I'm Traveling Alone

by Samuel Bjork

Malin looked up at her.

  “We conned the old people. We didn’t mean to. That was just how it ended up. Karen and I. We needed the money. I was going to adopt a child. It’s difficult when you’re single and you’re not in good health. Do you know how difficult and expensive it is to adopt a child?”

  Anette had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. “Are you ill at this moment, Malin?”

  “What? Am I?” Malin Stoltz sat up with a jolt and looked around.

  “Right now are you Malin or someone else?”

  “My name is not Malin,” Stoltz said.

  “Then what is your name?”

  “My name is Maiken Storberget,” Malin Stoltz said.

  “So why do you call yourself Malin?”

  “It was Karen’s idea,” the skinny woman said.

  Maiken Storberget. Anette was really confused now, but she didn’t let the other woman see.

  Curry returned to the interview room. “Right, I have had a chat with your doctor. He asked me to give you his best and tell you that he’s on the way.”

  He had completely turned off his aggression. And there was no need for it anyway. As she sat in front of them, Anette began to wonder if Malin Stoltz really was the woman they were looking for. She would have to be a very good liar. Which was a possibility. She’d told them she had a mental illness. That she was not always herself. But Anette had met her fair share of liars throughout the years, and if Malin Stoltz was one of them, she was extremely good. Anette switched off the recorder and excused herself. She pulled Curry out into the corridor, leaving Malin Stoltz alone in the interview room.

  “What did the doctor say?”

  “Malin is telling the truth,” Curry replied. “She’s been in and out of institutions since she was a kid. If the man I spoke to really was a doctor, then this case is so strange that I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

  “Did he tell you what she suffers from?”

  “No, doctor-patient confidentiality and all that, but he was happy to confirm that she’s off her rocker.”

  “Curry . . .”

  “Mentally ill. Damn it, Anette, that woman has killed four children, and I have to watch my tongue?”

  “Make sure he is a real doctor, and get someone to run a check on Maiken Storberget.”

  “Who is she?”

  Anette nodded in the direction of the room.

  “Stoltz?”

  “So she says. Please?”

  “Sure,” Curry said.

  Anette returned to the interview room and restarted the recorder.

  “Friday, May fourth, 2012, the time is 2240, present is Police Prosecutor Anette Goli, who is interviewing Malin Stoltz.”

  “Maiken Storberget,” Stoltz said, but suddenly she didn’t seem quite so sure.

  “What would you like me to call you?” Anette asked her kindly.

  “Maiken, I think,” Stoltz said.

  “Right, Maiken it is. Would you like some more water, Maiken?”

  “No, thank you, this is fine.”

  “Do you know why you’re here, Maiken?”

  “Yes, because Karen and I tricked the old people. I’m so sorry.”

  “That’s not why you’re here, Maiken.”

  “Isn’t it?” Maiken Storberget gave Anette an odd look.

  “Are you quite sure that you don’t want a lawyer present?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. So why am I here?”

  “You’re suspected of the murder of four girls aged six and the abduction of six-year-old Marion Munch.”

  “Oh . . . no, no, no, no.”

  “You need to sit down, Maiken.”

  “Oh, no, no . . . no, no, I’m telling you no, I don’t have anything to do with that. Oh, no. No, no, no.”

  Anette already regretted agreeing to take off her handcuffs. Maiken Storberget looked as if she were about to harm herself.

  “Please sit down, Maiken.”

  “I’ve got nothing to do with that.”

  “Please sit down, Maiken.”

  “That business, oh, no, no, no. I didn’t do it, I’m telling you.”

  “If you promise me that you’ll sit down, then I will listen to you, how about that?” Anette said in her nicest voice as her finger edged nearer the button under the table. She was reluctant to summon uniformed officers, which would be strictly a last resort.

  Maiken Storberget looked at her momentarily before she decided to sit down.

  “Maiken?”

  “Yes?”

  “Let’s forget what I said, shall we?”

  “Okay,” Maiken said quizzically, and wiped away a tear.

  “What were you just telling me about?”

  “The old people?” Maiken nodded, sitting up in the chair.

  “Which old people?”

  “Old people in the nursing home,” Maiken said quietly. “I met Karen in Hønefoss. At a group for people who can’t have children. We became friends. It was her idea, she said she knew someone.”

  “Who?”

  “A priest. Well, he wasn’t a priest to begin with—I think he sold cars—but he became a priest and took money from people who were going to die.”

  “Their inheritance?”

  Mia had briefed the team about the church that had been trying to con Munch’s mother out of her money.

  Maiken Storberget nodded. “We got paid for every name we supplied them with, people who were . . .”

  “People who were?”

  Maiken hesitated. “Well, you know, old, whom we might persuade to believe in God.”

  She was clearly ashamed now. She wrung her thin hands in her lap.

  “And for how long did this continue?”

  “Oh, a long time. A long time. We conned a lot of people.”

  The door opened, and Curry entered the room. Anette spoke into the microphone.

  “The time is 2247. Investigator Jon Larsen has just entered the room. The interview with Malin Stoltz, Maiken Storberget continues.” She looked up at Curry, who nodded.

  “It’s all true,” he said.

  “So who is Karen?” Anette said.

  “Don’t you know Karen?” Maiken said.

  “Who is Karen?” Curry said.

  “No, we don’t know Karen,” Anette said.

  “I know Karen,” said Munch, who had suddenly appeared in the room.

  Anette hadn’t even heard the door open.

  “The time is 2249. The head of the special unit, Holger Munch, has just entered the interview room,” Anette said into the microphone.

  “Where is Karen?” Munch said, taking a seat at the head of the table.

  Maiken Storberget looked embarrassed at Munch’s arrival. They recognized each other. And Maiken had been part of the attempt to trick the Munch family out of their inheritance.

  “I’m sorry, Holger,” Maiken mumbled, looking at her lap. “I just wanted a baby. Why can’t I have a baby when everybody else can?”

  “It’s quite all right, Malin,” Munch said calmly, placing his hand on her shoulder. “I just want to know where Karen is.”

  “Maiken,” Anette corrected him.

  “Eh?” Munch said, turning to her.

  Anette had seen her boss exhausted before, but never like this. He could barely lift his head. If she hadn’t known that he never touched alcohol, she would have sworn that he’d been drinking.

  “Maiken Storberget,” Curry said, nodding to Munch to reassure him.

  “Maiken? Okay, Maiken,” Munch said. “Where is Karen?”

  “Oh, no, no,” Maiken said, rocking back and forth in her chair.

  “Munch?” Anette said, but he took no notice of her.

  “I need to know where Karen is, do you understand? I have to know wher
e she is, now!”

  Munch leaned forward and grabbed the skinny woman’s shoulders. Maiken Storberget reacted intuitively and covered her face with her hands.

  “No, no, no!”

  “Munch,” Anette warned him.

  “Where is Karen?” Munch shouted, shaking the frail woman.

  “Munch!” Anette screamed.

  “Where is Karen!?”

  Munch was throttling her violently now. Anette was about to get up, but Curry beat her to it. The stocky police officer put his strong arms around Munch and guided him out of the interview room.

  “Are you all right, Maiken?” Anette said when they were alone once more.

  The emaciated woman looked up at her with terrified eyes and nodded softly.

  “I just need a word with the other two, and then I’ll be back, okay?”

  Maiken Storberget nodded again.

  “And listen?”

  Maiken looked up at her. “Yes?”

  “It will be all right. I believe you.”

  Maiken wiped away a tear. “Thank you so much.”

  Anette smiled, placed her hand on Maiken’s shoulder, and left the room.

  “What do you think you’re doing, Munch?”

  Outside in the corridor, Curry still had Munch in a tight hold.

  “Sorry,” Munch babbled. “She has Marion. Karen. She has my granddaughter. She has Marion.”

  “Calm down,” Curry said.

  “Find a cell for Maiken,” Anette said calmly. “I’ll deal with Holger.”

  Curry reluctantly released his hold of the light-brown duffel coat. He returned to the interview room and left the two of them alone in the corridor.

  “Are you okay, Holger?” Anette said, putting her hand on her boss’s shoulder.

  “She has my granddaughter,” Munch said again.

  “Who is Karen?” Anette said, still calm.

  “She works at the nursing home,” Munch groaned. “She has my granddaughter, Anette. My granddaughter.”

  “We will find her,” Anette said as her cell rang.

  “Anette speaking.”

  “Get me Holger,” said a breathless Gabriel Mørk.

  She handed the phone to Munch.

  “Yes?”

  Munch listened briefly to Gabriel and ended the call almost immediately.

  “The Kiese film. We have the GPS coordinates. Take Curry with you, okay?”

  Munch ran down the corridor without waiting for an answer.

  75

  Mia Krüger awoke to the sound of what she presumed must be seagulls. She was back on her island. In the house she’d bought to be alone. To get away from people. To get away from herself. She had self-medicated almost to death. The sea. The air. The birds. The calm. She was going to join Sigrid. It was too hard to be alone. When your whole family is gone. Dead. It was too hard not to have someone who understands. Sigrid had always understood. Lovely, beautiful, adorable Sigrid. Mia had never needed to say anything. I understand, Mia. Without even opening her mouth. Her lovely warm eyes behind the blond hair.

  Now Mia was alone. No comfort. No peace. Just this house and the seagulls. Tough, intelligent, one-in-a-million Mia Krüger, Mia Moonbeam, the Native American with the sparkling blue eyes, one of Norway’s best murder detectives. Reduced to an exhausted eccentric on a remote island.

  Mia’s mouth felt dry. She tried to open her eyes, but it was heavy going. A slow-motion transition from dream to reality, with music in the background. A radio. Then the music stopped. She tried to open her eyes again, but her eyelids were stuck, and it wasn’t just her eyelids, it was all of her. She couldn’t move. Mia slipped quietly back into her dream—the coffee brewing, the sound of the kettle in her kitchen on Hitra.

  “Hello, Mia?”

  Mia Krüger opened her eyes to find Karen Nylund standing in front of her. The strawberry blonde smiled and held up a bottle of water.

  “Would you like something to drink? I imagine you must be terribly thirsty.”

  Mia suddenly remembered what had happened, and her body jerked automatically, trying to free itself. Something was covering her mouth. Her hands were taped to a chair. Her legs. Her legs as well. Taped down. The movements were instinctive—they came from her body, not from her brain, muscular panic—but it was futile. All she could move was her head.

  “You’re very sweet, you really are.” Karen laughed, waving the water bottle in front of her. “Do you intend to go on like that? It’s fun to watch, so don’t let me stop you.”

  Mia could feel that she was panicking but managed to calm herself down, push the panic aside. She breathed deeply into her diaphragm and looked around. Her police gaze. She was in a small house. A cabin. No, a house. The windowsills were white. The countryside. She was in the country. There was a film of some kind on the windowpanes. You could look out, but no one could look in. Warmth and crackling behind her. An oven, no, an open fireplace. A sofa. A chair, 1960s. A rug on the floor. Multicolored. A door to the left. An old fridge. The kitchen. Another door, ajar. A passage. A pair of muddy boots. A sweater. A raincoat.

  “Yes, it’s nice here, isn’t it?” Karen said, setting the bottle on the floor. “Would you like me to show and tell?”

  Mia tried to say something but managed only a gurgling sound in her throat. The tape was covering her mouth. She stuck out her tongue, pressed it between her lips, and felt the taste of adhesive.

  “If you want something to drink, then you mustn’t shout,” Karen said. “We’re a long way from other people, so they can’t help you, but I don’t want you waking the child.”

  There was a television screen in front of her. No, it wasn’t a television, it was a monitor connected to a computer. A keyboard. A mouse.

  Karen turned on the screen.

  “She’s asleep. We must be quiet. Shhh.”

  Karen Nylund smiled and pressed her finger against her lips. The screen slowly came to life, displaying the image of a sleeping girl. Marion. In a white room somewhere. The angle was a bird’s-eye perspective, a webcam mounted in a corner.

  “Gorgeous, isn’t she?” Karen smiled. She sat down by the table, softly caressing the screen. “We mustn’t wake the sleeping child.”

  Karen took a step forward and swiftly tore the tape off Mia’s face. Mia gasped for breath and coughed. She felt nauseous. The injection to her neck. She thought she was going to throw up.

  “There, have some water,” Karen said, putting the bottle to her lips.

  Mia gulped as much water as she could manage, the rest trickling down her chin and onto her sweater, into her lap, wetting her thighs.

  “Good girl,” Karen said, wiping her chin and the corners of her mouth with the back of her hand.

  “Have you hurt her?” Mia spluttered. Her voice sounded strange and rusty.

  “Is that what you think?” Karen smiled. “Of course I haven’t hurt her. I’m going to kill her, that’s true, but how can that hurt her?”

  “You bitch,” Mia hissed, and spit at her.

  Karen jumped aside and just avoided being hit.

  “Tsk-tsk, Mia. Do you want me to put the tape back, or will we try to behave?”

  Mia could feel the rage surge violently inside her, but at the last second she managed to control herself.

  “I’ll be good,” she said quietly. “Sorry.”

  “There, there, that’s better.” Karen sat down again.

  “Why me?” Mia said.

  “Wow, straight to the point, is that how we’re doing it? Isn’t that a bit dull?” Karen laughed. “Why don’t we play a little game first? I like games. Games are fun, don’t you think? Don’t you like playing games, Mia? Mia Moonbeam, what a lovely name. A little Native American girl who’s been captured? How appropriate, wouldn’t you say?”

  Mia said nothing. She cl
osed her eyes and let her head slump toward her chest. Karen rose and came over to her.

  “Mia? Mia? Now, don’t you fall asleep, Mia, we’re going to play a game.”

  Mia opened her eyes and spit again, this time right into Karen’s face.

  The strawberry blonde was unprepared, and her personality changed in a fraction of a second. Her smile was gone. Her eyes were flashing.

  “You fucking cunt.”

  Karen Nylund raised her hand and slapped Mia across the face. The blow was hard. Mia’s head was flung backward. She blacked out for a second, and her eyes closed.

  When she opened them again, the grotesque smile was back in place.

  “Would you like some cake?” Karen tilted her head winsomely to one side. “I baked it especially for you.”

  “Who the hell are you really?”

  “Now, no swearing,” Karen said. “It’s not necessary. That’s a rule. Agreed? That’s the rule of the game.”

  Mia regained her composure and nodded. She glanced around a second time. The police gaze. She was trapped here. She was far away from other people. She was restrained. She would have to talk her way out. It was her only hope. Play along.

  “That’s a good rule,” she said quietly, attempting a smile of her own.

  “Excellent,” Karen said, clapping her hands. “Who will begin? Why don’t I start?”

  Mia nodded.

  “I grew up in this house,” Karen said. “There was me, my mother, my sister, and he who must not be mentioned.”

  “Your father?” Mia said.

  “We don’t say his name.” Karen smiled, sitting down by the table again. “Your turn?”

  “I grew up in Åsgårdstrand,” Mia said. “With my sister and my parents. We lived in a white house, not far from Edvard Munch’s house. My grandmother lived close by.”

  “Boring,” Karen said. “Party pooper. We already know that. Tell us something new, something we don’t know. Why don’t I say something?”

  Mia nodded again.

  “My mother worked at Hamar Hospital. I came with her to work. She showed me everything. She had the softest hair in the world. I got to brush it. My sister was far too young, so she only got to watch. One day my mother didn’t come home from work. Everyone knew what had happened, but the police did nothing. Isn’t that strange? That we live in a country where the police don’t care?”