The Owl Always Hunts At Night

by Samuel Bjork

  ‘Your full name, including your surname.’

  ‘Jim Fuglesang,’ the man with the white bicycle helmet said, and fixed his gaze on the table.

  ‘Are you aware that you’re entitled to have a lawyer present?’ Munch said, ignoring the look Mia was giving him.

  ‘What?’

  ‘A lawyer? Would you like to have a lawyer present?’

  ‘The chicken wanted to jump into the basket,’ the man with the bicycle helmet said.

  Mia looked askance at Munch, who shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘So you decline your right to a lawyer?’

  The man across the table looked at Munch as if he did not understand what he was being asked.

  ‘I killed her,’ the man with the white bicycle helmet said, straightening up slightly.

  ‘Who?’ Mia asked, leaning forwards in her chair.

  ‘Who?’ Jim Fuglesang echoed her, looking confused.

  ‘All right, Jim, who did you kill?’

  Mia was starting to calm down now. There was something about the man sitting in front of them that told her that getting angry with him would not work. He looked as if he did not even grasp the seriousness of the situation.

  ‘Who did you kill, Jim?’ Mia said again, now in a soft tone of voice.

  There was clearly no need to come across as menacing. He seemed frightened and perplexed enough as it was.

  ‘The girl in the newspaper.’

  ‘What girl in the newspaper, Jim?’ Munch asked calmly.

  ‘The girl on the feathers.’

  ‘Camilla?’

  It took a while before the answer came.

  ‘Yes.’ Jim Fuglesang nodded hesitantly, and went back to staring at the table.

  ‘Did you know her?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Camilla Green.’

  The man with the white bicycle helmet continued to look as if he had no idea what Munch was talking about, yet he nodded all the same.

  ‘So you knew her?’ Mia asked. ‘How did you know her, Jim?’

  ‘It was summer,’ said the man opposite them. ‘There was a squirrel. I like squirrels.’

  Munch glanced across to Mia, who merely shook her head.

  ‘Was it in the woods?’ she asked. ‘Did you happen to see Camilla in the woods?’

  Jim Fuglesang smiled to himself now, as if his mind was on other matters.

  ‘I like their tails, they are so soft and bushy, and then they do this thing with their paws. To hold the pine cones. In order to nibble them? Do you know what I mean?’

  He smiled again, and then clenched his teeth.

  ‘So you saw a squirrel in the woods? In the summer?’ Munch sighed, he was starting to lose patience.

  ‘I saw lots.’ The man smiled. ‘They tend to live around the tall pines down by the lake. Where the red boat is.’

  ‘Was that where you saw her?’ Mia said. ‘Down by the lake?’

  ‘Who?’ Jim Fuglesang said again.

  ‘Listen …’ Munch sighed again but was interrupted by Mia putting her hand on his shoulder.

  ‘You were down by the lake,’ she continued. ‘And you were watching the squirrels?’

  ‘Yes, they like it there.’

  ‘And you were on your own?’

  ‘Yes.’ Jim Fuglesang nodded. ‘That’s how I prefer it.’

  Munch did not know where Mia was going with this, but he let her carry on nevertheless.

  ‘So, Camilla, the girl in the newspaper, she wasn’t there?’

  ‘No, she wasn’t there, only the squirrel. It looked like a female, because I thought I saw a baby squirrel as well, but that was only to begin with, because then I saw the other thing, but only when I squatted down.’

  Jim Fuglesang bowed his head slightly, his eyes wandered cautiously from side to side, and then he pressed his finger against his lips.

  ‘You need to be very quiet, or they’ll run away.’

  ‘So you were down by the lake?’ Mia said with a small smile. ‘Was that where you took these?’

  She opened the file, picked out the two photographs Anette Goli had shown them and slid them across the table.

  This time the man in the white bicycle helmet reacted; he turned his gaze away from the pictures and started staring at the wall.

  ‘Maria Theresa,’ he said, and began knocking his fist on the bicycle helmet.

  ‘Camilla.’ Munch could not take much more of this.

  ‘Maria Theresa,’ Fuglesang said again, looking as if he were about to disappear into his own world completely. ‘Four white rocks by the lake. The empty house.’

  ‘Camilla,’ Munch said, louder this time.

  ‘Fourteen minutes on a good day. Sixteen minutes back.’

  ‘Listen,’ Munch said irritably, but Mia put her hand on his shoulder again.

  ‘We had a squirrel in the garden once,’ she said gently. ‘When I was a kid. We had put out sunflower seeds on the feeding tray for the birds but, when we went to look to see if any had come, we saw a squirrel instead.’

  Jim Fuglesang stopped hitting his head, but he continued to stare at the wall.

  ‘My sister and I,’ Mia went on. ‘We put out more seeds, and it came back. We sat by the window, hidden behind the curtains while we waited, and it turned up every day, practically at the same time. But do you know what was the hardest thing?’

  ‘No?’ Jim Fuglesang was paying attention now, and he turned to face them again.

  ‘Whether to call it Chip or Dale.’

  Munch did not know what to think, why was Mia indulging this man’s madness, but he let her continue.

  ‘My twin sister wanted Chip, but I wanted Dale.’

  ‘Chip and Dale wrecked Donald Duck’s Christmas tree.’ Jim Fuglesang giggled.

  ‘I know.’ Mia smiled.

  ‘He couldn’t catch them, and that made him really cross. He had put up all those Christmas decorations, and then everything was knocked over.’

  ‘Yes, it was, wasn’t it? And we never managed to agree on a name, but we took some pictures, and I’m pleased about that.’

  ‘Of the squirrel?’ Jim asked.

  ‘Yes.’ Mia nodded. ‘We put them up in our bedroom so we could look at them every night before we went to sleep.’

  ‘Dale was fatter and funnier.’ The man in the bicycle helmet smiled and looked briefly once more as if he were about to disappear into his own world, but Mia brought him back.

  ‘You like taking pictures, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’ Jim nodded.

  ‘And you took these?’ Mia said delicately, moving her hand slowly towards the pictures on the table in front of them.

  ‘Yes.’ The man in the bicycle helmet said, this time managing to look at them.

  ‘Do you know what I think, Jim?’

  ‘No?’

  ‘Let’s forget about Camilla. The girl on the feathers.’

  ‘Really?’ Fuglesang said, somewhat surprised.

  ‘Yes, let’s forget about her, she’s not important,’ Mia went on. ‘You didn’t kill Camilla, why would you? You don’t even know her, and you’re a nice person – you would never do anything like that, would you?’

  ‘No, never,’ Jim Fuglesang assured her.

  ‘You didn’t even know her, did you?’

  ‘No, I’ve never met her.’

  ‘You just got a little scared, didn’t you? When you saw the newspapers, and no wonder. I would get scared, too, wouldn’t you, Holger?’

  Mia looked at Munch now with a small smile. All Holger could do was shrug.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Munch said, and cleared his throat.

  ‘You see, Jim. Anyone in your position would get scared, because you had these pictures, didn’t you?’

  ‘I didn’t do it,’ Jim said, now with tears in his eyes.

  ‘Of course you didn’t.’ Mia smiled.

  ‘I didn’t kill the cat.’

  ‘Of course you didn’t kill the cat.’

  ‘Or the
dog.’

  ‘Of course you didn’t kill the dog either,’ Mia went on. ‘You’d never harm anyone, would you, Jim?’

  ‘No,’ Fuglesang said, wiping away a tear.

  ‘I think you’re really brave,’ Mia said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Coming to us with the pictures. You’re helping us. Of course you didn’t do it. But we would like to know where you took them. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

  ‘The dog and the cat?’ the man with the bicycle helmet asked.

  Two photographs. Almost identical. Candles set out in a pentagram. Feather beds. The cat lay on one. The dog lay on the other. Both had been killed, and their front paws posed in the same strange position as Camilla Green’s hands. One up. The other along the animal’s side.

  ‘Was it near the squirrel?’ Mia ventured carefully.

  ‘There were wolves in the shop,’ the man in the white bicycle helmet said; he seemed to be on the verge of leaving them behind again.

  ‘Jim?’ Mia said. ‘Down by the river? By the red boat?’

  Seeing the photographs appeared to have upset the man in the white bicycle helmet. He resumed knocking his helmet softly and turned his gaze back towards the wall.

  ‘Maria Theresa,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Jim,’ Mia attempted again.

  ‘Four white rocks.’

  ‘Jim, do you remember where you took these pictures?’

  ‘The red boat,’ Fuglesang said, now hitting his helmet harder.

  ‘Camilla,’ Munch was again losing patience.

  ‘Was it at the same place?’ Mia asked. ‘Was it at the same time?’

  ‘Maria Theresa,’ the man in the white bicycle helmet chanted. ‘Four white rocks by the lake. The derelict house. The chicken wanted to get into the basket.’

  ‘Jim?’ Mia tried yet again. ‘Where did you take these pictures? When did you take them? Was it at the same place? Was it at the same time?’

  ‘On Tuesdays it’s better to hide in the bathroom,’ the man in the white bicycle helmet said, and this time he seemed to have left them for good.

  At that moment there was a knock on the door, and Anette Goli popped her head round.

  Mia Krüger glared at her colleague.

  ‘Grønlie has managed to contact someone,’ Goli said, nodding to Munch. ‘Please could we discuss it outside?’

  Munch glanced quickly at Mia, who shook her head irritably.

  ‘OK.’

  The fat investigator got up, left the room and carefully closed the door behind him.

  Chapter 31

  There were few customers at Justisen, luckily, and they managed to find a quiet table where they would not be disturbed. Munch would have preferred to sit outside, so that he could smoke, but it was just too cold.

  He took off his coat and sank down opposite Mia, who already had a beer lined up and was pondering her notes, lost in thought. He ordered a Farris mineral water, and wondered if perhaps he should have debriefed the whole team before going to the pub, but there was something about these times spent together, he had always enjoyed them, Mia and him at Justisen. He had told the team to turn up for an early briefing tomorrow morning; that would have to do. Besides, everyone had had an extremely long day as it was.

  ‘So?’

  ‘So what?’ Mia said, draining her beer without taking her eyes off her notes on the table.

  ‘Jim Fuglesang? Not our guy. Do we agree?’

  Mia shook her head; it seemed almost as if she would prefer not to talk.

  ‘Of course not,’ she then said, still not looking at him.

  A patient at Dikemark Hospital. In and out. Lived alone in his cottage when not in hospital, but always with support. As usual, Ludvig Grønlie had made a few phone calls, found the right people to talk to, and although Munch had contemplated keeping Jim Fuglesang in custody overnight, he had ended up handing him over to the care of social workers, who had come to collect him.

  ‘What’s the point of these dreadful tableaux?’ Mia said, looking up from her notes for the first time.

  She summoned the waiter and ordered another beer and a Jägermeister, then chewed on her pen while she stared into the distance.

  ‘I mean, I’ve seen a lot of weird stuff.’

  ‘Same ritual? But with a cat? And a dog?’ Munch said, looking at her.

  Holger Munch was one of Norway’s most skilled investigators, yet there were times where he felt himself to be a mere assistant to Mia Krüger. That his job was only to point her in the right direction. He sighed, desperate for a cigarette, and suddenly remembered he had forgotten to reply to the text Miriam had sent him earlier that day.

  Need to talk to you, Dad. Quite important. Please call me?

  Miriam would have to wait. Everything had been a blur since they discovered Camilla Green in the woods.

  ‘In the same position. The same pentagram of candles. On a bed of feathers. A cat. And also a dog. But let’s put that aside for now,’ he said, taking another sip from the bottle.

  ‘Eh?’ Mia said. She seemed to be waking up.

  ‘I said we’ll put it aside for now,’ Munch repeated.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘This is what we’ve got. Two photographs. Same type of crime scene. Candles. Feathers. Cat. Dog. Even their paws posed in the same angle as Camilla Green’s hands. Am I right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She knocked back the Jägermeister, took a swig of her beer and put her pen on the table.

  ‘OK, what else have we got?’ Munch said.

  ‘The note I found in Camilla’s locker,’ Mia said. ‘Did you get the picture I sent you?’

  Munch nodded.

  ‘The phrase I like you? An owl?’

  ‘Or a drawing of something that looks like a bird,’ Munch said. ‘I couldn’t quite see if it was an owl.’

  ‘But the feathers came from an owl?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Munch said. ‘But don’t forget that Grønlie said it was just an assumption. Forensics are checking it now.’

  ‘But even so?’ Mia said, taking another gulp of her beer.

  ‘Yes.’ Munch nodded.

  ‘So we have that as well.’

  ‘The phone records that Gabriel got,’ Munch added.

  ‘Absolutely. The message that she was OK was sent from the Nurseries.’

  ‘Nearby at least.’

  ‘Same mobile mast?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Camilla went missing. Then someone took her mobile and sent a text message saying everything was OK. Near the place from which she disappeared.’

  ‘Unless she sent it herself,’ Munch said.

  ‘Is that what we think?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, I’m just trying to sum up what we have.’

  ‘Good.’ Mia nodded. ‘But let’s assume, just for now, that she didn’t send it herself.’

  ‘Which is highly likely.’

  ‘It means that the person we’re looking for has access to the Nurseries.’

  ‘Or lives nearby.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Mia said.

  ‘So that’s what we’ve got.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Munch could see that Mia was losing herself in thought again and seized the chance to nip out for a cigarette.

  There were several people outside, shivering under the patio heaters, but Munch found one he could have to himself and took his mobile out of the pocket of his duffel coat.

  Need to talk to you, Dad. Quite important.

  His cold fingers found Miriam’s number, but his call went straight to voicemail.

  Hi, this is Miriam Munch. I’m afraid I can’t answer your call right now …

  Munch tried the number again a couple of times but got voice-mail. He finished his cigarette and went back inside to Mia, who had already ordered another beer and yet another Jägermeister and was sitting with her skinny shoulders hunched up over her notes.

  ‘So this Finstad?’ Munch said to get her attention.

 
; ‘What?’

  ‘Anders Finstad? Pictures of young girls?’

  ‘I know that you never can tell for sure,’ Mia said, ‘but I got the impression that he’s actually a decent man. He cares deeply about the riding school, and his students. There was a lot of love there, you could almost see it in the buildings. Do you know what I’m saying?’

  Munch did not, but he trusted her, although her eyes were starting to swim with the alcohol.

  ‘So it was true, his ex-wife made it all up?’

  ‘Like I said, what would I know, but I certainly believe that he was telling the truth.’

  She drummed her fingers on the table for a little while, then tucked her long, dark hair behind her ear.

  ‘So we can cross him off?’

  ‘What? No, not cross him off, but he’s no longer at the top of my list. Who have you got?’

  Munch could feel that he was starting to tire. It had been a long day.

  ‘Helene Eriksen?’ Mia said. ‘In or out?’

  Munch pondered it for a moment.

  ‘I like her, but in.’

  ‘And that Paulus guy?’

  ‘Definitely still on the list.’ Munch nodded.

  ‘And the girls,’ Mia said, glancing quickly at her piece of paper. ‘Isabella Jung? Benedikte Riis? Cecilie Markussen?’

  Munch strangled a yawn.

  ‘It’s way too early to tell. If you ask me, they’re all on the list. We’ll have to reassess after the team briefing tomorrow.’

  Mia swallowed her Jägermeister as her mobile beeped with a text message. She swore and shook her head.

  ‘What?’ Munch asked.

  ‘Curry,’ she said, and heaved a sigh.

  ‘What is it this time?’

  ‘He’s been on a bender,’ Mia said. ‘Needs a place to sleep. Again.’

  ‘Trouble in paradise?’ Munch drank his glass of Farris.

  ‘Yes, he’s had another row with Sunniva,’ Mia mumbled, shaking her head again. ‘A big one this time.’

  ‘I see,’ Munch said.

  ‘Sorry, didn’t know how much to tell you.’

  ‘I wasn’t born yesterday. But, well …’

  ‘Well, what?’

  ‘Well, what can I say? I know you’re fond of Jon, but I need people I can trust.’

  ‘Kim is leaving. Curry doesn’t turn up for work. Maybe it’ll just be you and me in the end,’ Mia said, and winked at him.