I'm Traveling Alone

by Samuel Bjork

  The room was colder now. Perhaps it was evening outside, maybe that would account for it. Tobias took a corner of the blanket and draped it around his shoulder. Rakel moved even closer and put the blanket all around him. They sat quietly for a while, close to each other under the blanket, holding hands tightly. Rakel rested her head on his shoulder, and after a while he could hear her breathing deepen. She was dozing now. Tobias sat very still, so as not to wake her, and closed his eyes. Soon he, too, was asleep. Not soundly, like at home in his bed, just napping. He didn’t realize that he’d been sound asleep until he heard a loud noise. He woke with a start and saw that the hatch above them was in the process of being opened.

  At last, he thought as the beam from a flashlight shone down the ladder.

  Tobias Iversen roused the girl with the fine freckles and got up from the floor.

  71

  The rain had eased off when Mia pulled up outside Høvikveien Nursing Home. She could see the dark clouds drift toward the center of Oslo as she got out of the car and went up the steps.

  Karen was behind the reception desk when she arrived. The same place Malin Stoltz had been standing the time Mia discovered Veronica Bache’s canasta certificate on the wall. What a dimwit she’d been. She hadn’t made the connection. She was no longer functioning fully; maybe that was why. Nor had she realized that Stoltz was coming after her. Munch yes, but the wrong Munch. Edvard Munch, not Holger. That would explain why the bodies had been displayed at Isegran Fort. The planned statues of Munch’s mothers. Mia Krüger had worked on the Hønefoss case. Was that the killer’s thinking? Mia was a woman. A police officer and a woman. She should have known better. She should have found the baby because she was a woman? Mia could no longer think straight. Her trip to the cemetery had drained her of her last strength. Her grandmother was dead. Her father was dead. Her mother was dead. Sigrid was dead. She was all alone. She looked forward to all of it being over. There’d been times at Hitra when she’d started having doubts as to whether she’d made the right choice. Kill herself. Leave this world. What if she were wrong? But not anymore. She was certain now. She had made the right choice. She should never have left the island. In her mind she saw the pills waiting for her on the table. She realized she was looking forward to it.

  Come to me, Mia, come.

  But first she must find Marion. Gather the last of her strength and find the smiling little girl, the apple of Holger Munch’s eye. Track down Malin Stoltz. She thought briefly about Munch, who had received a telephone call and then disappeared. She hoped he was okay. Perhaps he might even have caught Malin by now. Found his granddaughter. Mia mustered a small smile. She didn’t want the world to see how bad she really felt.

  “Hi, Karen.”

  “Hi, Mia.”

  “Thanks for calling, it was good of you. I’m sorry if I sounded a bit off. It’s just we’re quite busy at work.”

  “Has something happened?” Karen asked with an anxious expression on her face.

  She cares about Holger, Mia thought. It was obvious now.

  “Oh, no, just the usual pressure,” Mia lied. “Did you find that key?”

  “Yes, I have it here,” Karen said. “Let me just put on my jacket.”

  “Has the car been there for a long time?”

  “I don’t know,” Karen said, ushering her out the door and down the stairs to the underground parking garage. “I took the rubbish down this morning—it’s not really my job, you understand, but . . . well, we all have to pitch in when we’re busy—and that’s when I spotted it. I don’t know how long it’s been here.”

  “Why didn’t she use it to drive herself home?” Mia wondered out loud.

  “I’ve no idea,” Karen said as she led the way into the garage.

  Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home.

  Her grandmother’s words on her deathbed. Mia no longer felt like she could fly. Karen was about her age, a little older perhaps, but she looked in much better shape. Younger. Softer. Not a single wrinkle. She didn’t carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. She worked in a nursing home. A world away from that of a worn-out investigator with thin skin.

  “Here it is,” Karen said with a smile, indicating the white Citroën parked in a corner. “And here’s the key.” She smiled again.

  Mia unlocked the car and peered inside. At first glance there was nothing to suggest that she was looking at a serial killer’s car. Everything seemed normal. A cup from McDonald’s. A newspaper. Mia walked around the car and unlocked the trunk. Nothing except what you would expect to find. A warning triangle. A pair of boots. Damn it, what had she expected? That Stoltz would have left some of the girls’ belongings there? She was much too clever for that. Cynical. Callous. Years of planning. She wouldn’t have left behind evidence in her car. She had even visited Sigrid’s grave. The very thought enraged Mia. She felt her cell phone vibrate in her pocket. The photograph from Ludvig. So at least parts of her brain were working. She was pleased that she’d been right. A support group for childless women. It felt good to know that she had contributed something. She took out the phone and opened Ludvig’s message. A photograph. The support group in Hønefoss. “Christmas get-together 2005.” There were six women in total. Smiling in front of a Christmas tree. Mia recognized her immediately. Malin Stoltz. Not with different-colored eyes. Two blue eyes. Lenses. Mia enlarged the picture slightly. Malin Stoltz. How strange. She looked so normal. An ordinary woman who longed for a child but couldn’t have one. Smiling, with her arm around the woman standing next to her. The woman standing next to her. Mia enlarged the photograph to get a better look at her.

  But what the hell?

  She spun around, but she was too late. The woman in the photograph. The woman behind her. She felt the needle penetrate her neck, the back of her head hitting the metal of the open trunk.

  “Count backward from ten.” Karen smiled. “That’s what they usually say. Count backward from ten, and then you’ll be asleep. Isn’t that funny? Ten, nine, eight . . .”

  Mia Krüger was gone before she heard six.

  VI

  72

  Anette Goli did not like the mood in the incident room. Mikkelson had taken over the case; he wanted to be in charge, but he didn’t have enough insight into the case to inspire the team, to get things done. She was starting to feel quite frustrated. They needed a break in this case now, quickly, as soon as possible. They did not have time to bring Mikkelson up to speed. And where on earth was Mia? Anette had only just spoken to her. And why had Munch turned off his cell phone? Because he was on his way to meet the killer possibly, but then why not leave his phone on so that they could trace him? Because he didn’t want them to trace him? She debated this with herself and so missed what Kim had just said.

  “Do you have to do that now?” Mikkelson said. “Don’t we have more important things to do?”

  Kim sighed. “Yes, but it strikes me there might be a link.”

  “And what is the link?” Mikkelson asked.

  Anette Goli had to bite her tongue and remind herself that Mikkelson had yet to catch up with the rest of them.

  “Tobias Iversen is the boy who discovered Johanne’s body,” Kim said. “And now he’s gone missing. I’ve just spoken to his teacher—no one has seen him for a week. And he left behind a note for his brother telling him he was going to visit some religious sect in a forest.”

  “It could be a coincidence,” Mikkelson said.

  Anette could no longer stay silent.

  “Or it might be important,” she spoke up. “If we’re talking about a sect in the forest close to where Johanne was found, it’s definitely worth checking out. After all, there’s a church heavily mixed up in this. We don’t know how, but there’s something suspect about them.”

  Mikkelson looked at her, weighing the situation.

  “Okay,” he said at length. “But don’t spe
nd too much time on it, Kim. And keep your phone on in case we need you.”

  “Okay.” Kim nodded.

  He saluted Mikkelson and left the room. He winked to Anette as he closed the door behind him. She smiled and winked back at him. She liked Kim Kolsø. In fact, she liked everyone on the team. Munch had his weaknesses, definitely, but he knew how to pick the right people. Never before had she worked with such a close-knit and motivated group. Not that they were very motivated right now. Mikkelson suited the managerial chair down at Grønland to a tee, but he was not a natural investigator or a team leader. His social skills were poor, his antennae not sensitive enough. The normally inspired team looked like they would rather be anywhere but the incident room. No wonder. They had a million things to do, and the clock was ticking. No one had seen anything suspicious near the apartment where Miriam and Marion had been staying. Marion was missing without a trace. Anette thought about Munch. Perhaps he was with Marion now. Alone and without backup, in mortal danger, but at least he was with her. If that was where he was, surely he had to be in danger? Anette couldn’t imagine anything else.

  “So where are we as concerns Marion Munch?” Mikkelson asked just as Anette’s phone rang. He looked daggers at her.

  “The duty officer at Grønland,” Anette said. “I have to take it.”

  She left the room.

  “Yes? Anette speaking.”

  “Hi. Heide Myhr. Listen, I have someone here who wants to meet with you.”

  “With me personally?”

  “No, just one of you. I’ve tried Munch and Mia, but there was no reply.”

  No reply from Mia? Where could she be?

  “I’m really busy now. It had better be important.”

  “Oh, it’s important all right.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Malin Stoltz.”

  Anette nearly dropped her phone. “What did you just say?”

  “I have Malin Stoltz here.”

  Anette was so flustered that she completely forgot to say anything. She hung up and ran back into the incident room.

  “We have Stoltz!” she called out.

  “What?” Mikkelson said. “But how?”

  “She’s down at Grønland. Curry, you’re coming with me.”

  “Sure,” Curry said, grabbing his jacket.

  73

  Holger Munch sat up in bed. He had a pounding headache, and his mouth felt parched. Dazed, he looked around. The room was clinical. Institutional. The nursing home. He was still at Høvikveien Nursing Home.

  What the hell?

  He quickly got up but had to sit down again. He felt that the room was spinning. The window. It was dark outside. Evening. He had slept the whole day. In a bed at Høvikveien Nursing Home, fully dressed. He rummaged around in his pockets but couldn’t find his cell phone anywhere. What on earth was going on? Where was Karen? Wasn’t she supposed to wake him? He attempted to stand up once more, and this time he managed it. He stumbled to the door and tried opening it, but it wouldn’t budge. It was locked from the outside. He fumbled for the lock on the inside, but there was nothing there. Someone had locked him in. This was insane. Holger Munch could feel his panic rising when he realized what had happened.

  Shit.

  He banged his fists against the door, screaming frantically.

  “Hello?”

  His banging became more desperate while he tried to clear his head.

  “Is anyone there?”

  He rummaged through his pockets again. Searched his duffel coat and his trousers. Staggered back to the bed and started pulling off the bedlinen. There was no sign of his phone anywhere.

  The door behind him opened, and a caregiver he’d never met before popped her head in.

  She looked at him, startled. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

  “Munch, Oslo Police, Violent Crimes Section,” Munch said as he forced his way past her. “Have you seen Karen?”

  “Karen?” the terrified woman said. “Her shift has finished. Why?”

  “I need to borrow your phone,” Munch said as he stumbled toward reception.

  “No, wait, you can’t just—”

  “Munch, police, my mother is a resident here,” he mumbled, and picked up the handset.

  He held it in his hand, still feeling groggy. Damn modern technology, he didn’t know any telephone numbers by heart these days. He called information and asked to be put through to police headquarters in Grønland. Finally his call was answered, and he asked to be put through to the special unit. Ludvig picked up the phone.

  “Grønlie speaking.”

  “It’s Munch.”

  “Holger, where on earth have you been?”

  “I haven’t got time to explain, Ludvig. Is Mia there?”

  “No, she’s gone.”

  “What do you mean, gone? Where is she?”

  “She’s not here,” Ludvig said.

  “But what the hell?” Munch said. “Is Gabriel there?”

  “Munch—” Ludvig began.

  “Put me through to Gabriel. He must be able to trace her cell phone. Get me Gabriel.”

  “Munch!” Ludvig said again.

  “For Christ’s sake, Ludvig, just put me through to Gabriel!”

  “Your granddaughter has gone missing,” Ludvig said on the other end.

  Munch fell completely silent.

  “Marion is gone,” Ludvig repeated. “Someone took her from the apartment. But it’s going to be all right, Munch. We have Stoltz. She turned herself in. Did you hear me? We have Malin Stoltz. Anette and Curry are interviewing her as we speak. Everything will be all right.”

  Munch slowly woke up. Like a bear from hibernation. “It’s not her,” he growled.

  “What do you mean?”

  The whole world was spinning for Munch now. “Send a car.”

  “But, Munch . . . ?”

  “Send me a bloody car!” he screamed through the phone.

  “But I don’t know where you are!” Ludvig screamed back at him.

  “Sorry,” Munch said, realizing he was shaking all over. “Høvikveien Nursing Home. Send a car, Ludvig. I’m not fit to drive. Send a car.”

  He put down the handset and staggered out into the evening twilight.

  74

  There was an atmosphere of both tension and relief in the modern interview room in the basement of police headquarters in Grønland. They’d been looking for her for so long. First as an invisible face, a serial killer whose identity they did not know, then for every woman with different-colored eyes living in an apartment covered with mirrors. And now she was here. Just a few feet away. Anette watched her furtively while Curry poured yet another glass of water. Malin Stoltz. Anette didn’t know quite what she’d expected, but probably not this. Stoltz was so delicate and frail. Long black hair covering a pale face. Thin fingers that could barely manage to raise the water glass to her dry lips.

  “Thank you,” Malin Stoltz said timidly, bowing her head again.

  Anette almost felt sorry for her.

  “You have the right to have a lawyer present. Do you understand that?” Curry said, sitting down.

  Malin Stoltz nodded faintly. “I don’t need one,” she whispered.

  “It might be a good idea,” Anette suggested.

  Malin Stoltz glanced up at her. One brown and one blue eye looking as if they had lost the will to live.

  “I don’t need one,” Malin Stoltz repeated, then raked a thin hand through her black hair. “I’ll tell you everything I know.”

  “The suspect has declined her right to legal counsel,” Curry said into the small microphone on the table.

  “Are you sure?” Anette said.

  Malin Stoltz nodded once more, still very carefully. She was so fragile. Anette feared that she would break i
f she spoke too loudly or even just snapped her fingers.

  “I will tell you everything I know,” Stoltz continued. “But I want you to call someone.”

  “And who would that be?” Curry said brusquely.

  Anette signaled for him to back off. There was no cause for aggression. Malin Stoltz was already broken.

  “I’m ill,” Malin said. “I have a disease. I want you to call my doctor, please?” Malin looked at her again, this time with a pleading expression.

  “Of course,” Anette agreed. “What is the number?”

  “I know it by heart,” Malin said.

  Curry pushed a notepad and pen across the table. His cell phone beeped. He checked the message while Malin wrote down the number. He raised his eyebrows and slid his phone across to Anette. It was from Ludvig.

  Munch is on his way.

  Anette smiled and returned his phone. Munch was back. At last. Anette took the notepad from Malin Stoltz and passed it to Curry.

  “Please, would you make the call?”

  Curry nodded and left the room.

  “Would you like some more water?” Anette asked her when they were alone.

  “No, thank you,” Stoltz whispered, hanging her head again.

  “What is wrong with you?”

  “The doctors can’t figure it out,” Malin said. “But it’s in my head. My mind is not sound. Sometimes I don’t know who I am. But they can’t figure out what it is.”

  “Where is Marion Munch?” Anette asked her.

  “Who?” Malin Stoltz looked perplexed.

  “Marion Munch. You took her from the apartment, didn’t you? Where are you keeping her?”

  “Who?” Stoltz said again. She seemed genuinely mystified now.

  “You know why you’re here, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” Malin nodded.

  “And why are you here?”

  “We conned the old people,” Malin said in a weak voice.

  This time it was Anette’s turn to look astounded. “What do you mean?”