they had met many times; this was perhaps the eighth time, was it? The woman came by car. The last time had been some weeks ago. Normally, she would turn up, open the window, hand him the envelope and drive off without saying anything. However, the last time had been different: she had got out of the car, lit a cigarette and chatted to him briefly, not about anything important, just about the weather and things like that. He did not know how old she was – thirty-five or thereabouts – she was always quite well dressed, with ankle boots and a coat or a smart jacket, and she wore bright-red lipstick and had a lovely smile. She had long, dark hair and a straight nose, and she always wore sunglasses, whatever the weather. The woman was clearly not one of the initiated, Lukas had no doubt about that. You could tell from the way she dressed. Lipstick and ankle boots and sunglasses, and even cigarettes. In the Bible, she would have been a whore, but it was exactly as Pastor Simon had said: Sometimes the path to the light goes through silent darkness. He felt that he and the woman balanced each other out, with her on one side, he on the other. Both messengers. Brought together by God, for God. He got up and stretched his arms, kicked a pebble on the ground into the bushes. Hummed a little to himself. He had started doing that recently; he didn’t sing out loud, just quietly to himself, a melodious chant. M-m-m-m-m. He looked up at the sun, which had just come out. Saw a squirrel jump from one tree to another. Thank you, God, for the squirrels and the other animals with which you have blessed us. Lukas would turn twenty-seven this autumn, but inside he felt much younger. It was as if time did not exist. He had no age. God had no age. Time had no beginning and no end. That was for amateurs. People who used watches and telephones, and who were always in such a rush to get ahead. Eternity has already begun. He clearly remembered the first time Pastor Simon had said it; it was the third day of the Sørlandet camp after he had been saved and found God. Eternity has already begun. He carried on humming and looked up at the trees again. A nuthatch was fluffing up its feathers. Further in, he could hear a woodpecker hammering away. Last Saturday, he had seen an owl up at the house in the forest. Lux Domus. Many people did not like owls, they regarded them as birds of ill omen, but Lukas knew better. The weekend had been just as rewarding as he had expected, perhaps even better. Nils had done a good job in the forest. It really had become a paradise.
A car pulled up and stopped a short distance from him. It was not the same car as the last time, but it was her, he recognized her through the windscreen. Her long, dark hair, scraped back into a ponytail, lipstick, but no sunglasses this time. It looked as if she had no intention of getting out of the car today; she simply summoned him, opened the window and stuck out the envelope. She scouted around a little nervously, as if something was wrong. As if she was in a hurry and just wanted to get this over and done with as quickly as possible. Lukas held out his hand for the envelope and, at that moment, she turned to him and glanced at him briefly before turning away again.
Lukas’s heart skipped a beat. Her eyes were two different colours. One was brown. The other blue. Lukas had never seen anything like it in his whole life. He stood frozen, holding the envelope, unable to utter a single word and, for the first time in a very, very long time, he felt a kind of terror creep over him, drops of something dark in his happy blood. The woman with the different coloured eyes closed the window and rejoined the traffic on Maridalsveien; soon she was gone again, just as quickly as she had appeared.
Chapter 25
Mia Krüger hauled the large cardboard box into the office and closed the door behind her. The usually busy offices were quiet: no one was there; she had lost Anette along the way – she had to help her daughter with something and would come back later. Mia had said that there was no need, she was happy to go through the items on her own. Anette had reeked of guilt, like everyone who is torn between the demands of family and work, but Mia had reassured her that it was not a problem. She had promised to call her if she found anything important. The truth was that Mia preferred to work alone. It made thinking easier. Going deep. Seeing the connection. She had nothing against Anette or, indeed, any of her colleagues – they did an excellent job – but every now and again, being surrounded by people got too much for her and her brain refused to work as it should.
Mia carried the box to the incident room and put it on the table. She sat down and stared at the wall. As always, Ludvig had put up pictures from both cases, Post-it notes and arrows, names and questions. Pauline and Johanne. Dresses? Who? At least they knew the answer to that now, even though they had got no further than a cardboard box left behind by a dead man with an eagle tattoo on his neck. She removed the lid and spread out some of the contents on the large table. There was not muchin the box. A few photographs. One showing a dog. A golden retriever. A guy on a fishing trip; his face was not included in the photograph, only the large salmon he held in his hands. A car. Who on earth has a photograph of their car? Mia thought, and delved deeper into the box. Underneath a pile of bills, she found what she was looking for. A laptop and an iPhone. She tried turning on the iPhone. The battery was dead. She searched the box for the charger, but did not find one, nor one for the laptop; when she tried turning it on, it too had run out of power.
Mia was on her way to her office to fetch her own charger when she heard noise from one of the offices further down the corridor. It would appear that not everyone had gone home after all. The new nerd was still there – what was his name again? Gabriel. Gabriel, that was it. Mia was annoyed that her brain still refused to work properly; her diet of pills and alcohol on the island had left its traces: nausea and dizziness, no appetite and jumbled thoughts that refused to straighten out. She walked down the corridor to Gabriel’s office and made up her mind to start exercising again. She used to be in great shape once, but that was a long time ago. She wondered if Chen was still in town. Probably. But he was pissed off with her. Or was she pissed off with him? She couldn’t
remember. She made a mental note. Call Chen. Get back to exercising. Get the blood flowing through her muscles. Get her brain working again.
‘Hello, are you still here?’
Mia popped her head round the door without knocking. The young man with the blond hair jumped.
‘Oh, I didn’t hear you,’ he said apologetically.
Mia thought she detected the hint of a blush in his cheeks.
‘Sorry, my mistake.’ She smiled. ‘I was just wondering if you could help me with something.’
‘Of course.’ Gabriel nodded. ‘Do you mind if I finish connecting these?’
He pointed to some cables lying on the floor.
‘Take all the time you need,’ Mia said.
‘I thought the police were supposed to be experts,’ Gabriel smiled as he crawled under the desk with the cables in his hand. ‘But whoever installed this had no idea what they were doing.’
‘Don’t ask me. I don’t know anything about computers. I’m down in the incident room.’
‘OK, I’ll be with you in a minute.’
Mia stopped by her own office on her way back and picked up the chargers, for both the laptop and the iPhone. Who keeps photographs of their car and their dog? Mia had no photographs at the office. She’d put everything she owned into storage when she moved to Hitra. Paid three years’ rental in advance. She didn’t want to have to think about her personal possessions now. Her photographs, her parents or Sigrid. She pushed the thought aside and continued to the incident room. She connected Roger Bakken’s laptop and phone to the chargers and went out on Munch’s smoking terrace to get a bit of fresh air. The evening twilight was descending over the city and it was growing colder. She pulled her leather jacket around herself more tightly and missed her knitted beanie. Why was she acting like this? Behaving like a spoilt brat? Was she starting to feel sorry for herself? Now? She had never complained a single day in her life. She had a sudden urge for a cigarette. She had never smoked, but it seemed the right thing to do up here. Smoking in order to think, that was what Holger did. And where was he, anyway? She checked her watch: it was two hours since he had gone to see his solicitor. She hoped it was nothing serious; they had enough on their plate as it was.
