by Samuel Bjork
“I don’t know Shakespeare very well.” Munch sighed.
“Okay, never mind. Revenge. Hamlet is about revenge. There’s more to it than that, obviously, but that’s the 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? Okay, 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 nursing 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 nursing home with the Hønefoss case as we speak. I don’t think Benjamin Bache is our guy, but we need to remember that a cell phone registered to Veronica Bache was used to send those messages. By someone at the nursing 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 nursing 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’d given him.
“Why?” Mia said.
“Yes, why?”
“I don’t know that yet, but there are too many coincidences, wouldn’t you say? What is the common denominator here, Munch?”
“The church.”
“Precisely.”
“But—” Munch frowned.
“I know, I don’t really understand it either. It’s too messy. I almost think that’s the point, that we’re supposed to get lost. A million dead ends. I know that it sounds weird, but he’s doing a good job. The killer, I mean. I would have done it the same way.”
Munch sent her a sideways glance.
“You know what I mean. If I were on the other side. Symbols everywhere, changing the MO—we’re running around in circles. We’re sent this way, then that way. It’s how you play tennis, isn’t it?”
“Tennis?”
“The player who serves always has the advantage. As long as you keep pressing your opponent so hard that all he can do is return the ball, you’re in the driver’s seat. Unless you make a mistake, you’ll win.”
“So the killer is serving?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not sure I get the comparison,” Munch said. “How do you rob a bank without getting noticed?”
“You blow up the building across the street. I know.” Mia sighed.
“Sorry.” Munch smiled and rubbed his eyes. “It’s been a long week. I lost my temper with my lawyer today. Why won’t people ever take responsibility for their own actions? So where do we go with this?”
“That was what I wanted to ask you about.”
“The church?”
“That goes without saying.”
“You and me tomorrow morning?”
“Absolutely.”
“Is Gabriel still at the office?”
“I think so.”
“Send him a text. Ask him to check up on the church so we’re prepared when we get there. I can’t remember what they call themselves, but the address is on Bogerudveien in Bøler.”
“Okay,” Mia said, taking out her phone.
“By the way,” Munch said, lighting a fresh cigarette with his current one. “What did you say just now?”
“About tennis?”
“Yes, that if you’re serving, then you’ll win.”
“Unless you make a mistake . . .”
They both fell silent and looked at each other.
“It’s a nice idea, isn’t it?” Munch said.
“Definitely.” Mia nodded.
“Putting pressure on the killer,” Munch said.
“I’ll see what I can come up with.”
“You do that. Meanwhile I’ll put together a list of the sons of bitches who want my money.”
Munch got up, stubbed out his cigarette, and left.
Mia again considered having a beer, but she willed herself to order another Farris instead. She took out her pen and her papers, which she spread across the table as she usually did when she wanted to get her thinking in order. In the past she had seen everything so clearly and worked much faster; at her peak all she had to do was close her eyes and everything would play out in her head, but that was a long time ago. The Tryvann incident. The months on Hitra. It was as if her eyes were veiled. A kind of fog clouded her brain cells. She’d been told to rest. Plenty of rest for a long time. Not to subject herself to any kind of pressure. Her response had been to drug herself. Almost to the point of death. And now she was paying the price. She started making notes on the sheets in front of her. Trying to get the pen to do the work. Impose some kind of order on the chaos. Thinking was almost painful. Two girls were dead. Two girls were missing. It was her responsibility. Munch. Munch was definitely involved somehow. She was sure of it. Or was she? Something that had been so easy for her a few years ago now seemed impossible. She should never have agreed to leave the island. She should have stuck with her plan.
Come to me, Mia, come.
She wrote down the names at the top of the sheet again. Pauline. Johanne. Karoline. Andrea. Six years old. About to start school this autumn. Mark 10:14. Suffer the little children to come unto me. I’m traveling alone. Jump rope. From the trees. The forest. Clean clothes. Freshly washed bodies. Shakespeare. Hamlet. Satchels. Schoolbooks. It was coming now. Toni J. W. Smith. Hønefoss. The baby, who was never found. I’m traveling alone.
Come, Pauline, come.
Come, Johanne, come.
Come, Karoline, come.
Come, Andrea, come.
Mia was roused from her reverie when the waitress suddenly appeared next to her. Damn. She’d been on her way. To the place where she had to go. A place she hadn’t visited for a long time.
“Can I get you anything else?”
“Yes, get me a beer, please,” Mia muttered irritably. “And a Ratzeputz. Make that two Ratzeputzes.”
She needed help to get back to the place where she needed to be.
43
Mia Krüger was drunk, but she couldn’t fall asleep. She had drunk too much. She had not drunk enough. The hotel room seemed colder and even more impersonal than usual. She had chosen this room because it didn’t remind her of anything, but now she was missing home. A home. Something familiar. Something safe. Someone who could take care of her. Perhaps Mikkelson had been right after all. Perhaps she should go see a psychologist. Perhaps she needed to be admitted. She had balanced on a knife’s edge for a long time, recovered a little, been positive, felt strong, but now she was spiraling downward once more.
Her body spun around the large bed, and she clung to it. She’d been on her way, hadn’t she? To the place where she belonged? Get behind the façade. Her specialty. Seeing what no one else saw.
She walked barefoot across the floor and found her pants on a chair. Her pills were still in the pocket. She took one of them with her to the window and swallowed it with a mouthful of water. She sat for a long time staring at the traffic lights until she could no longer distinguish the colors. She staggered back to her cold bed and rested her head on the pillow.
Her cell phone rang just as she had managed to fall asleep. She did her best to ignore it. It started ringing again. Then it stopped. Her leaden body lay on the white sheet. When her phone rang for the third time, she could no longer leave it alone.
“Mia?” It was Munch.
“What time is it?” she mumbled.
“Five,” Munch said.
“What is it?”
“They’ve found the girls.”
“What?”
“I’ll pick you up outside the hotel. Can you be ready in ten minutes? We have a long drive ahead of us.”
“Damn,” Mia heard her own voice say. “I’ll be ready.”
44
Tobias Iversen was lying behind a tree, waiting for darkness to fall. He had eaten his last sandwich a long time ago and was starting to feel hungry, but he couldn’t go home now; he had more important things to do. His plan had been to try the gate first, but that had proved impossible. It was locked with a chain, and besides, it was far too visible. The men had carried Rakel inside one of the small houses, and ever since then the farm had been quiet. A few times someone had emerged from the church and gone to the greenhouse, but apart from that he hadn’t seen anyone. The place seemed deserted. Almost like a graveyard. The wind rustled the trees above him. Tobias tightened his jacket around him and took out his binoculars again. Perhaps going home was a better option. Contact the police? After all, he had seen them restrain her. Surely that was against the law. Or was it? They hadn’t hurt her, they’d carried her across the yard. A naughty child who had refused to do as she was told. And wouldn’t the police need a warrant? They always had to have one in American movies. If they didn’t have one, they weren’t allowed to enter people’s houses to search them. Tobias didn’t exactly know how things were in Norway, but perhaps it was the same. Suddenly he no longer felt quite so tough. It had started out as a game. All he wanted was to take a closer look. A small expedition. He’d never imagined meeting someone in need of help. He thought about Torben, who was probably back home now and wondering where his big brother was. About his mother and stepfather, who wouldn’t know what to tell him. He didn’t like the thought of his little brother being at home without him. The temptation to go home grew stronger. After all, Tobias didn’t know this girl. What if she were just a spoiled brat? Perhaps she was just like Elin, a girl who was in his class last year; she had broken into the headmaster’s office and stolen money and bitten the hand of one of the teachers during break time when he caught her smoking in the playground. She, too, had seemed very nice, or at least she had been toward Tobias, but then she was expelled and no one had seen her since. Rakel might be just like her. Perhaps he was making a mountain out of a molehill. His mom often told him to stop making things up. It wasn’t a good thing to do. Making stuff up. It was bad. It was getting colder now. It was supposed to be nearing spring, but it wasn’t really, certainly not in the evenings. He regretted not bringing his camping gear. The tent and the sleeping bag and his knapsack were still on the mound where he’d spent the night. He hadn’t brought his flashlight either. What a stupid thing to do. Where is your head? his mom would often say. Is anyone at home? He was starting to feel a little ashamed. He had behaved like an idiot. Soon it would be too dark to get back to the tent. Too dark for him to find his way through the forest. If he left now, he could do it. At least he could reach the tent. He would be able to walk home as long as he had his flashlight. It was probably for the best. Pack up his stuff. Make for home. And Torben. Tobias got up from his hiding place and looked around just as one of the doors opened and something happened. He raised the binoculars to his eyes and stood very still. Two men had appeared from one of the houses with a figure between them. Rakel. It was her. Her head was covered. They had put a hood over her head. The two men were holding her arms, one on each side and slightly behind, frog-marching her. They disappeared behind the church and reappeared slightly farther ahead. Tobias’s heart was racing. He could barely believe his own eyes. It was like a movie. They had captured her. Tied her hands in front and pulled a hood over her head. The two men continued walking in the direction where Tobias was hiding, still pushing the girl between them. Past the tractor and the small shed, across the field, and what were they doing now? Tobias plucked up his courage and moved closer to the fence. The two men had stopped. One bent down toward the ground. He did something; Tobias could not see what it was. Then suddenly she was no longer there. She was gone. Only the two men were left, and they began to make their way back to the house.
Tobias made a spur-of-the-moment decision. His plan had been to wait until it was completely dark, but now there was no time to lose. He crept all the way up to the fence and started scaling it. You were not allowed to treat a child like that. You were not allowed to be cruel to children, no matter what they had done—no grown-ups should be allowed to get away with it. His courage was swelling now. He was angry. He grabbed hold of the wire netting, sticking his fingers through the holes. He managed to get a foothold, and presto, almost before he knew it, he had climbed over the tall fence and was inside the compound. He stayed crouched on the ground to catch his breath while he glanced around. The farm was quiet again. The ground was cold and wet underneath him. Where could she be? They had dragged her into the middle of a flat area, and then she disappeared. Tobias ought to have been scared, but he wasn’t. He was livid. He was furious with all the adults who hurt children. Children should be free. To play. To feel safe. Not stand with their heads bowed in the kitchen. It hurt to be told you were stupid. It hurt to have your arms grabbed. It hurt not to be able to answer back because you didn’t know what would happen to your baby brother if you said the wrong thing. Tobias started creeping across the ground. The man had bent down about a hundred meters away. Then Rakel had disappeared. Why did adults have children if they weren’t going to treat them properly? One day after Norwegian class, Emilie had asked him why he had marks on his neck. Bruises on his arms. You can tell me, she’d said. She had been very nice, stroked his shoulder. You can tell me, it’s safe to tell me. But he hadn’t said anything. It wasn’t her fault. She was just trying to help. But she didn’t know what it was like. She wouldn’t be there when he came home from school and they found out that he had told tales, would she? Telling would only make it worse. Everything would be worse—oh, yes, he knew exactly how it would be. It was a question of endurance. Survival. Making sure that his younger brother didn’t suffer the same treatment. Take the beatings. Is anyone in there? Are you thick or something?
Tobias crouched in the damp grass, trying to make himself as small as possible. His knees got wet, but he didn’t care. He could take it. He was tough. It was important to keep your mouth shut. Never argue back; that only made it worse. Nod. Bow your head. Say yes. He wasn’t afraid. He was no longer scared. They had put a hood over her head. You weren’t allowed to do that. Adults were not allowed to do this to children. He sneaked forward, pausing every now and then to make sure everything was safe, that no doors had opened, that no one had spotted him. In five years he would be eighteen. When you were eighteen, you got to decide everything for yourself. He would move out, perhaps find himself a job, maybe take his brother with him even though Torben would be only twelve. Is everything okay at home, Tobias? Please tell your mother to come to Parents’ Evening. I really want to talk to her. She hasn’t been to a Parents’ Evening for a long time, and it’s important that she comes. Please, would you tell her? Have you hurt your hand? What happened to your ear? Is there anything I can help you with, Tobias? You can trust me, you know that.
Tobias reached t
he place where Rakel had disappeared from sight. It was dark outside now. The church soared toward the sky, poking its spire into the moon and the clouds. Almost like an old-fashioned horror movie. Frankenstein or Dracula, one of those. He should be scared, but he wasn’t. He was angry. He had seen her eyes under the white bonnet. They were adults, and she was a child. You weren’t allowed to hurt children. Yet again Tobias regretted not bringing his flashlight. He could barely see the ground in front of him; the moon provided him with a little light, but it appeared only a few seconds at a time. He wasn’t an idiot. She could not just simply have vanished into thin air. There had to be a hole in the ground somewhere. A hatch. Something. What kind of adult puts a child into a hole in the ground?
Tobias bent and started patting the earth around him. Suddenly a light was turned on inside the church. Tobias reacted instinctively, threw himself down and lay flat on the wet ground. He could smell soil and grass. He lay like this for a while, but no one came outside. He steeled himself and got up into a kneeling position, the light from the windows making it easier for him to see. He was looking for a hatch. People don’t just disappear.
It didn’t take long before he found it. It was brand new, pale planks fixed together in a square measuring a meter by a meter, a hatch leading right into the earth. It was padlocked. Not with a big padlock, a small one, gold-colored like the one his PE teacher used for the ball cupboard, so no one would take the soccer balls without asking for permission first. He glanced around again. There was no one in sight. There were voices coming from the church now. Singing, the people inside the church were singing. They did some other things as well as sing. Prayed to God, or whatever it was. They didn’t know that he was out here. That someone was out here trying to help Rakel. Pick the padlock. Release her. Tobias couldn’t help smiling. The PE teacher had never worked out why the soccer balls kept going missing. He didn’t know how easy it is to pick a padlock. Tobias had done it many times. Nearly all the boys in his class knew how to pick a padlock. It was even easier than cheating on a test. They had made picklocks during metalwork when the teacher went outside to have a cigarette. All you needed was a strip of metal—a nail file like the ones the girls used was a good starting point. You trimmed the tip with metal cutters and filed it down until the tip became very thin. It was a bit tricky, obviously, and someone had to show you how to do it, but once you knew how, it was easy. Tobias took out his keys from the zippered pocket in his jacket and found the picklock. Held the padlock so that the keyhole was widest to the right. Inserted the picklock, pressed it hard to the left until he felt it make contact with the metal inside. He flicked it, pulling the lock toward him, pressed it, and then turned it hard to the right. Tobias heard a small click as the lock opened. He removed it and lifted up the heavy hatch. A ladder. There was a long ladder leading into a hole. Carefully he stuck his head inside the hole and whispered: