by Samuel Bjork
‘Seems we have it under control,’ Munch said. ‘How does it look?’
‘Good.’ Kim nodded, looking about him quickly. ‘We have been given two classrooms and an office. It’s a bit primitive, but we have managed to get started. Grønlie seems chuffed to be out of the office, the Jensen Twins are here, I’ve put up the lists like you asked me to; you and I will interview the more important ones.’
Munch had requested assistance from police headquarters at Grønland, and Mikkelson had allocated them two officers from Kripos, the national crime agency, both called Jensen, and better known as the Jensen Twins. They would not have been Munch’s first choice, but they needed more manpower, so it was better than nothing.
‘Curry is on his way. He can work with them,’ Munch informed him, taking a deep drag on his cigarette in order to hide his irritation.
‘Really? I thought Mia said he was ill?’
‘He seems to have recovered.’
‘Good,’ Kim said, walking in front of his boss up the steps and into the improvised interview room.
‘So who is first?’ Munch asked when he had taken off his coat and rubbed his hands warm.
It was still cold outside. Munch thought about Mia. Munch hated the cold and the darkness but knew that his young colleague suffered much more from them. It was as if the darkness took hold of her mind and did not release its grip until springtime. He put Mia out of his mind and looked at the name at the top of the list Kolsø had put in front of him.
‘Benedikte Riis?’ he said, looking quizzically towards his colleague. ‘I thought we had agreed that you and I would take this Paulus first?’
Kim gave a light, apologetic shrug. ‘Grønlie took him.’
‘Why?’
‘He insisted. Paulus was standing outside when we arrived,’ Kim said. ‘Didn’t seem like he had got a lot of sleep: “I guess you’ll want to talk to me first, given who I am? I would like to be interviewed first.”’
‘I see,’ Munch grunted. ‘“Who I am”? What did he mean by that?’
‘I guess he thinks we’ve seen his rap sheet.’
‘Minor stuff, wasn’t it?’ Munch was a little surprised.
‘Yes, indeed. Possession of a bit of cannabis, breaking into a shop, crashing a stolen car, all when he was a juvenile. He might have done other things we don’t know about. He was certainly feeling guilty about something.’
‘OK,’ Munch said, flicking through the papers in front of him. ‘And who is Benedikte Riis?’
‘The last person to see Camilla Green alive. Says she has important information. I believe Helene Eriksen has tried to get it out of her, but she refuses to open her mouth unless she can speak to a police officer.’
‘Is that right?’ Munch said, raising his eyebrows. ‘OK, let’s get her in.’
Chapter 24
Anders Finstad was waiting on the steps when Mia Krüger pulled up outside Hurum Equestrian Centre. From the outside, it looked very much like the Nurseries. A long avenue with majestic birches flanked by frost-covered fields leading to what seemed to be a beautifully maintained estate. An impressive main house, a gravel yard, a very pretty red-brick building which would appear to be the stables. Mia Krüger got out of her car; she had a really good feeling about the place. True, there was no open sea, and yet it was like being at Hitra. There was calm out here.
‘Hello,’ he said, walking quickly down to meet her. ‘Anders Finstad.’
‘Mia Krüger,’ Mia responded, shaking his cold hand. He had clearly been outside for a while.
‘Yes, I know who you are.’ He nodded, smiling faintly. ‘Under different circumstances, I would have said that I’m honoured by your visit.’
‘Ah.’ Mia smiled, trying to determine whether this was an attempt to charm her, to make her more favourably disposed to him, but she could see no signs of it. Her first impression of Finstad was similar to her feelings about the place he owned: he was a man who cared about his appearance without it in any way seeming excessive.
‘What a tragedy,’ Anders Finstad said, once he had shown her into what Mia took to be the living room. He gestured to a chair, and smiled again cautiously.
‘May I offer you something or should we …?’
‘Get right to it?’ Mia smiled and hung her leather jacket on the back of the chair.
‘Yes …’ Finstad said, looking as though that was the answer he had been expecting and hoping for.
He pulled out a chair opposite her, sat down and stared at the white tablecloth, then seemed to brace himself, though Mia had yet to ask any questions.
‘I realized it, of course,’ he said, looking up at her tentatively.
‘What did you realize?’
‘That you would think it was me.’
‘Who told you we think it’s you?’
‘You don’t?’ Finstad looked surprised.
Mia could not help but feel a little sorry for the polite, well-dressed man sitting in front of her. He had dark rims under his eyes, and his hands were fidgeting on the table in front of him. It was clear that recent events had affected him deeply.
‘Right now, we don’t think anything. We’re keeping an open mind,’ Mia said. ‘But, of course, you knew Camilla. She was a student here—’
‘Oh, no.’ Anders Finstad said.
‘No what?’
‘Not a student, no. I wouldn’t call her that.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Camilla was …’ Finstad leaned slightly back in his chair, as if trying to find the right words.
‘What was she?’
‘Special,’ he said after a while. ‘She was nobody’s student, if I may put it like that.’
‘Please explain.’
‘You couldn’t tell Camilla what to do. She was very headstrong, very strong-willed.’
‘So she wasn’t your student, here at the riding school?’
‘What? Oh, yes, on paper, but you could not tell Camilla what to do. Fine girl. Absolutely. I realized it the first time Helene brought her. Has that ever happened to you? That you meet people who, well, who are more charismatic than others, who have a kind of, well …?’
Finstad didn’t seem able to find the words and continued to fix his gaze on the white tablecloth.
‘You liked her?’ Mia asked.
‘What? Yes, everyone liked Camilla.’
‘Including you?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘Were you very fond of her?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Finstad said again, then suddenly realized where Mia was heading with her line of questioning.
‘Oh, no, no, not like that …’
Finstad continued to sit very still; he seemed to be expecting the next question.
‘September 2011.’
‘Yes.’
‘You know what I’m talking about?’
‘Of course.’ Finstad nodded, still without looking at her.
‘Two girls, your students, aged twelve and fourteen.’
‘I know …’
‘The photographs of them naked from the waist up in front of a horse?’
Finstad raised his hands from the table and covered his face. ‘I’m not proud of it …’ he said hesitantly.
‘But you did it?’
‘We all make mistakes, don’t we?’
He looked at her now, and Mia’s pity suddenly turned into disgust.
‘“Make mistakes”? So you think it’s acceptable to take pictures of naked little girls, is that what you’re saying?’
‘What?’ Finstad said, shocked.
‘You went out to the stables. You took your camera. You used the power you have over innocent girls to make them pose naked for you. That is somehow forgivable, is that what you’re saying?’
For the first time, Mia could feel last night’s alcohol rush to her head. Bloody Curry. He had kept her awake half the night. Talking about Sunniva. His gambling. It was not the first time, and it was probably not going to be the last. Finally, she had
made up a bed for him on the sofa and dragged her mattress into one of the bedrooms, where she had tried to get some sleep. She had not had the heart to wake him when the alarm clock went off. The lack of sleep was starting to take its toll now; it made her angry and irritable, less professional than she ought to be.
‘You’re a paedophile, and you’re making excuses for it, is that how I’m supposed to see it?’
‘What?’ Finstad was mystified.
‘You heard me.’
‘What? God, no,’ Finstad said. ‘You don’t have all the papers?’
Mia had not got the full file from Munch, but she did not tell Finstad that. ‘You took pictures of two girls naked in front of a horse, that’s what we have.’
‘No, no, no!’ Finstad exclaimed. ‘You don’t have all the documents from that dreadful case? But you must have!’
She had taken pills as well. In order to be able to sleep. Sitting up with Curry half the night. Three hours until the briefing. She had swallowed some in the bathroom and passed out almost without any recollection of her head hitting the pillow.
‘So what is it that you’re not proud of?’ Mia cleared her throat, and pulled herself together.
‘Of course I wasn’t proud. I cheated on her. My ex-wife,’ Finstad said, looking at her now, puzzled. ‘Doesn’t your file tell you that?’
Mia cleared her throat again. She could feel herself starting to lose patience with Munch. He had sent her out here without all the relevant information.
‘Of course,’ Mia lied, ‘but I had to check.’
‘That it was her revenge?’ Finstad said.
‘Yes,’ Mia said.
‘That my wife made it all up? To get her own back? Because I cheated on her? That she admitted it later? That the investigation was called off?’
‘Yes, yes, we know, but I had to ask.’
‘Yes, yes, of course.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Mia said, and she meant it.
‘Don’t mention it,’ the well-dressed man said, offering her a small smile now. ‘But I regret it. I behaved badly. I’m not really like that, but …’
‘It’s none of my business,’ Mia said, trying to look as kindly at him as she could.
Her headache arrived at full speed now. Bloody Munch. Bloody Curry.
‘Such a tragedy.’ Anders Finstad shifted his gaze to his hands again. ‘Camilla was so special. She just was. Really.’
‘Did she come here often?’
‘Yes.’ Finstad nodded. ‘Almost every evening, in some periods. She was one of the few girls who had her own locker. Did I mention that she was very talented? When she came here the first time, she had barely ever sat on a horse. I remember—’
‘A locker?’ Mia interrupted.
‘Yes. The keenest girls have them. They keep all their equipment here. It’s more convenient that way.’
‘Can I look inside?’
‘Oh – of course.’
Chapter 25
Isabella Jung’s dad had always told her not to judge a book by its cover, and she had tried to live by that principle, not letting her first impression of someone determine their relationship, but now she was absolutely sure: she could not stand the sight of Benedikte Riis.
They had gathered in the TV lounge while waiting to be called individually to talk to the police, and Benedikte Riis had been the first to go in; of course she had. She had demanded to be interviewed first because she knew Camilla better than anyone, she had been her best friend, and the last person to see her alive, something Isabella Jung was pretty sure was bullshit, because Benedikte Riis was friends with no one but herself. Isabella had never come across anyone more self-obsessed. Isabella was overcome by the urge to tell the bitch to shut up. The last few days had been hard enough for everyone as it was. Isabella Jung was tough, she had managed on her own her whole life, but some of the residents had reacted badly to their sanctuary being overrun. Police officers everywhere. And all those reporters. Before the cordons had been put up, they would appear out of nowhere, and a couple of the girls had freaked out. Fortunately, the uniformed police officers had left by now, and only plainclothes investigators remained. There was no such thing as a normal day any more. Benedikte was back holding court in the small TV lounge. ‘I told them like it was,’ she said. ‘Camilla and I were tight, we shared everything; if I don’t know something, then no one knows it, do you get me?’
‘Know what?’ Cecilie piped up.
The tiny girl from Bergen had curled up fearfully in one corner of the sofa; she was hugging a cushion and looked as if she needed something to hide behind, something to cling to.
‘Hello? Know what happened? Are you a moron?’
Benedikte Riis pressed her finger against her temple, and Isabella could barely contain herself.
‘And what did you tell them?’ Cecilie asked.
So much had happened that Isabella had almost forgotten the note someone had pinned to her door. The white lily. She didn’t know what made her think of it now.
I like you.
The drawing below it.
Her heart had skipped a beat when she saw it. A secret admirer. Who liked her? Could it be …? No. Surely not.
Somehow, Benedikte Riis’s intolerable face had found its way close to hers.
‘And don’t you dare tell anyone either.’
Benedikte jabbed a finger right at her; for some reason, all the girls in the room were staring at her now.
‘Tell them what?’ Isabella said.
‘Oh, Jesus, are you deaf or something?’ Benedikte sighed.
Isabella resisted the urge to get up and punch the bitch right in her stupid face.
‘I said, none of us can tell them – we have to promise each other, don’t we?’
She looked around the room for affirmation from her audience. Even the terrified Cecilie nodded feebly behind her cushion.
‘Tell them what?’ Isabella asked again.
‘That she used to sneak out into the woods,’ Wenche, another of the girls, said with a sigh; she had sat down by the window now and had lit a cigarette, although everyone knew that smoking inside was strictly prohibited.
‘At night,’ Sofia added.
‘I didn’t know that,’ Isabella said.
‘No, because you’re new here, and, just so you know, don’t think for one minute that Paulus fancies you just because he helps you with the orchids. Paulus helps everybody with the orchids, doesn’t he, girls?’
Benedikte Riis laughed out loud, and Wenche and Sofia joined in.
‘I promise not to say anything,’ Cecilie piped up, the cushion now practically covering her face.
‘Good.’ Benedikte nodded.
‘Why can’t I tell anyone?’ Isabella said, feeling a surge of defiance.
‘Because I say so,’ Benedikte said.
‘You can’t tell me what to do,’ Isabella Jung said, and got up from her chair.
‘Don’t you dare, or—’
Benedikte’s outburst was interrupted when the door opened and Helene entered.
The manager seemed exhausted. Normally, she would have told Wenche off for smoking, but not today.
‘Isabella?’ Helene Eriksen said wearily.
‘Yes?’ Isabella replied, and turned around.
‘Your turn. They want to talk to you now.’
Chapter 26
Mia Krüger desperately wished she had got more sleep because then she might have felt a little stronger, handled this a little more professionally. The moment Anders Finstad opened the door to the stable, she suddenly felt sixteen again.
The place reminded her of Sigrid.
Mia stopped in the doorway, unable to move.
‘Oh, I forgot the locker keys. I’m so sorry,’ the owner of the equestrian centre said.
‘No problem.’ Mia smiled.
‘Do you mind waiting here? I’ll be back in a sec.’
‘I’m in no hurry,’ Mia nodded and stepped back from the doorway as Finstad rushed ba
ck across the yard.
Twice a week. Sitting in the back of her dad’s Volvo. Going to a riding school near Horten. They had watched her, the whole family, Sigrid, smiling, sitting on the black horse, her blonde hair poking out from under the helmet. The smells of the stables brought back happy memories for Mia, but for some reason they also made her feel nauseous. She could not keep it in. She leaned against a wall and just made it round the corner before it came up. She vomited what little she had in her stomach, yet still she continued to gag. She stood bent double, gasping for air.
What on earth?
Her vision blurred. She had not eaten much recently. Only drunk alcohol. Swallowed pills. Not taken care of herself.
‘Are you still here?’
Mia managed to pull herself together, put on a smile and walk back around the corner.
‘There you are,’ the man said, holding up a set of keys. ‘I have …’
‘If I could just use your bathroom for a moment?’ Mia mumbled, pressing her lips together.
‘Of course,’ Finstad said. ‘It’s the first right inside the front door. Please, let me show you …’
‘I’ll be OK. I’ll find it on my own,’ she said, walking back across the yard as fast as she could. She let herself into the small lavatory and knelt in front of the toilet bowl and hyperventilated.
Hell.
Eventually, she managed to stand up again. She rinsed her mouth, splashed water on her face and looked at her reflection in the mirror. She was deathly pale. It was rare for Mia Krüger to feel scared, but her body had reacted so strongly. The memories of Sigrid in the stable had been enough.
We ought to talk about Sigrid, don’t you think?
For the first time, it crossed her mind: perhaps he was right after all. Her therapist. He had sent her a text message. You missed your last appointment. Shall I make you another one? But she had not replied. She was back at work. That had been her original reason for going. Not to share her private life. Mia remained in front of the mirror until she felt some kind of normality return. Might it help, opening up? About her grief. Her misery. Her losses. Her mother, her father, her grandmother. Sigrid. She found a bottle of mouthwash in the bathroom cabinet and gargled with it. No way. She looked at her reflection in the mirror again and shook her head.