by Samuel Bjork
Marion kept staring at the wall where the noise was coming from. She noticed a handle on the wall that she hadn’t seen before. She reached out and grabbed the handle. It was a hatch, which opened. Marion pulled open the hatch and jumped when she saw what was behind it; she got goose pimples all over. Inside the hatch was a small monkey. A wind-up toy that banged two metal discs together to make a noise. There was a note with the monkey. She waited until the monkey had stopped moving before she stuck in her hand and quickly snatched the note.
It had letters on it. Some repeated more than once. E. She knew that one. A. She knew that one as well, they were in Elsa’s name—she worked at nursery school. And O. She definitely knew that one. She really needed to pee now. She pressed her legs together and tried to read the note.
“Peekaboo.”
She had no idea what it meant.
“Mom! I need to peeeee!”
She shouted louder, but there was still no reply. She could not hold it anymore. She lifted up the heavy dress. She was wearing strange underpants, really big ones. She looked around the room. There, under the desk. She pulled down the big underpants as quickly as she could and peed into the wastebasket.
63
Mia Krüger parked the car and walked the last stretch up to the church. Borre Church. The beautiful white brick building glowed in the sunlight and gave her palpitations. Four funerals in the same church. Three gravestones in the same cemetery. She was not sure that she could handle seeing them again. That was the reason she’d been procrastinating. And now someone had been there. Desecrated Sigrid’s gravestone. Forced Mia to return before she was ready. She looked out for the sexton who had promised to meet her but couldn’t see him anywhere, and so she walked, almost reluctantly and with heavy footsteps, toward the graves.
She had stopped on her drive here. Bought flowers. She didn’t feel that she could turn up without something. The scent of the flowers made her nauseous. Flowers. A house filled with flowers. Friends and neighbors paying their respects. It was all she had left. Three gravestones and a house filled with flowers. She had sold the houses. Both her parents’ and her grandmother’s. Two nice white houses in the center of Åsgårdstrand, not far from where Edvard Munch had lived. Her family inheritance. But she couldn’t cope with it. She didn’t want them. All she wanted was to forget. She passed a tap with a green watering can next to it. She felt a little ashamed now. Three stones. Four members of her family. Sigrid, her grandmother, and her parents. All of her family was here, and she hadn’t even bothered tending to their graves.
Sigrid Krüger
Sister, friend, and daughter
Born November 11, 1979. Died April 18, 2002.
Much loved. Deeply missed.
It was exactly as the sexton had said. Someone had sprayed over Sigrid’s name. Written hers instead.
Then she could not take any more. She dropped the green watering can, slumped onto her knees, and started to sob. Everything came out now, all the things she had pent up inside. She hadn’t cried for a long time, had been afraid to give way to such extreme grief. She stayed on the ground while the tears poured down her cheeks.
Come to me, Mia, come.
Sigrid. Lovely, beautiful, darling Sigrid. What difference did it make that Mia had shot some junkie loser? Nothing. It made no difference at all. It had only triggered more tragedy. More grieving relatives. More darkness. She never meant to. She never meant to shoot him. She really never meant to shoot. She should be punished. She didn’t deserve to live. She could feel it now. She deserved to die. All these years she’d been weighed down by the guilt of the survivor, only she had never managed to put it into words, but it came to her now. She was guilty. Guilty of being alive. She should be with her family. That was where she belonged. With Sigrid. Not here on this damned planet where evil and selfishness had the upper hand. There was no point in fighting it any longer, trying to understand, trying to do good. The world was a rubbish heap. People were rotten to the core. She wanted nothing more to do with it.
Someone had written her name on the gravestone. Was someone coming after her? Wanting her dead? She had enemies, of course she did—no police officer with her reputation got through a career without making some—but she couldn’t think of anyone in particular. It was unpleasant to see her name on the gravestone, but the feeling of rage because someone had desecrated Sigrid’s final place of rest was much worse.
She muttered curses at the unknown attacker, got up, and dried her tears. Cleared away the leaves and twigs, put the flowers in the vase, and continued tidying the graves. She dug her fingers into the soil, turning it over so that it would look fresher. It was nicer this way. Went back to where she had gotten the watering can and found a rake. Took off her leather jacket and her sweater. Dipped the sleeve of her sweater in the water from the watering can and tried to scrub off her own name from the gravestone. The spray paint refused to budge. She had to talk to someone about it, get it removed as quickly as possible. She hated its being there, mocking her. Mocking both of them. She raked away the last remains of dead foliage while she waited for the sexton. She should have come earlier. This was far too late. She mumbled, “Sorry, Sigrid, forgive me,” through pressed lips, trying to hold back a fresh stream of tears.
There was a small yellow plastic container behind the vase. She bent down and picked it up, took it to the nearest trash can, and dumped it. She was walking back toward the grave when she stopped in her tracks.
Could it be?
No, it was impossible.
She spun around, went back to the trash can, and retrieved the yellow container. She twisted it open.
There was a note inside.
Mia’s hands shook as she unfurled the note.
“Peekaboo, Mia. Clever girl. But you’re not as clever as you think you are. You think this is the real grave, but it isn’t. Can you see me, Mia? Can you see me now?”
Mia Krüger ran as fast as she could down to her car to find her cell phone. She had dozens of missed calls but decided to ignore all of them. She wiped the tears from her eyes and called Munch.
64
Ludvig Grønlie stepped out onto Munch’s smoking terrace to get a bit of fresh air. He let out a small sigh and stretched his body. He was tired, but he wasn’t going to complain. Other members of the unit had worked almost twice as many hours as he had recently. Ludvig Grønlie was approaching sixty, and although no one had said it out loud, it was in the air. Long and loyal service. No one would reproach him if he didn’t work twenty-three hours a day anymore. But it was not only the physical pressure that took its toll—the mental exertion was worse. Never any peace, always something that needed doing. As long as a serial killer was at large, none of them could truly rest.
His cell phone rang. He recognized the name on the display and answered the call.
“Grønlie speaking,” Ludvig said, stretching again.
“Hello, Ludvig, it’s Kjell.”
“Hi, Kjell, did you find something?”
Kjell Martinssen was one of Ludvig’s old colleagues. They had worked together in Oslo for years, but in contrast to Munch, Martinssen had chosen to be demoted. No, that was unfair—he’d made the decision to take it easy. He had met a woman. Requested a transfer to Ringerike Police. Ludvig’s old colleague had made a wise move. He sounded relaxed and happy.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I did.”
“A support group for childless women?”
“Yes,” his colleague said. “Only they call it talking therapy. Heidi does quite a lot of work for Ringerike Volunteer Service Bureau, so she pointed me in the right direction.”
Heidi was the woman who had made Martinssen leave the city. The thought had sometimes crossed Ludvig’s mind. Say good-bye to the stress in the capital and find himself a job in a small town. It had never happened, and now his retirement was only a few years away.
&n
bsp; “It was active from 2005 to 2007. That was the time frame you were asking about, wasn’t it?”
“That’s correct.” Ludvig nodded. “Do you have a list of names?”
“I can do better than that. I can get you a picture of every member as well as all their names and addresses.”
“Good work, Kjell, good work,” Ludvig said, returning to his desk. “Will you be faxing it over?”
He regretted his words immediately.
“Fax it, Ludvig?” his colleague chuckled. “Don’t you have email?”
“Email me, I meant email me.”
“I’ll get someone to scan it and send it to you as soon as it’s ready.”
“Sounds great, Kjell, great job.”
“Do you think you’ll get him?” His colleague sounded more serious now. “People are talking up here. People worry.”
“We’ll get her,” Ludvig said, then wondered if perhaps he’d given something away.
“Her? Stoltz? The one whose photo you sent us? Who’s wanted for questioning?”
“We don’t know yet,” Ludvig said as an idea came into his head. “Is she in any of your pictures?”
“Might be, I haven’t seen them yet. Heidi had to go down to the Volunteer Service Bureau to pick them up. She’s on the way here now. Hey, Rune, is our scanner working?”
The latter was shouted out into the room at the other end of the phone. Ludvig’s colleague got a positive response back.
“If Heidi is right and she finds it, you’ll have it today, okay?”
“Excellent,” Ludvig said.
He’d just finished the call when Gabriel Mørk popped his head through the door.
“Have you heard anything from Munch or Mia?”
“I spoke to Munch not long ago, but Mia isn’t answering her phone. Why?”
“I just wanted to let her know that I think we’ll have the movie sorted out sometime today. I’ve sent it to a buddy of mine who knows how to clean up noise.”
“Great,” Ludvig said, and suddenly he remembered what Munch had asked him. “You don’t happen to want some fresh air, do you?”
“Why?”
“Munch’s daughter needs some stuff. She’s up in that apartment. Could you deal with it?”
“All right,” the young man said. “What does she need?”
“Hang on,” Ludvig said, checking his phone for the list Munch had sent him.
65
Emilie Isaksen could not believe her eyes when she stepped inside the small house. The hallway was dark and so full of junk that she had trouble navigating it. The rest of the house wasn’t much better. Rotting food scraps, ashtrays, bags of trash that no one had disposed of. It was all she could do not to hold her nose. Even so, she tried putting on a brave face. She didn’t want to make things any harder for the little boy than what he’d already been through. All alone for a whole week in this dump of a home, without food or anyone to look after him. Emilie Isaksen was outraged, but she managed a smile.
“Would you like to see our secret hiding place?” Torben asked her.
He seemed overjoyed to have a visitor. He had looked almost startled when he opened the door to her, scared and with large, tearful eyes, but now he was starting to liven up.
“Yes, please.” Emilie followed the little boy up the stairs to the first floor.
The first floor was just as bad as the ground floor. Emilie struggled to make sense of it all. It was almost too much for her. Poverty was one thing, but this? It wasn’t until they reached what was clearly the two boys’ bedroom that the house began to resemble a home. It smelled clean inside, and the room was tidy and light.
“We hide things inside the mattress in case the baddies come,” Torben explained, kneeling in front of the bed.
He unzipped the thin mattress and pulled it apart so that Emilie could see it.
“Is that the note from Tobias?” Emilie pointed at it.
“Yes.” Torben nodded eagerly.
“Please, may I see it?”
“Of course.”
He stuck a filthy hand into the secret hiding place and gave her the note.
“I’m going to spy on the Christian girls, I will be back soon. Tobias.”
“Do you know when he wrote it?”
The little boy thought hard. “No. But it must have been before I came home, because it was here when I got back.”
Emilie couldn’t help laughing. “I’m sure you’re right. So when did you get back?”
“After the soccer match.”
“Which soccer match was that? Do you remember?”
“Liverpool against Norwich. I watched it at my friend Clas’s house. They get the soccer games on their TV—not just the Norwegian Cup Final but all kinds of games. Clas and I support Liverpool. They won.”
“Would that have been last Saturday?”
“Probably, I guess.” Torben nodded, scratching his hair.
The boy was covered in grime, and he didn’t smell too good either. He needed a bath, clean clothes, food, fresh bedlinen. Today was Friday. He had been home alone since last Saturday evening. Emilie sat on the floor in the boys’ bedroom somewhat at a loss. What was she going to do? She couldn’t leave the boy here alone. Then again, she couldn’t take him home either. Or could she?
“Do you want to see what else we keep in the secret hiding place?” Torben offered.
He acted almost as if he were scared that she would leave him now that she’d gotten what she came for.
“Yes, I would like to, but listen, Torben.”
“Yes?”
“Are you saying that Tobias hasn’t been back home since you found the note?”
“No, no one has been here.”
“Hasn’t anyone called you?”
The boy shook his head. “The landline doesn’t work. There’s no noise when I pick up the handset, and cell phones are really expensive, did you know that?”
Emilie nodded and stroked the boy’s hair. “They are quite expensive, that’s true, and you don’t need to have one either.”
“No, that’s what Tobias says.”
“Who are the Christian girls?”
“We don’t know, we’re just guessing,” the little boy said. “Some say they eat people, though that’s not true, but we know they don’t go to our school—they have their own school.”
Emilie Isaksen knew as much as everybody else did about the new residents up in the forest. Which was practically nothing. The teachers had discussed them in the staff room, but it had mostly been gossip after all. None of the children were registered with the school, so they were not the teachers’ responsibility.
“So he went there last Saturday and no one has seen him since?”
“I don’t know if he went there on Saturday. Liverpool won three to nothing. Luis Suárez scored a hat trick, do you know what that is? Why don’t all televisions show soccer? Did you bring me any food? I really like pizza.”
“Do you want to have some pizza?”
“Yeah, I really do,” Torben said. “But you have to see this first.”
“Okay.” Emilie smiled.
“This is a piece of rock that fell from the moon,” Torben said, showing her a black stone with holes in it. “We kept it because the aliens might want it back. Cool, isn’t it?”
“Yes, that really is cool,” Emilie said, feeling herself start to grow a little impatient.
Tobias Iversen had been missing for seven days, and no one had sounded the alarm. She dreaded to think what could have happened to the handsome boy she’d come to like so much over the last year.
“And this is the secret number for a police officer that Tobias and I know. We can phone him whenever we need anything, or if we’re in Oslo. Because we’re heroes, did you know that?”
“Yes, so I�
��ve heard,” Emilie said, stroking Torben’s hair again.
She could only just get her fingers through it. He really needed a bath. And some food. And, not least, someone to talk to. The two brothers had found the second murder victim in the grotesque series of child murders that was all over the media. At school an assembly had been held the day after the discovery, with several psychologists present so the children could discuss the events with someone if they wanted to.
“This man is named Kim. It says so here.” Torben pointed proudly. He handed her the business card and pointed at it again. “K-i-m, Kim, isn’t that right?”
“Well done, Torben, I didn’t know you could read!”
“Oh, I can.” The boy grinned.
Emilie looked at the business card.
Kim Kolsø
Violent Crimes Section, Special Unit
“Do you know something, Torben?” Emilie said, getting up.
“What?”
“I think we should go get a pizza.”
“Yes!” The little boy punched the air.
“But first I think you should have a shower and put on some clean clothes. Do you think you can manage that yourself, or do you want me to help you?”
“Sheesh, I can do it myself,” he said, walking over to a wardrobe. “These are my clothes,” he said, pointing to the three bottom shelves.
“Great.” Emilie smiled. “You find what you need and then take a shower. Afterward we’ll go get some pizza.”
“Neat!” Torben said, kneeling down in front of the wardrobe to pick out the items he needed.
“I’m stepping outside to make a phone call, is that okay?”
“You’re not leaving, are you?” The little boy looked at her with anxious eyes.
“No, no,” Emilie said.
“Promise?”
“I promise, Torben.” She stroked his hair again. “Now, you go shower, okay?”