by Samuel Bjork
She smiled to her reflection.
How nice you look, Karoline.
You’re doing really well, Karoline.
New coat, Karoline? It suits you.
He had given her homework.
You need to learn to love yourself.
Oslo?
The capital.
She had wanted to go there for so long.
See the royal palace. Parliament. Karl Johans gate. The National Theatre. The statues in Frogner Park. And, last but not least, the Opera.
She took a deep breath and forced herself to walk the last few steps. She moved one foot. And then another. She was inside now. She was in the departure hall. She felt a little giddy, but she didn’t stop. You’ll be fine, Karoline. You’re nearly there. Check-in is just over there. A blue screen. SK4111. SAS. Destination Oslo. Departing 12.35.
I’m coming, Vivian.
Mummy is coming to watch you dance!
Chapter 3
Holger Munch felt like an idiot as he stood by the window in his small flat, lighting his fourth cigarette of the day. Spring was coming to Oslo and the trees around Bislett Stadium had started to turn green, but that was the only thing that made him feel slightly better. It had been a difficult winter. No, it had been a great winter, and that was the very reason he now felt like such a fool. He had been on compassionate leave. Miriam, his daughter, had been badly injured. He had taken time off work to help her recover. The tragedy had brought his family close again. It was over ten years since he had moved out of the family home in Røa, but during the winter it was as if their past unhappiness had been forgotten, almost as if his divorce from Marianne hadn’t happened. To begin with, Miriam had been in hospital, but as she started to improve they had moved her home to Røa. And he had followed suit. His ex-wife’s new husband, Rolf, had moved out to make room for Miriam, and Munch had seized the opportunity to take his place. Soon it was almost like the old days. But he should have known that it couldn’t last. What an idiot he had been. Dinners around the expensive dining table. The one he and Marianne had bought a long time ago when he was made a homicide investigator and they had finally had a little extra spending money. Friday evenings in front of the TV, like a normal family. He and Marianne together on the sofa with their granddaughter, Marion, between them. They had come so close to losing Miriam and he should have known that was why Marianne had behaved like this. As if it were the old days. As if they were back together.
Nor had she blamed him at any point, although he was the reason their daughter had almost lost her life. Or maybe he wasn’t the reason. The special unit had been hunting a twisted killer and Miriam had been his last victim. Or rather, could have been his last victim. Munch took another drag on his cigarette and shook his head at himself. He could feel that he hadn’t yet overcome his fear of losing his daughter. What if …? What if …? But she was recovering. Fortunately. And so he had lulled himself into this fantasy. Him and Marianne. Miriam. And little Marion. He had even started wearing his wedding ring again, like the idiot he was, and he was guessing she had seen it. A few days later she had come outside, where he was smoking.
Listen, Holger, we need to talk …
He had seen it in her eyes.
Rolf is moving back tomorrow …
He had merely nodded. Packed his few belongings and left the house with his tail between his legs – again.
He was a bloody fool.
Acting like a lovestruck teenager.
What had he been thinking?
Holger Munch stubbed out the half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray by the window and was about to light another when his mobile rang.
The name on the display.
He hadn’t seen that one for a long time.
Anette Goli.
The brilliant police lawyer who had kept the special unit going in his absence.
‘Yes? Munch speaking.’
‘Hi, Holger,’ her friendly voice said.
Holger Munch had headed the special unit based in Mariboesgate for just over ten years and during that time he had put together a team of Norway’s most talented investigators. Anette Goli was definitely one of them. Admittedly, there were times when his unit and Oslo police headquarters at Grønland locked horns. Munch liked going his own way and not everybody appreciated that. Mikkelson, his boss, was one of those people. Munch was convinced that, if it hadn’t been for his team’s impeccable clear-up rate, Mikkelson would have moved them all back to police headquarters so that he could keep an eye on what they were doing. It was all about politics and control, and Anette Goli often acted as the diplomat. The glue that held the two organizations together.
‘How are you doing?’ Goli said. ‘And how is Miriam?’
‘She is doing well,’ Munch replied, reaching for another cigarette. ‘Getting better every day – she’s even started talking again. She slurs her words, but that will improve with time.’
‘Glad to hear it.’ Goli’s voice darkened. ‘I’m sorry if I’m interrupting, but I had to know. I’m also calling to let you know that Mikkelson wants the special unit up and running again. No pressure, of course, and only if you’re ready to come back.’
‘Is it about the girl up in the lake?’
‘Yes. You’ve heard about it?’
Munch had lived in a bubble, a fantasy of his own making, up in Røa, and had tried to keep reality at arm’s length, but this murder had been impossible to avoid. The media had talked of little else. A young woman wearing a ballet costume had been found dead in the shallows of a remote mountain lake.
‘I have,’ Munch said. ‘Do we know who she is?’
‘Vivian Berg, aged twenty-two, a dancer with the Norwegian National Ballet.’
‘Right. So she was local?’
‘She was originally from Bodø but had been living in Oslo, so Mikkelson wants us to handle the investigation.’
‘Had she been reported missing?’ Munch asked, feeling his investigative instincts starting to fire up again.
A young woman in a ballet costume?
In a remote mountain lake?
He knew he had been sticking his head in the sand for a long time and that it was pointless to carry on doing so. He was back in his small flat, alone, his wedding ring safely back in the bathroom cabinet.
‘No, for some reason she hadn’t been.’
‘So how do we know who she is?’
‘Her mother had flown down from Bodø to pay her a surprise visit and found her flat empty.’
‘How awful.’
‘Exactly. So what do you think? Are you ready? Shall we start the engine? Get the special unit back on its feet?’
‘Who is handling the investigation right now?’
‘Kripos, the National Crime Agency, but only for the time being. It’s ours if you’re ready.’
‘Are you at the office right now?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll be there in twenty minutes,’ Munch said, and rang off.
Chapter 4
Mia Krüger was about to tape up the last cardboard box when Skype pinged on her laptop, which was open on the coffee table in front of her. The thirty-three-year-old woman smiled when she saw who was calling her.
Endless Summer.
Six months on a sailboat in the Caribbean.
She picked up her coffee cup from the floor and made herself comfortable on the sofa, tucking her legs underneath her.
‘Hi, Mia, how are you? Booked your plane ticket yet?’
Viktor Vik. An old colleague who had left icy Norway and the police force many years ago to follow his dreams.
‘Booked it yesterday,’ Mia said. ‘I’ll be flying via New York, and then south down to you.’
‘Great.’ The tanned face on the screen smiled. ‘When is your plane due in?’
‘Next Friday. Will you have reached St Thomas by then?’
A dark-skinned waiter appeared behind Viktor and set down a drink with an umbrella in it on the table.
‘N
o, we’re docked in Road Town on Tortola. It’s too busy over there.’
‘On St Thomas?’
‘Yes, it’s a cruise port. And it’s where all the American tourists touch down.’
‘So do you want me to join you on Tortola?’
‘No, no,’ Viktor Vik said, producing a couple of dollar bills from the pocket of his Hawaiian shirt.
The waiter nodded and disappeared from the table. Mia could see a palm tree in the background. A ceiling fan. A closely embracing couple laughing as they walked past; each was carrying a drink, she wore a white bikini, he was bare-chested.
The Caribbean.
She could hardly believe it was true.
‘We’ll pick you up. It’s no bother. Phew, it’s hot today, how about there? Is it still winter in Norway?’
He winked and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.
‘No, it’s starting to look like spring here,’ Mia said, glancing out of the window.
A faint sun cast soft rays over the almost empty living-room floor. April. Spring in Oslo. 13°C. The dense darkness that had lain over the capital all winter had finally gone, but the weak sunshine was nothing compared to what was awaiting her.
The Virgin Islands.
‘It’s summer here all year round.’ Viktor Vik smiled and took a sip of his drink. ‘I’m really pleased that we managed to organize this, Mia. It’ll be great to see you again. Will you give me a call when you’re boarding your plane, so that I know you’re on your way?’
‘Definitely. I think I’m due to land on St Thomas about one o’clock on Friday afternoon.’
‘Yes, that sounds like the morning plane from New York,’ Viktor said. ‘I’ll let you know if we end up having to dock elsewhere, OK?’
‘Sounds great.’
‘Endless Summer awaits you.’ Viktor Vik smiled again and raised his drink one last time before hitting a key on the keyboard and disappearing.
Mia Krüger switched off the screen and felt giddy with joy.
Six months on a boat.
Why hadn’t she thought of this before?
Her father at home in the kitchen in Åsgårdstrand, bent over boat magazines, to which he was a keen subscriber.
‘Would you take a look at this, Mia, a J-Class Endeavour? Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?’
She had been eight years old. One of the few times she had had him all to herself. Sigrid, her twin sister, had been out doing some activity or other. Ballet. Choir. Horse-riding. They had been so different: Sigrid always active, Mia more reticent, not so comfortable performing. Two girls born at the same time, a lifelong bond, and yet so different.
I’ll be Sleeping Beauty and you’ll be Snow White.
Why do I always have to be Snow White, Sigrid?
Because you have dark hair and I’m blonde, don’t you get it?
No. I’m an idiot.
An idiot? Don’t ever say that. You’re the smartest person I know, Mia.
Mia Krüger closed her laptop and put her coffee cup back down on the floor.
Don’t think about it any more.
It was in the past.
She taped up the flaps of the cardboard box and found her marker pen. Spent some time deciding what to write but ended up with a simple label.
Photos.
Mia carried the box to the smallest bedroom, where it joined the others. Memories. At last she had had the strength to face up to a painful past. The last box had been the worst. One photo album in particular had been hard to look at. Mia’s album. Her mother had made it just for her. There was a photograph of Mia as a baby in a pram on the cover, alone in a photograph for once, and then several pages followed: Mia and Sigrid on their second birthday. Sigrid and Mia dancing. Daddy has bought a new car! Her childhood in Åsgårdstrand documented in the way only a 1980s photo album could. Colourful but faded memories that had triggered an immediate urge to run to the bathroom and twist the lid off one of the pill jars, to ease the pain. But she hadn’t done so, of course she hadn’t.
Because that, too, was empty.
No more pills.
Every cupboard empty.
No more bottles.
Four months ago it had almost been colder inside her than outside the windows. Alcohol and pills. Numbing herself constantly against a world she couldn’t cope with.
Her twin sister, Sigrid, had died from a heroin overdose more than ten years ago. Their grief-stricken parents had died soon afterwards.
Last year Mia had moved to a house on the Trøndelag coast and decided to join them.
To take her own life.
Come, Mia, come.
Sigrid in a white dress, running through a field of yellow wheat, beckoning her to follow.
What an idiot she had been.
She was still ashamed when she thought of it.
Mia took a last look at the cardboard boxes, closed the door behind her and returned to the living room.
A new life.
Six months on a boat.
She smiled to herself again, put the empty coffee cup on the kitchen counter and was about to take a shower when someone rang the doorbell. She went out into the hall and saw a familiar face through the spy-hole. Her neighbour Alexander, a young man in his late twenties, in the company of a blonde girl she guessed must be his sister.
Have you thought about renting out your flat?
While you’re away?
She’s been having a bit of a hard time …
Mia Krüger had considered selling her flat and turning her back on Oslo, but she had always had a soft spot for people in need of help. In that respect, they had also been very different, she and Sigrid. Sigrid had always been much tougher; Mia always sensitive to her surroundings. At times, she felt almost transparent. A police officer. Obviously not a brilliant choice of profession for someone like her. There were times when the evil all around her nearly broke her. She had originally planned to study literature. Ever since she was little, she had escaped into the world of fiction, a sanctuary from all the strong impressions around her. And she had tried – she’d enrolled at Blindern University, attended some lectures but had never sat any exams. It had seemed so pointless. Reading books while Sigrid was homeless and on the street, shooting up in doorways – no, she had to do something practical. So she had applied to the Police Academy almost by chance and, for some strange reason, she had done extremely well there. As though she were born for it. Munch had picked her out for the special unit before she had finished the course. She had loved it right from the start. The support of the team. Highly intelligent and skilled people. A sense of contributing to something. Of becoming a shield against all this misery. But it had proved to be a double-edged sword. She was extremely strong and yet also very frail.
That’s what makes you so special, Mia.
That’s why you’re the best I have.
Holger Munch had been almost like a father to her these past ten years and she was eternally grateful to him, but the time had come.
A fresh start.
Six months’ leave.
She felt the joy bubble up inside her again as she opened the door and let in her guests.
Chapter 5
Mia ordered coffee and a Farris mineral water and found a table in a quiet corner of Justisen. A few months ago she would have started off her visit to the pub with a beer and a Jägermeister. That felt like a lifetime away. Now, even the thought of alcohol made her gag. Munch was late, and Mia sat fiddling with the bracelet on her wrist while she waited for him. They had been given one each when they were confirmed. A silver charm bracelet with a heart, an anchor and an initial: M on hers; S on Sigrid’s. They had admired them in the light from the window in their shared bedroom after the celebrations were over, and it had been Sigrid’s suggestion.
How about you have mine and I have yours?
Mia hadn’t been able to take the bracelet off since. The date on her mobile showed 10 April. In eight days it would be the eleventh anniversary
of Sigrid’s overdose. There was a reason for Mia picking this exact date on which to go abroad. She didn’t have the energy to visit her sister’s grave. She feared what it would do to her mental health. She had been clean for four months now. She worked out almost every single day. She had never felt better. Seeing the gravestone might drag her back down into the darkness; she simply didn’t dare risk it.
Sigrid Krüger
Sister, friend and daughter
Born 11 November 1979. Died 18 April 2002.
Much loved. Deeply missed.
She hadn’t been able to put away the bracelet. The photographs and the other things were as much as she could manage.
She took another sip of her mineral water and glanced at the bar, where an old man had just bought himself a nice cold beer. No. Not even tempted. She just didn’t fancy it now.
Munch was half an hour late. He took off his beige duffel coat and gave her a hug before sitting down and placing a file on the table between them.
‘Have you ordered anything to eat?’ he asked, looking towards the bar.
‘No, I’m not hungry.’
Munch summoned a waiter and ordered a prawn sandwich and an apple juice.
‘Listen, Mia,’ he said, leaning towards her. ‘I’ve talked to the boss. Mikkelson completely agrees with me. He’s an idiot. Your suspension is lifted. He made a mistake. We need you back at work. OK?’
Mia smiled faintly.
‘I’m going away next week, Holger.’
‘You’ve made up your mind?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you quite sure?’
Mia nodded.
Munch sighed and scratched his beard.
‘I understand. OK, it goes without saying that I would have loved you to be on board for this, but you deserve a break. I’m not going to put pressure on you. Only I had to ask.’