by Samuel Bjork
Lukas nodded. “He came right before the service. I asked him to wait in the back garden.”
“Good, Lukas, good. You can tell him to come in now.”
Lukas bowed and went to fetch the visitor.
“Why did you keep me waiting so long? I told you it was important.”
Simon’s brother, Nils, was also a high-ranking member of the church. Lukas had met him for the first time in the tent on Sørlandet, but even though he had been with them just as long, Nils was not quite up there by the pastor’s side. Lukas knew that there had been some arguing and dissenting voices when he had been given the role of second-in-command; many people felt that place belonged to Nils, but, as always, no one challenged the pastor. After all, he was the one who had been entrusted with the key to heaven.
“You know it’s important for the pastor to help the amateurs. He’s ready for you now.”
“Lux domus,” the brother with the short hair muttered.
“Lux domus.” Lukas smiled and showed him the way.
The pastor rose when they entered. His guest bowed and went up to his older brother. Kissed his hand and both cheeks.
“Sit, sit, my brother,” the pastor said, and resumed his seat behind the desk.
Nils glanced briefly at Lukas.
“Would you like me to leave?” Lukas offered immediately.
“No, no, stay.”
The pastor gestured casually to indicate that Lukas should sit down. He was one of the initiated; there was no reason for him to leave the room.
Lukas thought he detected a certain amount of irritation from Nils at the decision, but he said nothing.
“How are you all up there?” the pastor asked when the three of them were seated.
“All is well,” his brother replied.
“And the fence?”
“More than halfway finished.”
“Will it be as high as we discussed?”
“Yes.” His brother nodded.
“So what’s the reason you’re no longer up there?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why are you here when you have work to do there?”
Nils glanced at Lukas again. He appeared to have something on his mind but did not dare say it while Lukas was in the room.
“The flock nearly lost a member,” he muttered at length with his head bowed; it looked as if he were ashamed.
“What do you mean, lost a member?”
“We had an accident with one of the younger members.”
“What do you mean by an accident?”
“Just an accident. A mistake. It has been taken care of.”
“Who was it?”
“Rakel.”
“Rakel the good one? My Rakel?”
The brother acknowledged this, his neck bowed even more. “She disappeared from us one night. But she’s back now.”
“So everything is all right?”
“Yes, everything is all right.”
“So I ask you again, my brother, why are you down here when you have work to do up there?”
Nils looked up at the pastor, his big brother. Even though Nils was a man well past fifty, he seemed almost like a little boy who had just been told off by his father. “You asked me to keep you updated.”
“As long as everything is all right, then everything is all right, is it not?”
Nils nodded obediently. “It might have been easier if we’d had a telephone,” he said tentatively after a small pause.
The pastor leaned back in his chair and pressed his fingertips together. “Do you have any other suggestions? Any other opinions? Are you dissatisfied with what God has given you?”
“No, no . . . that’s not what I . . . I just wanted . . .”
Nils struggled to find the words, and his face grew red. The pastor shook his head briefly, and a strange silence spread across the room. It was not awkward for Lukas—he was always on the pastor’s side—but it was uncomfortable for the brother, and he deserved it. How dare he question the pastor’s orders? The brother stood, still keeping his eyes on the floor.
“You’ll be coming up on Saturday?”
“We’ll be there on Saturday.”
“Good. See you then.” The pastor’s brother dipped his head and left the room.
“Lux domus,” Lukas said when only he and the pastor were left. That was how he liked it best, just the two of them.
The pastor smiled and looked at him. “Do you think we have done the right thing?”
“Absolutely,” Lukas agreed.
“Sometimes I’m not so sure,” the pastor said, pressing his fingertips together again.
“There is something I have to tell you,” Lukas said.
“Yes?”
“You know that it’s my job to take care of you.”
“Is it, Lukas? Is it?” The pastor smiled.
Lukas blushed faintly. He knew the pastor so well. He knew his voice. He knew when he was being praised.
“I don’t know if you’re aware, but we might have a problem with the congregation.”
“You mean this one?”
“Yes, the amateurs.”
“And what is the problem?”
“Well, that’s up to you to decide. I’m only here to tell you what I see and to take care of you.”
“Yes, so you say, Lukas, and I appreciate that. What is it?”
Lukas coughed slightly before he continued. “One of our regular supporters has a somewhat unfortunate association.”
The pastor shook his head. “You’re speaking in tongues now, Lukas. Spit it out.”
“An elderly lady in a wheelchair, glasses, she usually sits at the back.”
“Hildur?”
Lukas nodded.
“What about her?”
“She’s the mother of Holger Munch.”
“Who?”
“Holger Munch. He’s a police officer.”
“Oh, is he? I did not know that.”
Lukas was somewhat taken aback, because he knew that the pastor had heard of Holger Munch, but he said nothing.
“Hildur is his mother,” he said again.
“And why would that present a problem for us?”
“I just wanted you to be aware.”
“Are you thinking about the contents of the envelope now?”
Lukas nodded cautiously.
“Thank you very much, Lukas, but I don’t think that we need to worry about Holger Munch. We have more important things to think about right now, don’t we?”
“Yes, we have.” Lukas quietly got up.
“Lux domus, my friend.” The pastor smiled amicably.
“Lux domus,” Lukas said, smiling back at him.
He bowed deeply and left the pastor’s office without saying anything else.
20
Mia Krüger was sitting in her office, fidgeting with the tablets she kept in her pants pocket. She had promised herself not to take any with her, to leave them all behind in her house on the island until she had finished this case, until she needed them again, but she hadn’t quite succeeded. She had stuffed a few pills into her pocket, just in case. She was longing to take one now. She was itching all over. She had pushed it so far away that she’d forgotten what it was like to be exposed to the real world. After all, she hadn’t expected to have to deal with it for much longer, but then Munch had turned up and ruined her plans.
Mia Krüger hadn’t had a drink for four days either, not since she returned to Oslo. Several times she’d been tempted to attack the minibar in her hotel room, but she’d managed to restrain herself. Holger had offered her a government apartment, but she insisted on a hotel room and was happy to pay for it out of her own pocket. She did not want to come back. She was not coming back. An impersonal hotel room was all she needed
. A transition room. A waiting room. She did not want to get too close to everyday life. Just solve this case. Then she would go back again. To Hitra. To Sigrid. She’d been searching for a new, symbolic date. April 18, the tenth anniversary, had passed. The next one was their birthday, November 11. When they would both turn thirty-three. Would have turned thirty-three. November seemed incredibly far off. Much too far. She had to find a nearer date. Or maybe she didn’t need one. It could be anytime. The most important thing was that it happened. That she was spared this. These people. She stuck her hand into her pocket and placed a pill on her tongue. Changed her mind. Spit it out and put it back in her pocket.
“Someone has called about the clothes.”
Anette had suddenly appeared in her office.
“What?”
“We have a hit on the dolls’ dresses.”
“So soon?”
“Yep.” The blond woman smiled, waving a piece of paper in her hand. “Jenny, from Jenny’s Sewing Room in Sandvika, called. She apologized for not calling sooner, but she hadn’t gotten around to reading the papers until now. Do you want to come with me?”
“Yes, please. Where is Munch?”
“He had to pick up his granddaughter from nursery school.”
“Do you want to drive, or shall I?” Anette said, dangling a set of car keys in front of her.
“You had better drive.” Mia smiled and followed her colleague down to the underground garage.
“So what did she say?” Mia asked when they had left the city center.
She’d worked with Anette on several cases in the past, but it had not resulted in a close relationship. Mia didn’t quite know why. There was nothing wrong with Anette. She was quick-thinking and always friendly. She had trained as a lawyer, and she was incredibly clever and the perfect member of the special unit. It was probably because Mia was not close to any of her colleagues. Except Holger Munch, of course, but that was different. Was she close to anyone these days? She had not spoken to her friends from Åsgårdstrand for years. After Sigrid left, she had isolated herself more and more. Perhaps that hadn’t been such a smart move. Perhaps it would have done her good to have a life outside of work. It made no difference now. Solve this case, then go back to Hitra. Back to Sigrid. She caressed the S dangling from the charm bracelet. It made her feel safe.
“I didn’t speak to her myself. A colleague down at police headquarters reported it to me. But I think we have the right one.”
“She knew about the writing on the collar?”
Anette nodded and changed lanes.
“Mark 10:14. ‘Suffer the little children to come unto me.’ Do you think we’re dealing with a religious maniac?”
“It’s too early to say,” Mia said, putting on her sunglasses.
The light outside was bright; other people might regard it as pale spring sunshine, but not her. Her body felt as if it could not handle any kind of sensory input. She had tried to watch television last night, but it had given her a headache. She’d even had to ask Holger to turn off the radio in his office. They drove in silence. Mia was aware that Anette wanted to ask questions but ignored it. The others had been just the same. Polite smiles behind curious eyes. Except for the people who knew her best—Curry, Kim, Ludvig—or maybe them as well. How are you? How have you been? Are you feeling better, Mia? We heard that you had had a breakdown? Shaved your head? Tried to kill yourself on an island in the middle of the sea? Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Anette glancing at her. The car was full of unanswered questions, just like the offices in Mariboesgate, but Mia did not have the energy for that right now. She decided she would put it right later. She really liked Anette. Perhaps they could go out one evening and have a beer together. Or maybe not. Why this and why that?
Come to me, Mia, come.
Why are you out there alone?
The rain set in just as they turned off toward Sandvika. It drummed on the windshield, but Mia kept her sunglasses on. She closed her eyes behind the lenses and listened to the sounds. The raindrops hitting the windshield. The droning of the engine.
“We have arrived,” Anette announced finally, and got out.
Mia placed her sunglasses on the dashboard and followed her. The rain had ceased. It had been only a little local shower, and now the mild spring sun peeked out from behind the clouds once more and showed them the way to a small shop painted yellow, here on the outskirts of Sandvika.
It said JENNY’S SEWING ROOM on the window. In the door hung an old-fashioned sign: CLOSED. Mia knocked, and a kind but anxious old face appeared behind the curtains.
“Yes?” the woman said through the closed door.
“Mia Krüger, Oslo Police, Violent Crimes Section,” Mia said, holding up her ID card to the glass to reassure the old woman.
“You’re police?” the woman said, looking incredulously at both of them.
“Yes,” Mia replied kindly. “Please, may we come in?”
It was clear that reading the newspapers had given the elderly woman quite a shock, as it took her some time to unlock the door. Shaky old fingers struggled to turn the key, but at last she succeeded. Mia entered calmly and showed the woman her ID card again. The woman closed the door behind them and locked it immediately. She stayed in the middle of the small, colorful room, not knowing quite what to do with herself.
“You’re Jenny?” Mia asked.
“Yes, and I’m sorry, I’m forgetting my manners. Phew, what a day, I’m shaking all over. Jenny Midthun,” she introduced herself, holding out a small, delicate hand to Mia.
“Is this your shop?” Anette said, taking a look around.
There were tailor’s dummies in the windows wearing homemade clothes. The walls and the shelves were filled with items that Jenny had clearly made herself. Tablecloths, dresses, one wall covered with patchwork quilts—the whole shop exuded good old-fashioned craftsmanship.
“Yes, we have had it since 1972,” Jenny Midthun told them. “My husband and I started it together, but he’s no longer with us. He died in ’89. It was his idea to call it Jenny’s Sewing Room. I thought it would have been more appropriate to call it Jenny and Arild’s, but he insisted, so . . . well . . .” Jenny Midthun’s voice petered out.
“Did you make these dresses?”
Mia took out the photographs from her inside pocket and placed them on the counter. Jenny Midthun put on her glasses, which hung from a cord around her neck, and examined the photographs before she nodded.
“Yes, I made both of them. What about them? Am I in trouble? Have I done something wrong?”
“Not at all, Jenny. We have no reason to think that you’ve done anything wrong. Who was the customer?” Mia said.
Jenny Midthun walked behind the counter and took a ring binder from one of the bookshelves.
“It’s all in here,” she said, tapping the ring binder with her finger.
“What’s all there?”
“All my orders. I write everything down. Measurements, fabric, price, due date—everything is here.”
“Would you mind if we borrowed that?” Mia asked.
“No, no, of course not, take whatever you want. Oh, it’s terrible, oh, no, I don’t know if I can . . . I had such a shock when . . . Yes, it was one of my neighbors who dropped by with the papers. . . .”
“Who ordered the dresses?” Mia said.
“A man.”
“Do you have a name?”
“No, I never got his name. He brought in photographs. Of dolls. Said he wanted the dresses made to fit children.”
“Did he say what the dresses were for?”
“No, and I didn’t ask either. Had I known that . . . But I didn’t know that . . .”
Jenny Midthun clutched her head. She had to sit down on a chair. Anette disappeared into the back room and returned with a glass of water.
�
�Thank you,” the old woman said, her voice shaking.
“When was the order placed?”
“About a year ago. Last summer. The first one, I mean.”
“Did he visit more than once?”
“Oh, yes.” Jenny nodded. “He came here many times. Payment was never a problem. Always cash, always on time. A good price. No problems there.”
“How many dresses did you make?”
“Ten.”
The old woman stared at the floor. Anette looked at Mia and raised her eyebrows.
There will be others. Ten dresses.
“When did you last see him?”
“It’s not that long ago, not really. Perhaps a month. Yes, I think so. In the middle of March. That’s when he came to pick up the last two.”
“Can you tell us what he looked like? Are you feeling well enough to do that?” Anette said.
“Completely ordinary.”
“What does ‘completely ordinary’ mean to you?”
“He was well dressed. Nice clothes. A suit and a hat. Nice, newly polished shoes. Not so tall, as tall as Arild perhaps, my late husband, medium height. Neither fat nor thin, completely ordinary.”
“Any regional accent?”
“What? No.”
“Did he speak like us?” Anette said.
“Oh, yes, he was Norwegian. From Oslo. Perhaps forty-five or thereabouts. A completely ordinary man. Very nice. And very well dressed. How was I to know . . . ? I mean . . . If I had known then . . .”
“You’ve been very helpful, Jenny,” Mia said, gently patting the old woman’s hand. “And a great help. Now, I want you to think carefully: Was there anything about him that was unusual. Something that stood out?”
“I don’t know what that would be. Do you mean his tattoo?”
Anette looked at Mia again and smiled faintly. “He had a tattoo?”
Jenny Midthun nodded. “Here,” she said, touching her neck. “Usually he would wear a turtleneck sweater, so you couldn’t see it, but once he didn’t or he didn’t quite cover it up properly, if you know what I mean—it was loose around the collar.” She touched her own collar to illustrate.
“Was it a big tattoo?” Anette wanted to know.
“Oh, yes, it was. Covered practically everything from here and then down to—”