by Samuel Bjork
‘I must say I was surprised when you called,’ Benjamin said when he had ordered. ‘What is this really about?’
Mia hid a smile: he had said almost the same line in the film she had seen.
‘It’s pure routine,’ Mia said, and took a sip of her water.
‘Fire away,’ Benjamin Bache said.
He raked his hand through his hair and winked at her. He really was a flirt. She made a mental note to tell Susanne to stay well clear of him the next time they saw each other.
‘It’s about your great-grandmother, Veronica Bache.’
‘I see?’ Benjamin said, raising his eyebrows.
‘She was your great-grandmother, wasn’t she? Veronica Bache, Hansteensgate 20. She passed away two years ago?’
‘That’s correct,’ Benjamin said.
‘She was living there when she died?’
‘No, no,’ Benjamin said. ‘She was in a home for many years.’
‘Høvikveien Care Home?’
‘Yes, that’s right. What is this really about?’
‘Who lives at the address Hansteensgate 20?’
‘It’s my flat. I’ve lived there for seven years.’
‘Since your great-grandmother went into care?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you inherit it? Is it in your name?’
‘No, it’s in my father’s name. What’s happened? Why are you asking me this, Mia?’
Again, this first-name business. She was tempted to confide in him, open up. It really was a very effective technique – she would have to try it out sometime.
‘Like I said, it’s just routine,’ Mia said, taking another sip of water. ‘What’s the production you’re doing?’
‘What? Er, Hamlet,’ Benjamin Bache replied. ‘Or, rather, we’re still rehearsing. I’m in a children’s play right now, but I’m also rehearsing an incredibly exciting new project, a young Norwegian dramatist – she’s only twenty-two, hugely talented – a group of us have come together to support her, pro bono, if you know what I mean, raw, underground, edgy.’
‘I understand.’ Mia nodded. ‘Where was her post sent to?’
‘Whose post?’
‘Veronica Bache’s.’
‘What about her post?’
‘I’m asking if her post was sent to the care home or to your address?’
Benjamin Bache seemed perplexed.
‘Eh, most of it went to Høvikveien Care Home. What kind of post do you mean? Some of it was sent to me, but I forwarded it to the care home, or took it with me when I visited her. What kind of post are we talking about?’
Mia took out a piece of paper from her jacket pocket and slipped it across the white tablecloth.
‘Was this her mobile number?’
Benjamin stared at the number and, if possible, looked even more confused.
‘I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about.’
‘This number. Did it use to be hers?’
‘My great-grandmother never owned a mobile phone in her life,’ Benjamin said. ‘She hated them. And why would she want one? All the residents had their own private landline.’
Mia took back the piece of paper and stuffed it in her pocket.
‘Thank you,’ she said, getting up. ‘That was all I needed to know. Thanks for your time.’
‘Was that really all?’ Benjamin Bache said. He seemed almost disappointed.
‘Yes – oh no, there was one more thing,’ Mia said, sitting down again. ‘Who inherited from your great-grandmother?’
‘My father,’ Benjamin said.
‘Was there ever any talk … how do I put this, did she leave any of her money to a church?’
Benjamin Bache fell silent. He stuck a toothpick in his mouth and gazed out of the window.
‘Do I have to answer that?’ he said at length.
‘No, of course you don’t,’ Mia said, patting his hand. ‘It’s just that I’m working on a major case and, well, her name cropped up and I know I shouldn’t tell you this, Benjamin, but …’
She leaned towards him.
‘… we’re so close to cracking this case, and if you were able to help me, perhaps I could solve it as early as tonight.’
‘A major case?’ Benjamin too moved forwards as he whispered this to her.
Mia nodded and placed her finger against her lips. Benjamin nodded back. He sat upright again and pretended, like the accomplished actor he was, that nothing had happened.
‘This will be just between the two of us, OK?’ he said, looking around casually.
‘Absolutely,’ Mia whispered.
Benjamin cleared his throat.
‘My father is a very proud man, so if this were to come out, then …’
‘It’ll stay between you and me.’ Mia winked.
‘We agreed a settlement,’ Benjamin said quickly.
‘What kind of settlement?’
‘She changed her will just before she died.’
‘How much would the church get?’
‘Everything.’ Benjamin coughed.
‘But you managed to put a stop to it?’
He nodded.
‘My father contacted the church. Threatened to sue them. He offered them some money. And that was the end of it.’
‘How much money?’
‘Enough,’ Benjamin mumbled.
Mia studied the actor for a while. He seemed genuine and innocent, but then again, he was an actor, wasn’t he? He could have taken out a mobile-phone contract in Veronica Bache’s name, and hadn’t he just told her that he was rehearsing Hamlet?
Who’s there?
She thought about taking him to the station for a more formal interview but decided it would be better to have him followed. That would soon tell them if Benjamin Bache was who he said he was.
‘Thank you so much,’ Mia said, taking his hand again. ‘You’ve been a great help.’
She got up and zipped up her leather jacket.
‘Was that all? Don’t you want something to eat?’
‘No, but thanks for offering. See you later, Benjamin.’
‘Yes, see you later, Mia.’
Mia put on her beanie and left Theatercaféen with a smile on her lips.
Chapter 45
Tobias Iversen made himself as small as possible as he crept towards the edge of the mound. From this position, he would have a good view of the farm in the forest. He had pitched his tent further back in between some trees where no one could see him and spent the night there. His original plan had been to go home but, since meeting the girl in the grey dress, he simply had to stay. Rakel. That was her name. She had written him a note, asking for his help. That made it more important to stay in the forest than to go home to the dark house where no one ever smiled. Tobias was just thirteen years old, but he felt much older. He had been old for a long time. He had been subjected to things no child should ever experience, but right now it did not matter; out here, he could do what he wanted.
Tobias wormed his way to the edge and raised his binoculars to his eyes. The farmyard was quiet. He didn’t know what time it was, but it had to be early because it wasn’t properly light yet. He could see everything much more clearly now; last night, he had only been able to make out silhouettes. There was no doubt that they were busy with several building projects. There were materials everywhere: different-sized planks, sacks which might contain cement – he could see a cement mixer, a small tractor and a small digger. The farm was made up of seven buildings, all white. There was the main house, a small church with a cross on the top, two greenhouses, and then three smaller houses, plus a shed. Tobias had lain in the same place last night right until it grew too dark to see anything through the binoculars. He had made a small sketch of the area, noting the location of all the buildings, where the field was, the piles of sand, the bigger stacks of timber and the gate. The tall fence, through which they had passed notes, surrounded the whole area and, as far as he could see, there was only one way in. The gate. He
couldn’t see whether it was locked, but it was closed; he could see that much. He had watched a man open it the night before. A car had arrived right before dusk. A large, black car, possibly a Land Rover or a Honda CR. Tobias didn’t know much about cars. He wasn’t terribly interested in them – he preferred mopeds and motorbikes, preferably those with cross-country tyres that could go off road – but he knew a little.
There had been two people in the car and they had been received as if they were the king or the prime minister. A young man with short, blond hair who must be a servant or a guard or something, because he had jumped out of the car first and opened the door for the other man, who was older and had plenty of white hair and carried a kind of stick almost like Gandalf from The Lord of the Rings.
Everyone on the farm had emerged from the buildings and bowed and curtsied in front of the new arrivals, and some had stepped forward and greeted the man with the big, white hair, and then they had all gone inside the large building with the cross at the top. After that, it had grown dark and he hadn’t been able to see much more. The light was on behind the windows, but they were covered with something like glass, only it was not glass, but a sort of material you couldn’t see through; Tobias didn’t know what it was called. Afterwards, he had eaten his sandwiches and heated some soup on the camping stove inside the tent. He had been very careful: he knew you should never use propane inside a tent, but he didn’t want to light it outside in case it gave him away. Besides, he had seen on TV that Børge Ousland, the North Pole explorer, had done it, he had lit his propane stove inside the tent because it was too cold outside, or there had been a polar bear around or something; at any rate, he’d been OK.
At first, he was unable to asleep. He kept thinking about the girl. Rakel. She was so different from the girls in his school. According to Emilie, his Norwegian teacher, being a girl these days wasn’t easy; they had had a discussion in class once because some of the girls had worn skimpy clothes. Emilie had spent a whole lesson discussing neither Norwegian nor books but stuff about girls wearing too much make-up or showing their midriff or wearing too-short skirts. Emilie had said it was important to remember that they were only thirteen years old, but she could understand why they did it, because all the women they admired on TV often wore just a bra and pants and fishnet stockings while they sang. Afterwards, they had agreed some rules about what was allowed and what wasn’t, and things had improved a little, but the girls at school still wore completely different clothes from Rakel.
‘Help me. Please.’
She had looked so frightened. For real. Not like when he and his brother played Indians and were trying to catch bison. The bison didn’t exist and they weren’t real Indians, either. This was real. He was Tobias and she was Rakel. And she was frightened for real, and now he was here to help her. Tobias Iversen stuck a twig in his mouth and chewed it while he scanned the area with his binoculars to see if he had missed anything on the sketch he had made the night before.
Tobias aimed his binoculars at the gate and focused them as sharply as he could. The gate was made from the same material as the fence – wire netting, or whatever it was called – and had a large, hinged gate which opened inwards. It looked as if there was a chain in the middle, and probably also a lock. Tobias set down the binoculars in the heather and unwrapped the packed lunch he had in his jacket. There were two sandwiches left; he had saved them from last night, one with brown cheese and one with salami. He ate the one with brown cheese and drank from his water bottle, which he had refilled from the river. He had to make a plan now, that was important. Firstly, he had to get a clearer idea of the area; he had learned that from a film he had seen about some men who wanted to rob a bank – no, a casino – in Las Vegas. They had lots of maps and blueprints and held lots of meetings where everything was discussed. He already had a map. Now all he needed was a plan.
Tobias was just about to eat his salami sandwich when something happened down on the farm. He grabbed his binoculars. A door was flung open and a figure emerged outside. A girl in a grey dress. His heart leapt underneath his jumper. It was Rakel. She was running as fast as she could, heading for the section of the fence where they had spoken the day before. She tripped on the hem of her dress, fell and got back on her feet. She hoisted up her dress to make it easier, but she still wasn’t very fast. Right behind her, out of the same door, four – no, five men – gave chase. Tobias’s heart pounded in his chest; he could barely keep his binoculars steady in front of his eyes. Rakel turned around, glanced back and stumbled a second time. The men were gaining on her, they weren’t far behind her now, he could see them waving their hands, shouting something. Rakel neared the fence and, finally, she reached it. She started to climb it, but seemed to find it difficult. The holes in the mesh were small and her heavy dress didn’t help. The men approached at speed. One of them reached the fence and managed to grab her foot; they pulled her down while she kicked and screamed, then carried her back to the house between them, and everything fell quiet again.
Tobias felt icy cold. Not on the outside, but underneath his skin. His thoughts ran amok and he started hyperventilating, even though he was lying completely still. What on earth was going on down there? He scrambled to his feet. There was no time to make a plan. Nor was there any time to pack. He raced back to the tent, picked up his knife and the map he had drawn and made his way stealthily down the mound, towards the farm.
Chapter 46
Mia was sitting in Justisen, toying with the idea of ordering a beer, but she ended up getting a Farris. Some minutes later, Holger arrived. He collapsed breathlessly on the chair opposite her.
‘What happened?’ Mia asked.
‘The killer contacted Aftenposten some days ago. He called a journalist called Mikkel Wold. Distorted voice. Gave information about Karoline.’
‘Why didn’t they come to us?’
‘Because they’re a bunch of selfish bastards who only care about selling newspapers.’
Munch was visibly annoyed.
‘So now what?’
‘I’m not sure,’ he fumed. ‘Their lawyer kept stressing that they had done nothing wrong and that we couldn’t charge them with anything.’
‘Surely we can bring them in, if nothing else?’ Mia said.
‘Mikkelson said he’d think about it, but that my interviewing them would probably suffice.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Bloody politicians,’ Munch snarled. ‘Always feathering their own nests.’
He ordered a prawn sandwich and a cola and took off his jacket.
‘So what did you get?’
‘A verbal statement. They’ll send us a written one tomorrow.’
‘Anything useful?’
‘Not really, no,’ Munch said, shaking his head in despair. ‘What did Bache say?’
‘Bingo,’ Mia said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I think you are involved.’
Munch raised his eyebrows.
‘I heard you, what do you mean by it?’
‘I think this is about you.’
Munch’s food came and he took a sip of his cola.
‘It’s a bit difficult to explain. Like I said, I have this hunch,’ Mia continued.
‘Try me,’ Munch said.
‘OK,’ Mia said. ‘The killer points us to Hønefoss and the missing baby. Who was responsible for that investigation?’
‘I was,’ Munch said.
‘Correct.’
‘Hamlet,’ Mia said. ‘What’s Hamlet about?’
‘True love?’ Munch ventured.
‘That’s Romeo and Juliet. Try again, Holger, Hamlet?’
‘You were the one who studied literature, Mia.’
‘Three lectures in two terms and no exam doesn’t make me an expert,’ Mia said.
‘I don’t know Shakespeare very well.’ Munch sighed.
‘OK, never mind. Revenge. Hamlet is about revenge. There’s more to it than that, obviously, but that’s th
e main theme.’
‘Right. Baby disappears. I’m in charge of the investigation. The Swede hangs himself. We shelve the case. The baby is still missing. Presumed dead. The killer tells us the Swede didn’t do it.’
‘Toni J. W. Smith.’
‘Exactly, and points us to Hamlet. So this is about revenge?’
‘Something like that.’
‘But now what? OK, I can follow you some of the way. The baby is missing, yes. I’m responsible, yes. Hamlet, revenge, yes. But why kill ten girls? What does that have to do with me? Surely you can hear it sounds a bit far-fetched, Mia?’
Mia drank her mineral water and thought about it.
‘Benjamin Bache’s great-grandmother.’
‘Veronica Bache, what about her?’
‘She lived at the same care home as your mother. What do you make of that?’
Munch’s eyes widened.
‘Did she? How do you know that?’
‘I discovered it earlier today. Ludvig is cross-referencing all staff members, residents and names associated with the care home with the Hønefoss case as we speak. I don’t think Benjamin Bache is our guy, but we need to remember that a mobile registered to Veronica Bache was used to send those messages. By someone at the care home? Or are we being played? I have to admit that I’m not clear about that right now. I’ve asked Ludvig to look into it.’
‘And?’
‘Nothing yet. And, oh, the care home isn’t the only link between your mother and Veronica Bache.’
‘What more is there?’
‘A church.’
‘Bache was a member of it?’
‘More than that. She was going to leave it all her money.’
‘What?’
‘Do you see it now? Do you understand what I’m saying?’
‘Good job, Mia,’ Munch muttered. ‘This is good.’
He became lost in his own world. Tried to process the information she had given him.
‘Why?’ Mia said.
‘Yes, why?’
‘I don’t know that yet, but there are too many coincidences, wouldn’t you say? What’s the common denominator here, Munch?’
