by Samuel Bjork
‘Understand,’ Mia said, and ended the call.
Holger took another deep drag on his cigarette. His headache had arrived with a vengeance. Some water. He needed fluids. And food. His mobile rang again.
‘Yes, Munch here.’
‘It’s Gabriel Mørk. Is it a bad time?’
‘Depends what it is,’ Munch growled.
‘You know that private job you gave me?’
Munch rubbed his forehead.
‘The code,’ Gabriel continued.
Munch sifted through his memories before the penny dropped. The maths puzzle he had been unable to solve. The one the Swedish girl had sent him on the Net.
‘Did you crack it?’
Munch walked back inside the house. He took care not to contaminate any of the bloodstains or touch anything. The technicians were still at work.
‘I think I understand what it is, but I need more.’
‘What you mean, more?’
‘Do you want to talk about it later?’
Munch walked through to the front of the house, went outside and lit another cigarette. They had moved the police tape further down the street now. Keeping the press at bay for as long as they could. He dreaded reporting the latest developments to Mikkelson. Two dead girls. No suspects. And now another two were missing. There would be hell to pay down at Grønland.
‘I think it’s a Gronsfeld,’ Gabriel said.
‘A what?’
‘A Gronsfeld cipher. A code language. It’s a deviant of Vigenère, but it uses numbers rather than letters. However, I need more. Did you get anything else?’
Munch struggled to concentrate.
‘More? I’m not sure. What would that be?’
‘Letters and numbers. The way Gronsfeld works is that both parties, both the sender and the recipient, possess the same combination of letters and numbers. It makes it impossible for an outsider to crack the code.’
‘I can’t think of anything,’ Munch said, just as Kim walked through the gate. ‘We’ll have to do it later.’
‘OK,’ Gabriel said, and hung up.
‘Anything?’ Munch asked.
Kim shook his head.
‘Most people are out at work at this time, so we’ll do another round in the early evening.’
‘Nothing? Damn, surely somebody must have seen something?’
‘Not so far.’
‘Do it again,’ Munch said.
‘But we’ve just …’
‘I said, do it again.’
The young police officer nodded and walked back out through the gate.
Munch was just about to go back inside the house when Mia called again.
‘Yes?’
He could tell from her voice that they had discovered something.
‘It’s a woman’ was all she said.
‘We have a witness?’
‘A pensioner living right opposite. Trouble sleeping. He looked out of his window, he thinks it was about four o’clock in the morning. Saw someone hanging around a letterbox. So he went outside to check.’
‘Tough pensioner.’
‘Absolutely.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He shouted at her. She ran away.’
‘And he’s quite sure that it was a woman?’
‘He’s a hundred per cent sure. He was only a few metres away from her.’
‘Bloody hell.’
‘I told you so, didn’t I?’ Mia said eagerly. ‘I knew it.’
‘Yes, you told me so. Is he with you now?’
‘We’re bringing him in.’
‘See you at the office in ten minutes?’
‘Sure,’ Mia said, and hung up.
Munch didn’t exactly run, but it wasn’t far short. A woman. He quickly got behind the wheel and drove towards the cordon. There was a sea of flashlights when he passed the huge crowd of journalists and reporters. At least they had something for the vultures.
A woman.
Munch placed the blue flashing light on the roof and drove to the city centre as fast as he could.
3
Chapter 33
Tom-Erik Sørlie, a Norwegian veteran of Afghanistan, was sitting by his living-room window when two police cars pulled up on the road below his house and started putting up barriers. He picked up his binoculars from the coffee table and adjusted the lenses until the officers came into focus. He had listened to the police radio all day, as he always did, and he knew that something had happened. Two little girls had been killed, he believed another two had gone missing and now police had decided to check all the roads going out of Oslo. He adjusted the lenses again. Armed police officers with helmets and machine pistols, Heckler & Koch MP5s – he knew the gun well, had used it many times himself. The armed police officers had finished setting up the checkpoint and were now stopping cars. Fortunately for the drivers, it was early in the day. Most of the traffic was heading into the capital, not out.
He put down the binoculars and turned up the sound of the news. His TV was always on. As was his computer. And the police radio. He liked to keep up. Keep himself informed. It was his way of feeling alive now that he was no longer part of the action.
Lex, his puppy, stirred in its basket before padding over to him. It settled by his feet with its head to one side and its tongue hanging out. The Alsatian wanted to go for a walk. Tom-Erik Sørlie stroked the dog’s head and tried to keep an eye on the screens. A TV2 reporter appeared in front of a camera with a microphone in her hand. A residential development in Skullerud could be seen in the background. Police cordons. A girl had gone missing from there. He had heard the news one hour ago. He got up and grabbed the Alsatian puppy by the collar. Guided it out on the steps, into the garden and attached it to the running line. He did not have the energy to go for a walk now. His head was hurting.
It had grown dark outside before the police took down the barriers in the road. A whole day. Someone in the Department must have written them a blank cheque. He ate his dinner in front of the television. A photofit appeared on the screen. A woman. A witness had seen her in Skullerud. Good luck, Tom-Erik Sørlie thought. It could be anyone. Footage from a press conference. A female public prosecutor. The girls were still missing. No leads. Two murder investigators getting into a car. A bearded man in a beige duffel coat. A woman with long, black hair. Both were sharp-eyed. The man in the duffel coat flapped his hand to make the journalists go away. No comment.
He turned the volume down on the television and got up to make himself a cup of coffee. Was that a noise he heard? Was there someone in the garden? He put on his shoes and went outside. The Alsatian was no longer attached to the running line.
‘Lex?’
He walked around the house to the back garden and had a shock when he saw the apple tree.
Someone had killed his dog and hanged it by its neck from a skipping rope.
Chapter 34
Mia Krüger crossed the road and started walking up Tøyengata. She found a lozenge in her pocket and tried to ignore the newspaper headlines. She passed yet another kiosk which had her life on display. MYSTERY WOMAN: STILL NO LEADS. The photofit of the woman seen by the pensioner was on the front page. There was nothing wrong with the photofit. Just like there was nothing wrong with the witness observation. The only problem was that it could be anyone. Nine hundred phone calls, and that was just on day one. People thought it was their neighbour, their workmate, their niece, someone they had seen queuing for a ferry the day before. The switchboard at Police Headquarters had been jammed; they had had to shut it down, take a break. Rumour had it that waiting time to get through had been up to two hours. HAVE YOU SEEN KAROLINE OR ANDREA? New front pages, big photographs of the girls, blown up as if to mock her. You can’t do your job. This is your responsibility. If those girls die, it’ll be your fault.
And what was all that blood about? Mia Krüger didn’t understand it. It made no sense. It didn’t fit with the other evidence. They had tested the blood; it belonged to ne
ither of the girls. It wasn’t even human. It came from a pig. The killer was taunting them, that was what she was doing. Or he. Mia Krüger was starting to have doubts. Something didn’t add up. With the woman seen in Skullerud. With the photofit. She got the feeling the whole thing was a game. Look how easy it all is for me. I can do whatever I want.
I win. You lose.
Mia tightened her jacket around her and crossed the street again. They had nothing on the white Citro‘n. Nothing from the list of previous offenders. Ludvig and Curry had reviewed the Hønefoss case in detail – one of the offices in Mariboesgate was covered from floor to ceiling with photographs and notes – but, despite their efforts, they hadn’t discovered anything so far. After all, there had been nearly eight hundred and sixty staff members at the hospital where the baby had been taken. Not to mention everyone with easy access: patients, visitors, relatives. It all added up to thousands of potential suspects. Nor had the surveillance cameras picked up anything. There had been no cameras in the maternity unit itself in those days, only near the exit. Mia remembered watching hours of recordings without success. Nothing. Crates of interviews and statements. Doctors, nurses, patients, physiotherapists, social workers, relatives, receptionists, cleaners … she had personally spoken to nearly a hundred people. Everyone had been equally upset. How could it happen? How could someone just walk into a maternity unit and walk out with a baby without being challenged? She remembered how high-ranking officers at Police Headquarters had jumped for joy when the young Swede had ‘confessed’ and then killed himself. They couldn’t shelve the case fast enough. Brush it under the carpet. A blot on the force. It was a question of moving on.
Mia Krüger crossed the street again and entered a courtyard. It was a long time since her last visit, but the place was still there. The green door without a sign, hidden away in an invisible corner of the city. She knocked and waited for someone to open it. They had decided to offer a reward now, the girls’ families and their supporters. Munch and Mia had been against it – it would only increase the number of time wasters, telephone calls, block the lines for people with important information – but after consulting their lawyers they had decided to go ahead with it nevertheless. The police could do nothing to prevent it. Perhaps they might even benefit from it. Maybe the right amount of money would entice someone out from the shadows.
A small hatch opened in the door and a man’s face appeared.
‘Yes?’
‘Mia Krüger,’ Mia said. ‘Is Charlie there?’
The hatch was shut again. A couple of minutes passed, then the man returned. He opened the door for her and let her in. The security guard was new; she hadn’t seen him before. A typical choice for Charlie: a bodybuilder, big with a square body, tattooed biceps bigger than her thighs.
‘He’s down there.’ The man nodded, pointing further down the room.
Charlie Brun was standing behind the bar with a big smile on his face when she appeared. He hadn’t changed. Perhaps a tiny bit older and his eyes a little more weary, but as colourful as always. Heavily made up and wearing a bright-green sequin dress with a feather boa around his neck.
‘Mia Moonbeam.’ Charlie laughed, and came out from behind the bar to give her a hug. ‘It’s been absolutely ages, how the devil are you, girl?’
‘I’m good.’ Mia nodded, and sat down.
There were only a six or seven men in the club, most of them wearing women’s clothing. Leopardskin-print trousers and high heels. White dresses and long silk gloves. At Charlie’s, you could be anyone you wanted to be; no one cared. The lighting was soft. The mood relaxed. A jukebox in the corner played Edith Piaf.
‘You look terrible,’ Charlie Brun said, shaking his head. ‘Do you want a beer?’
‘What, you finally got a licence to serve alcohol?’
‘Tut-tut, girl. We don’t use words like that here.’ Charlie winked at her and pulled her a beer. ‘Do you want a small one or …?’
‘What’s a small one in this place in the daytime?’ Mia smiled, and took a sip of her beer.
‘It’s whatever size you want it to be.’ Charlie winked again and wiped the counter in front of her.
‘Sadly,’ he continued, ‘the place isn’t buzzing as much as it used to. We’re getting old, or least Charlie is.’
He flung the green feather boa around his neck and reached for a bottle on the shelf.
‘How about a Jäger?’
Mia nodded and took off her knitted beanie and leather jacket. It was good to be indoors where it was warm. Hide from the world for a while. She had hung out at Charlie’s back in the days when the investigation into her had been all over the media. Mia had discovered this place by accident and felt at home immediately. No prying eyes. Tranquillity and security, almost a second family. It seemed a very long time ago, in another life. She didn’t recognize any of the men wearing ladies’ clothes sitting in the booths over by the red wall.
Charlie found two glasses and poured them each a Jägermeister.
‘Cheers, darling. Good to see you again.’
‘Likewise.’ Mia smiled.
‘Goes without saying you don’t look a day older,’ Charlie said.
He cupped Mia’s face in his hands and studied it.
‘Those cheekbones, girl. You shouldn’t have been a police officer. You should have been a model. But seriously, how about embracing healthy living, for the sake of your skin? And you are allowed to put on a bit of make-up every now and again, even though you’re a girl. Right, I’ve got it off my chest. Mamma Charlie always tells it like it is.’ Charlie winked and smiled faintly.
‘Thank you.’ Mia smiled, and knocked back her Jägermeister.
It warmed her all the way down her throat.
‘Could we have a bottle of champagne over here, Charlie?’
‘What have I said to you about shouting, Linda?’
Charlie was addressing a man at one of the tables. He was wearing a pink minidress, ankle boots, gloves and a string of pearls. He might be in his forties, but he moved his body and his arms like a fifteen-year-old girl.
‘Oh, come on, Charlie. Be a dear.’
‘This is a respectable establishment, not some Turkish brothel. Do you need fresh glasses?’
‘No, we’ll use the ones we already have,’ giggled the man whose name was Linda.
‘No class.’ Charlie sighed and rolled his eyes.
He fetched a bottle of champagne from the back room and brought it to the table. Opened it with a bang, to the delight of the men-girls, who clapped and cheered.
‘Right,’ Charlie said when he came back. ‘I thought we’d lost you?’
‘Rumours of my demise have been greatly exaggerated,’ Mia said.
‘A bit of rouge, a touch of foundation and I would agree.’ Charlie giggled. ‘Oh, that was naughty of me. What a naughty girl I am!’
Charlie Brun leaned over the counter and gave her a big hug. Mia had to smile. It was a long time since she had been hugged by a bear in women’s clothing. It felt good.
‘Was I being naughty? You look absolutely gorgeous – you do! A million dollars.’
‘That’s quite all right.’ Mia laughed.
‘Two million.’
‘That’s enough, Charlie.’
‘Ten million. Another Jäger?’
Mia nodded.
‘So what’s up,’ Charlie asked when they had both emptied their glasses.
‘I need your help,’ Mia said, and produced a photograph from the inside pocket of her jacket.
She slid the picture across the counter. Charlie put on a pair of glasses and held the photograph close to a candle.
‘Ah, Randi.’ Charlie nodded. ‘I had a feeling you were involved. Tragic story.’
‘Was he one of your customers? Sorry, I mean, was she?’
Charlie took off his glasses and pushed the photograph back across the counter.
‘Yes, Randi used to come here.’ He nodded. ‘From time to time. Sometimes she wo
uld come often, then several months would pass before we saw her again. Roger was one of those who – well, how do I put it? – wasn’t comfortable with who he was. I think he tried really hard not to be Randi, but you know what it’s like, he couldn’t help himself. He had to get very drunk in order to let himself go. Sometimes we had to ask Randi to leave when she started bothering the other guests.’
‘Any idea why?’
‘Why he jumped?’
Mia nodded. Charlie heaved a sigh.
‘No idea. It’s a tough world out there, that’s all I can say. It’s hard enough to be normal. It’s even tougher when society wants you to be one person while your body tells you something else.’
‘No one is more normal than you,’ Mia said, and raised her beer glass from the counter.
Charlie giggled.
‘Me? Christ, I gave all that up thirty years ago, but not everybody is like me, you know. Some are riddled with guilt, shame and a bad conscience. We can get the Internet on our mobiles and send vehicles to Mars but, mentally and emotionally, we still live as we did back in the Dark Ages, but then again, you would know all about that.’
‘Would I?’ Mia said.
‘Yes, because you’re smart, that’s why I like you so much. And pretty – that helps, obviously – but smart: I don’t need to explain everything to you. Why don’t you become prime minister, Mia? Teach this country a thing or two?’
‘Oh, I don’t think that would be a good idea.’
‘You may be right. You’re far too nice.’
Charlie chuckled and poured them each another Jäger.
‘Did she always come here alone?’
‘Who? Randi?’
Mia nodded.
‘Mostly. She bought a female friend a couple of times, but I never spoke to her.’
‘A man?’
‘No, a woman.’
‘What did she look like?’
‘Hard. Straight-backed. Dark hair scraped back in a ponytail. Rather odd eyes.’
‘What do you mean by odd eyes?’
