by Samuel Bjork
‘I don’t know how to tell you this,’ the man went on. ‘The whole business is really very unpleasant. Someone has deleted your sister’s name.’
‘Deleted it? What do you mean?’
‘With a can of spray paint. At first we thought it was just ordinary vandalism, it does happen, with these out-of-control teenagers we have here, but we soon noticed that this was different, what made it so odd.’
Mia glanced around for Munch, but she couldn’t see him anywhere.
‘What do you mean, different?’
‘Now it says your name instead.’
‘What?’
‘Someone has painted over Sigrid’s name and written yours instead.’
A wave of unease washed over Mia Krüger just as she saw Munch reappear from around the corner of the building. He gestured to her that they were going back to the car.
‘Would it possible for you to come up here?’ the verger asked.
Munch tapped his watch and waved irritably to her on his way to the Audi.
‘I’ll try to get there as soon as I can,’ Mia said, and ended the call.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Munch shouted out to her. ‘This place seems deserted. We have to issue descriptions of both Lukas and this pastor.’
‘Pardon?’ Mia responded, distracted.
Someone had been to Sigrid’s grave.
‘We have to issue a description,’ Munch said again, getting angrier. ‘We have to find these idiots and bring them in for questioning.’
Munch started the car and drove down Bogerudveien. Mia was contemplating telling Munch about the conversation she had just had when his mobile rang. The conversation lasted less than ten seconds. When he rang off, his face was, if possible, even whiter than it had been a moment ago.
‘What is it?’ Mia asked anxiously.
Munch was almost incapable of speech now. He could barely squeeze out the words between his lips.
‘It was the care home. My mother has suddenly taken a turn for the worse. I have to go there straight away.’
‘Oh, God!’ Mia exclaimed.
‘I’ll drop you off in the centre of town. You sort out the wanted notice.’
‘Of course.’ Mia nodded.
She searched for some way to show her sympathy, but found none.
Munch switched on the flashing blue light, hit the accelerator and sped towards the centre of Oslo.
5
Chapter 64
Emilie Isaksen was driving along Ringvollveien. She was new to this area, she had lived in Hønefoss less than twelve months, and it suddenly struck her that it might have been quicker to take Hadelandsveien and then go up the old Ringvollvei to reach her destination. Emilie Isaksen taught Norwegian and several of her pupils lived around here, a few kilometres outside the town centre. She shifted down to second gear and turned off on to Gjermundboveien.
Emilie Isaksen had known that she wanted to be a teacher from the moment she started sixth-form college. She had found work straight after completing her teacher training, and she had enjoyed her job from day one. Several of the teachers at the school had given her advice when she had first started, and they had meant well. How important it was to look after yourself, not take your work home with you, don’t get too close to the pupils, but that was not the way Emilie did things. And that explained why she was in her car now.
Tobias Iversen.
She had noticed him from the first lesson, a good-looking, gangly boy with alert eyes. But something was wrong. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. He was well liked, so popularity was not the issue. She had not grasped the problem initially, but it had come to her in time. His mother never came to Parents’ Evenings. Neither did his stepfather. They did not reply to letters. They did not answer their phone. She was, quite simply, unable to contact them. And then she had started noticing the bruises. To his face. His hands. She didn’t teach PE, so she had not seen his body, but she suspected that he was bruised all over. She had had a quick word with his PE teacher, but he was the old-fashioned type. Kids fall down and they get hurt. Especially unruly boys in Year Seven – what was she implying? She had tried questioning Tobias tactfully. Was he all right? How were things at home? Tobias had refused to open up, but she had seen it in his eyes. Something wasn’t right. There might be teachers who were prepared to overlook something like this, who didn’t want to get involved, the sanctity of the home, and all that, but Emilie Isaksen was not one of them.
Tobias hadn’t been at school for a week. She had tried calling his home, but there had been no reply. She had asked around, discreetly, and discovered that his younger brother hadn’t been to school either. She had spoken to the school counsellor, without mentioning any names, but asking for guidance. What was the policy? What action should she take? She had been given rather vague messages; no one had wanted to tell her exactly what to do unless she had proof. You had to tread carefully. Emilie Isaksen had heard it all before, but she refused to let herself be put off. What harm could a visit do? She just wanted to drop off some homework. Have a quick chat with his mother. Perhaps arrange a meeting with his parents? There was no reason why that meeting couldn’t take place in Tobias’s home if his mother found it difficult to leave the house. Unorthodox, perhaps, but she had made up her mind that it was worth the risk. She was going to be polite. She wasn’t going to accuse anyone of anything. She was only trying to help. It would be fine. Perhaps they had gone away on holiday without asking the school if they could take the boys out. Perhaps both boys were ill; there had been a spring bug going round the school, both among pupils and teachers. There could be so many reasons.
She drove up the old Ringvollvei until she found the address. ‘Address’ might be an exaggeration: it was a lane which led deeper into the forest. A postbox at the bottom of the road said ‘Iversen & Frank’. She decided to leave her car there and walk the last stretch up to the house. The house was red and small, and surrounded by other, smaller buildings. A long time ago it might have been a nice little cottage; now, it was more of a junkyard. There were several rusting cars sitting about and piles of what she would call rubbish in various places. She walked up to the front door and knocked. There was no reply. She knocked again and heard a noise from the other side. The door opened and a small, filthy face appeared.
‘Hello?’ the little boy said.
‘Hi,’ Emilie said, bending down so as not to tower over him. ‘Are you Torben?’
The little boy nodded. He had jam smeared around his mouth and his hands were grubby.
‘My name is Emilie. I’m Tobias’s teacher – perhaps you’ve heard about me?’
The boy nodded again.
‘He likes you,’ Torben said, scratching his head.
‘That’s nice. I’m looking for Tobias. Is he at home?’
‘No,’ the little boy said.
‘Is your mother or your stepfather at home?’
‘No,’ the little boy said again.
She could hear that he was almost on the verge of tears.
‘So are you at home alone?’
The boy nodded.
‘There’s no more food,’ he said sadly.
‘How long have you been at home alone?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘How many nights has it been? How many times did it get dark?’
The little boy thought about it.
‘Six or seven,’ he said.
Emilie Isaksen could feel herself getting angry, but she decided not to show it.
‘Have you any idea where Tobias might be?’
The little boy nodded.
‘He’s with the Christian girls.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘Up in the woods, by Litjønna. That’s where we hunt bison. I’m really good at it.’
‘I’m sure you are. I bet that’s fun. How do you that’s where he is?’
‘He wrote me a note and left it in our secret hiding place.’
‘You h
ave a secret hiding place?’
The boy smiled faintly.
‘Yes, we’re the only ones who know about it.’
‘How exciting. Please can I see the note?’
‘Yes. Would you like to come in?’
Emilie considered her options. Technically, she wasn’t allowed. She couldn’t enter someone’s home without permission. She glanced around. There was no sign of the adults anywhere. The little boy had been at home alone for almost one week and there was no food in the house. Surely that was reasonable cause.
‘Yes, please.’ Emilie Isaksen smiled and followed the little boy into the house.
Chapter 65
Holger Munch was standing outside his mother’s room at Høvikveien Care Home, struggling to get his thoughts in order. Too much had happened recently, far too much. The threat against Marion. His daughter and granddaughter being forced to hide out in a safe flat. They had found Malin Stoltz. They had lost Malin Stoltz. Mikkelson had called him countless times, and Munch had yet to call him back. He sat down on a chair and stretched his legs. He caught a whiff of something unpleasant and realized to his horror that the smell was coming from him. He had dozed a couple of hours in his office chair and hadn’t had time to change his clothing. He rubbed his face and fought to keep his eyes open. Thank God he could afford for his mother to live in a place like this. They had a doctor on call, so his mother hadn’t even had to leave her room. She was fine. Fortunately, it had turned out not to be as serious as it first seemed.
Fortunately.
Holger Munch found his mobile and called Miriam, but for some reason there was no reply. He shook his head and tried again, only to get the same result. Typical. Stubborn girl. He had promised her to bring them more food, fresh clothes, more toys for Marion, and now he was stuck here. He sent her a text message asking her to call him and put his phone back in the pocket of his duffel coat. The corridor was warm. He found their air stuffy. He ought to take off his jacket, but he really didn’t smell very good. He got up and went to one of the lavatories. Stuck his mouth under the tap and drank some water. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and didn’t like what he saw. He looked dreadful. Malin Stoltz’s flat had been filled with mirrors from floor to ceiling. He had never seen anything like it. Who lived like that? He had struggled to stay in it for five minutes. Malin. Miriam. Marion. Mikkelson. Munch. So many Ms. He tried for a moment to be Mia. Nothing but Ms. Was it significant? He returned to the corridor and sat down again. Nothing but Ms? Nonsense. Perhaps Mikkelson was right after all? Perhaps he should step aside? Let someone else take over. His head was no longer working as it should. He hated to admit it, but she really had them over a barrel. Malin Stoltz. If that was her real name. She had hit them at their most vulnerable point – their private life – rattled them. Rattled him. He was no longer thinking clearly. He couldn’t tell the difference between emotion and reason. He was tempted to go outside for a cigarette but opted for a Fisherman’s Friend instead. Four girls dead and his family in hiding. At least they had a suspect now. And no more girls had disappeared, that was something. It’ll be over soon, he thought, leaning back in the chair. We’ll find her and then it will be over. He wasn’t aware of it, but his eyelids were closing. He realized it only when the door opened and the on-call doctor appeared together with Karen, who had alerted him.
Munch quickly got up.
‘How is she?’
‘She’s fine,’ the doctor said. ‘And I mean that: I found no signs of anything wrong, she must just have been a little tired. Perhaps she got up too quickly from her bed – it could be so many things – but there’s really nothing to worry about. She’s quite all right.’
Munch breathed a sigh of relief.
‘Can I see her?’
‘I’ve given her something to make her sleep, so it’s best that she rests. Perhaps this afternoon.’
‘Thank you.’ Munch nodded, shaking the doctor’s hand.
‘And who else?’ the doctor said, now addressing Karen.
‘Torkel Binde,’ Karen said. ‘He has been complaining about his medication. His room is at the far end of this corridor. Let me show you the way.’
Karen smiled tenderly at Munch and followed the doctor down the corridor. Munch got up and went outside. He lit a cigarette and called Gabriel Mørk.
‘Yes?’
‘It’s Holger.’
‘Where are you?’
‘I’m at the care home, had to deal with a private matter. Where are we?’
‘I’ve found the movie on the laptop that Sarah Kiese brought in. It’s a little damaged, especially the sound, but I have a mate who can fix it. Is it all right if I contact him?’
‘Go ahead,’ Munch said.
‘I’ll call him at once,’ Gabriel said.
Munch ended the call and rang Mia. She didn’t answer her phone. He called her again, but there was still no reply. What is it with these stubborn girls? he thought, and sent her a text message as well.
Call me!
He then rang Ludvig, who did reply.
‘Yes?’
‘Munch here. Can you do me a favour?’
‘Sure.’
‘Please send someone to the flat in Frogner with some things for Miriam and Marion.’
‘Will do. What do they need?’
‘I’ll text you a list – and pick someone you trust, won’t you?’
‘Will do,’ Ludvig replied.
‘Yes, and would you …’
‘Yes?’
For a moment Munch forgot what he was going to say. He rubbed his eyes. He had to get some rest now; this was irresponsible.
‘What do we have on Malin Stoltz?’
‘Still missing, nothing to report. Nothing from Gardermoen Airport, ditto Oslo Central Station. Do you want to call it off?’
Munch remembered what Mia had said. That Stoltz wouldn’t try to escape. That she wanted to go home. A flat full of mirrors. He shuddered. He was loath to admit it, but this particular detail gave him the creeps.
‘Yes, we’ll call it off. Please, would you do it?’
‘OK,’ Ludvig said.
‘Did you circulate a description of the two men from the church?’
‘It’s already gone out,’ Ludvig said.
‘Good.’
Munch ended the call, threw aside his cigarette and was about to light a fresh one when Karen appeared on the steps.
‘Are you all right, Holger?’
The strawberry-blonde woman looked at him anxiously.
‘Hi, Karen. Yes, fine.’
‘I don’t think you look too good. I mean, don’t you think you should get some rest?’
She joined him in the car park. She stood very close to him. He could smell her perfume. He got a strange feeling he couldn’t quite identify until he realized what it was. She cared for him. She was looking after him. It had been a long time since someone had done that. Usually it was he, Holger Munch, who took care of everyone else.
‘Are you busy?’ Karen asked.
‘I’m always busy.’ Munch laughed, and coughed slightly.
‘You couldn’t spare just one hour?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Come on,’ Karen said, grabbing the sleeve of his duffel coat.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Hush,’ Karen said.
She pulled him up the steps, into the care home, down one of the corridors and into an empty room.
‘I haven’t got time for this,’ Munch said, but Karen placed her finger on her lips.
‘Do you see that bed over there?’
She pointed to a freshly made bed below the window. Munch nodded.
‘And that door over there?’
Munch nodded a second time.
‘Then I suggest that you take a shower. Afterwards, you lie down in that bed and get some sleep. I’ll wake you in one hour. No one will disturb you here.’
‘No, I …’
‘To be quite honest, you’
re badly in need of both,’ Karen said, wrinkling her nose. ‘You’ll find towels in the bathroom,’ she added. ‘One hour, OK?’
The lovely carer gave him a hug and left the room with a wink.
A one-hour nap. What harm could it do? Good for his brain. Good for his body. Good for everyone.
Munch sent a quick text to Ludvig with instructions about what Miriam and Marion needed in the flat, passed on the shower and collapsed on the bed still fully dressed, and closed his eyes.
Chapter 66
Marion Munch woke up not knowing where she was. She normally woke up at home, but the last few days had been different and, recently, she had woken up in two strange places. A small flat. And then a big flat. Now she was in another new place.
‘Mum?’ she whispered tentatively, but there was no reply.
She sat up in her bed and looked around. The room was very nice. It was clearly a child’s bedroom; the other places had been just for grown-ups, no toys, nothing belonging to a child anywhere.
‘Mum?’ she called out again as she climbed out of bed and started to explore the room.
The walls were white, bright white, so white that she almost had to shield her eyes with her hand, and there were no windows in the room. Marion felt a little sorry for the girl who must live here: no windows – what a silly idea. From her bedroom window in Sagene, she could see all sorts of nice things. Cars and people, and so on. The girl who lived here couldn’t see anything at all. The strange thing was there was no door in this bedroom either.
There was a desk in one corner. With a lamp. And a pad of paper and some pens and crayons. Her mother had promised her a desk like it now that she was starting school, and that was soon, it was in Ö well, it was soon anyway. On one wall there were small posters with letters of the alphabet. One had an A and a picture of an apple. Another had a B and a picture of a banana. She could not remember the next letter … oh yes, C. She remembered it now and she recognized the drink on the picture, the one her mother disapproved of but which her Grandad let her have, Cola. She couldn’t read yet, but she recognized a few words. Cat. Ball. Car. Her mother had taught her a song about it, the ABC song; it was quite good and it taught you the letters. The alphabet. She knew it was called that. Her mother had always stressed the importance of learning to read, and she did want to, but then she wondered what her teacher would say if she started school already knowing how to read, because then the teacher would have nothing to teach her, and perhaps she might be bored? So she might as well wait, mightn’t she? She could swim. Not everybody could. And she could ride her bicycle almost without her stabilizers. She was the only one she knew who could do that. And she couldn’t be expected to learn everything at once, now could she?
