The Owl Always Hunts At Night

by Samuel Bjork

  ‘That particular point, I think we’ll have an answer to once Gabriel wakes up and we get hold of this …’

  She looked across to Munch, who was so exhausted that, for the first time ever, he had not taken advantage of the pauses in her briefing to have a cigarette.

  ‘Skunk,’ he mumbled.

  Mia nodded. ‘There’s more here, obviously, but from a purely practical point of view, I think that’s the crucial stuff: where does the wheel come from? The chosen one? Was that her? Why? And …’

  She got lost in her own train of thought, but Curry helped her back on track.

  ‘The film itself.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. Thank you, Jon. The film. Why was it made? Why was it found on a server? It seems risky, doesn’t it? Sharing it?’

  Mia smiled, tucked her hair behind her ear and looked across at the team again.

  ‘Any questions? Any comments so far?’

  You should have got some sleep, Mia, Curry thought, but he did not say it out loud.

  Ylva cautiously raised her hand. She seemed to be bouncing back after the initial shock.

  ‘You mentioned something you had found?’

  ‘Yes, good,’ Mia said, walking briskly up to the Mac to open a file she had prepared. ‘This is a small extract from the film. It’s about forty seconds into it. Try to see if you can spot it, OK?’ She smiled to the team. ‘Are you ready?’

  Hesitant nodding all around.

  Mia pressed a key on the Mac and suddenly the seventeen-year-old girl was alive on the overhead screen again. Camilla Green. She was off the wheel now and kneeling on the floor. Eager hands trying to stuff as many pellets as she could into her mouth.

  Animal feed, for pity’s sake.

  Bastard.

  ‘Did you see it?’ Mia said eagerly, looking across at the team once more when the short clip had finished.

  Curry looked around, but everyone was shaking their heads, apart from Munch, who already knew what Mia was talking about but who was trying to keep his eyes open nevertheless.

  ‘OK,’ Mia said. ‘I’ll play it again and, this time, try to ignore Camilla. I know it’s difficult, but try to pretend she’s not there. Look at the wall behind the wheel. OK?’

  Mia hit the key on the Mac again, and the short footage was replayed. Curry tried to do as Mia had said, keeping his eyes away from the girl kneeling in the front, and suddenly he saw it.

  ‘Shit!’ Ylva burst out, right next to him.

  ‘Jesus,’ Kim Kolsø mumbled.

  ‘Exactly,’ Mia nodded, almost triumphantly.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Anette Goli exclaimed.

  Holger Munch rose slowly from his chair. It was clear that he was almost at the end of his strength.

  ‘This is very good progress.’ He yawned. He was so tired that he struggled to put on his coat. ‘But I need a break now. We’ll meet again for a team briefing this evening. Let’s say six o’clock.’

  Their fat boss put up the hood of his duffel coat, staggered across the room and left without closing the door behind him.

  Chapter 35

  Miriam Munch was weak. She had hoped that it would pass. That she would manage to stay away, but all she had done these last few days was think about him. His face. Ziggy. And now she was here, in some café in Grünerløkka, feeling a mixture of giddy anticipation and guilt. A secret rendezvous. A place she would not normally visit. Where no one she knew might suddenly turn up. Marion was with Grannie and Rolf again, but Miriam Munch did not feel bad about that, because her daughter loved being with Grannie. The problem was Johannes.

  One morning a few days ago, she had almost blurted it out. She hated this dishonesty. This sneaking about. She had to say something. About how she felt. They had been in bed, both of them had woken up early, Marion had yet to get up, and Miriam had decided the time was now – We need to talk – but then his mobile had rung – the hospital, please could he come in earlier; and the moment had passed.

  Miriam ordered another cup of tea and went back to her table. A quarter past. He was late. She had been embarrassingly early, eager as a schoolgirl on her first date; her skin had been tingling as she had travelled here on the tram, almost incapable of sitting still, but now that she had been here for a while she was starting to feel a little awkward. She felt as if everyone could tell from looking at her that she was waiting for someone, someone she should not be waiting for. Miriam picked up a newspaper in order to have something to do, to hide behind, and started flicking through it, initially without much interest.

  The girl in the woods, of course. The paper was mostly about that. The girl they had found naked, in bizarre circumstances, a kind of ritual in the woods on the far side of Hurumlandet. Camilla, that was her name. Camilla Green. She had been living in some sort of hostel for teenagers. Miriam put the paper down again. She could not bear to think about it. It was just too awful.

  That must have been why he had left Marion’s birthday party early. Her father. Because they had found this girl. She started feeling guilty about him, too, all the years when she had treated him so badly. Blamed him for the divorce. A naked girl on feathers on the ground, surrounded by candles in the middle of the forest. Now she wished she had been more understanding. No wonder he had had to leave. Miriam got up and ordered a beer; she was not in the habit of drinking in the afternoon, but she needed it today to steady her nerves.

  By the time he finally arrived, Miriam had managed to drink a second beer and was starting to get annoyed with him. She had even considered leaving, but her anger evaporated the moment he and his gentle smile appeared in the doorway and he sat down on a chair on the other side of the table.

  ‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ Ziggy said.

  ‘That’s all right.’ Miriam smiled.

  ‘Thank you. Again, I’m so sorry. Are we drinking beer? Would you like another one?’

  Miriam wavered. Three beers this early in the afternoon? She had promised to pick Marion up after dinner, but her daughter probably would not mind another sleepover at Grannie’s. And Johannes was working late – again.

  ‘Why not?’

  Ziggy went up to the counter to order.

  It came over her again. Another surge of guilty conscience.

  What did she really think she was doing here?

  She was happy. Wasn’t she?

  Johannes, Marion and her. Miriam had never imagined it would be any other way. The thought had never even crossed her mind. Not until six weeks ago.

  Ziggy carefully carried two beers to their table and sat down again.

  ‘I really am very sorry for being so late. My sister called, and – family stuff, I don’t want to bore you with it.’

  ‘You’re not boring me, I’d like to hear about it,’ Miriam said, taking a sip of her beer.

  ‘Really?’ Ziggy said. He sounded a little surprised.

  ‘Absolutely. We have to have something to talk about, don’t we?’

  She winked at him, and the young man smiled back. Ever since they met, it had been like that between them. No awkward silences. Easy.

  ‘What?’ Ziggy smiled, looking at her.

  ‘No, nothing.’ She laughed.

  ‘Oh, go on,’ the young man teased her.

  ‘No, seriously. It was nothing. So tell me. Your sister? Has something happened? How many brothers and sisters do you have?’

  He leaned back in his chair and studied her, as if he were thinking about something. Sizing her up.

  ‘You don’t know who I am, do you?’ he asked.

  ‘What do you mean? Of course I know who you are.’

  ‘No, not like that,’ Ziggy said. ‘You don’t know who my family is? You really don’t?’

  Miriam did not understand what he was talking about.

  ‘No, you’ve never talked about them. It hasn’t come up, I mean, we’ve only just …’

  Miriam got tangled up in her own words, and she blushed.

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’ Ziggy sm
iled. ‘I don’t know quite what we’re … I mean, what do you want? Because I know what I want.’

  ‘And what do you want?’ Miriam said, not quite daring to look at him.

  ‘I think you know,’ he said, suddenly putting his hand on hers for a moment.

  She had turned her hand to stroke his when the door behind them opened and she automatically snatched it back, though the face that appeared did not belong to anyone she knew.

  ‘Sorry,’ Ziggy said. ‘I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.’

  ‘No, no, you’re not. It’s just that, well, you know how it is.’

  Miriam looked at him. Ziggy nodded back to indicate that he understood completely. It was what they had talked about that night in his flat. He had already told her it would not be a problem that she had a child.

  ‘So, your family?’ Miriam said, changing the subject.

  ‘Yes, were you serious? You really don’t know who my family is?’

  Miriam must have looked very confused, because the young man laughed briefly.

  ‘You have a sister,’ she said. ‘That’s all I know. You haven’t said much else. Should I be embarrassed about something? Was I really that drunk that night? Did you tell me things I don’t remember?’

  He laughed again.

  ‘Embarrassed, no, God, no, I’m just relieved. It’s rare for people not to know about my family. Let’s drink to that.’

  Miriam was becoming genuinely intrigued. She had clearly missed something.

  ‘You have to tell me now,’ she insisted.

  ‘It’s nothing bad, I promise,’ Ziggy said. ‘In fact, it’s quite nice not to be thought of as one of them. Like I said, I think this is a first.’

  ‘I want to know everything about you,’ Miriam said. ‘To be honest, I think about you nearly all the time.’

  She could not believe she had just said that. It had to be the alcohol talking. She started to blush again, but it could not be helped.

  ‘I want to know everything about you, too.’ Ziggy leaned across the table towards her. ‘And I think about you, too. Perhaps I shouldn’t, and I don’t know what we’re going to do about it, but that’s the way it is.’

  It was beating faster now, her heart under her jumper, as he smiled at her and gently touched her hand again.

  Damn it, Miriam.

  What do you think you’re doing?

  A secret rendezvous?

  ‘So who is this mysterious family of yours?’ she asked bashfully.

  ‘What else do you know about me?’ Ziggy smiled, leaning back in his chair.

  ‘Your surname is Simonsen,’ Miriam began.

  ‘Ziggy Simonsen, that’s me.’

  The name rang a faint bell. Simonsen?

  ‘I wasn’t christened Ziggy, of course. Jon-Sigvard. That’s what they called me. Sigvard had to be in there somewhere. Family tradition.’

  He smiled faintly at her under his dark fringe.

  ‘Carl-Sigvard Simonsen?’

  Ziggy nodded.

  ‘He is your father? The billionaire?’

  ‘Yep.’ Ziggy nodded.

  ‘Sorry,’ Miriam said with a small smile.

  ‘Sorry? Why on earth do you think you have to apologize?’ He smiled, and raised his beer to her again.

  ‘I don’t read the gossip columns,’ Miriam said by way of apology. ‘Or enough newspapers, unfortunately.’

  ‘Hey, I’m pleased.’ The young man smiled again. ‘I could meet you as myself, and not like some …’

  He seemed lost in his own thoughts now, as if something burdened him, and a darkness she did not recognize spread across his bright, open face.

  ‘So, you’re a rich kid?’ Miriam said to lighten the mood. ‘My ship has come in.’

  He came back to her. He smiled once more and pinned his gorgeous blue eyes on her.

  ‘Does that mean what I think it means?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That we are doing this?’

  ‘Doing what?’ Miriam said coquettishly, though she knew only too well what Ziggy was implying.

  ‘You and me?’ he said, caressing her hand again.

  This time she let her hand stay where it was. His lovely hand against hers.

  ‘I think I need another beer,’ she whispered.

  Chapter 36

  ‘Moonbeam.’ The face of the man in the doorway lit up in a smile. ‘I wondered when you would turn up. I had a feeling you would when I saw the picture in the newspapers. Come in, come in.’

  Mia Krüger crossed the threshold and followed the thin man with the ponytail into his flat.

  ‘No need to take off your shoes, we don’t stand on ceremony here. Would you like a drink, or something stronger?’

  Mia knew exactly what he was suggesting. The small flat reeked of marijuana.

  ‘Please excuse the mess. I don’t get a lot of visitors. I prefer my own company, as you know.’

  ‘It’s fine.’ Mia smiled and moved a messy pile of stuff from one end of the sofa so she could sit down.

  ‘Good, good,’ the man with the ponytail said, and flopped into an armchair opposite her, still smiling. ‘So I can’t offer you anything?’ He gestured towards the table. ‘I’ve got some good Afghan. Straight from the grower. Banned in thirty countries, he-he. No, not really, but it’s still good. Soft as butter. And some Maroc lying around here somewhere, if you fancy a calmer trip? Are you sure I can’t tempt you?’

  Sebastian Larsen grinned at her. She was a little surprised that he had replied to her so quickly. He did not like visitors, but, right now, he actually seemed pleased to see her.

  ‘No, thank you. You know I don’t touch that stuff,’ Mia smiled, feeling it was starting to affect her now, the desire for sleep.

  ‘It’s up to you. But you don’t mind if I indulge?’

  ‘Please yourself,’ Mia said with a light shrug.

  Sebastian Larsen. Social anthropologist. Used to work at the University of Oslo. A brilliant mind that had quickly risen up the academic ranks, until he was thrown out for selling marijuana to the students. Mia had called on his services in previous cases, but these days senior police officers pretty much discouraged it. The force did not want to be associated with a man like Sebastian Larsen, and Mia could see why: the smell in the flat and the smile on his face was more than enough.

  ‘It’s been ages, Moonbeam. Good to see you. I thought you had forgotten all about me.’

  ‘I’ve been busy,’ Mia smiled, feeling the tiredness again.

  Munch had given her strict instructions: get some rest – but she had been unable to make her body switch off. Instead, she had swallowed some pills. She had been thinking about Sebastian Larsen ever since they had found Camilla. The occult. Rituals. Mia could think of no one else who knew more about this subject than the man currently sitting in front of her.

  He had his own blog these days, she believed; that was how he had managed since he got kicked out of the university. Conspiracy theories. That was pretty much all he wrote about. She looked him up every now and then. New evidence: the Americans never landed on the moon. Area 51, witnesses say: we saw extraterrestrials. And so on.

  ‘You’re sure?’ Larsen said, taking a drag from the bong in front of him.

  ‘No, thank you,’ Mia said, shaking her head again.

  ‘As you wish.’ He smiled and filled the room with smoke as he exhaled.

  He had been highly regarded at the university. Travelled the world to give lectures. Right until he had let his weakness – or perhaps his liberal attitude – become known.

  ‘You know why I’m here?’ Mia said, aware that her eyes were starting to close.

  She stuffed her hand into her pocket, fidgeted with the white pills which would give her a little extra energy, but she held back. Enough now. She had to get some sleep soon.

  ‘Of course.’ Sebastian nodded, looking earnestly at her. ‘In fact, I’m glad you came. I was hoping you would.’

  ‘So what do you think?
’

  ‘About the pictures in the newspapers?’

  Mia nodded.

  Sebastian Larsen ran a hand over his hair, and hesitated.

  ‘Well, what’s there to say? It’s not easy to draw conclusions from just one picture on the cover of a newspaper. Do you have anything else for me?’

  ‘Possibly,’ Mia said. ‘But you have to give me something first.’

  ‘So you no longer trust me, is that it?’

  Mia grinned and indicated the bong on the table. ‘Would you?’

  Larsen giggled. ‘Point taken.’

  He went over to his laptop and entered the address of a newspaper website.

  ‘This is very interesting, I have to admit,’ he said, bringing up the photograph which had been in the newspapers.

  The forest floor. The feathers. The five candles.

  ‘It’s a pentagram, of course, but you already know that, don’t you?’ Larsen looked at her.

  Mia nodded.

  ‘I haven’t seen the feathers before,’ he said, turning his attention back to the screen. ‘But the candle formation is well known; the pentagram is used by many, it’s thousands of years old – but if I’m to help you, you’re going to have to give me a bit more.’

  Mia could sense he was already intrigued, but she still had her doubts as to whether she should show him the photographs in her bag of Camilla Green.

  ‘The pentagram. Let’s say that it’s a ritual. Who would do something like that today?’ she asked.

  ‘Where do you want me to start?’

  ‘With what’s most relevant.’

  ‘So you have nothing more to show me?’

  ‘If you were to name names, I mean, based only on this, then who would it be?’ Mia said, ignoring his question.

  Larsen typed away, brought up a new webpage. ‘OTO,’ he said, nodding at the screen.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Ordo Templi Orientis.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law. Love is the law, love under will. Founded in 1895, a Knights Templar order breaking with the Church. Have you heard of Aleister Crowley?’

  ‘Yes.’ Mia nodded.

  ‘Thelemite teachings?’