by Samuel Bjork
‘Quite, quite. And how are you doing otherwise, Sarah? You and your daughter are all right and—’
‘Fuck off,’ Sarah Kiese said, and left the office without closing the door behind her.
Several times on her way back to the new Housing Association flat in Carl Berner she considered chucking the memory stick. Toss it in a bin and she would be finished with him, but for some reason she did not. Not because she was curious – Sarah Kiese could not give a rat’s arse about its contents; it was more about tying up loose ends. The lawyer was a rat, but he was still a lawyer. Her husband had been an idiot, but he had had a last wish. Give that memory stick to Sarah, and only to her.
She let herself into the flat and turned on her computer. Might as well deal with it straightaway. The black laptop slowly roused itself. She inserted the memory stick and copied the contents to the computer’s hard drive. It contained only one file, which was called Sarah.mov. A film. Aha? So she would be forced to look at his ugly mug one more time, was that it? Even from beyond the grave he was bothering her. She double clicked the file to play the film.
He had recorded himself with a small camera. Possibly on his phone; she couldn’t be sure. His horrible face was close to the lens, but it had an expression she had not seen before. He seemed scared out of his wits.
Sarah, I don’t have much time, but I have to do this, I have to tell someone, because something here doesn’t feel right.
He filmed his surroundings.
I was offered a job and now I’ve built this. I’m far away in …
She heard noises, muffled, as if he were covering the microphone on his mobile; she couldn’t make out what he was saying. Her late husband continued filming his surroundings with trembling hands while he spoke, stuttering most of the time. So he had built something, so what?
… And I’m scared that, well, what did I actually build? Look at this. I’m deep underground. I thought that it might be a panic room, but it’s not. There’s a small hatch …
The voice disintegrated again but the filming went on. It was a kind of underground shelter.
… And no, it doesn’t feel right, something is going on here. Something … Take a look at this. Just look. You can hoist things up and down. Like an old service lift or …
Her late husband suddenly jerked and looked around. The whole scene reminded her of a film she had seen years ago, The Blair Witch Project, about some terrified teenagers running around the forest filming themselves.
… What the hell do I know, but I’m worried that something might happen to me. I can feel it. Have you any idea how far away I am? Please would you write down what I’m saying, Sarah? Where I am and how I got this job, and well, then you can go to the police if anything should happen to me? I got the job from someone who …
More scrambling. Sarah Kiese could not hear a word of what her late husband was saying, she could just see his frightened eyes and trembling lips as he babbled away. This lasted just over a minute. Then the film ended.
So who did you have to sleep with to get this job? she thought. Or was it a job in return for sex? I certainly never saw any of that money. Help you? I don’t think so.
The short film clip had been very unpleasant to watch, but she no longer had the energy to care. The whole thing could be nonsense for all she knew, some idiotic hoax. She had given up believing anything that idiot said a long time ago.
Sarah deleted the film from her computer, took out the memory stick, threw it in the bin, went out into the stairwell and threw the bin bag down the shaft. Just like that. The house was tidy once more. Just her. No trace of him.
Soon her daughter would come home from school. Life was wonderful. In this flat, she was in charge. She went outside on the terrace and lit a cigarette. Put her feet on the table, smiled to herself, closed her eyes and enjoyed a glimpse of the spring sunshine that had finally made an appearance.
Her life. No one else’s. At last.
Chapter 17
Gabriel Mørk was about to make his way to the incident room when there was a knock on his door.
‘Yes?’ he called out.
‘Hello, Gabriel.’
Holger Munch entered and closed the door behind him. Gabriel nodded hi and shook the large, warm hand.
‘Er, right,’ Holger said, scratching his head. ‘I see your stuff hasn’t arrived yet?’
‘No,’ Gabriel said. ‘But, that guy … he …’
‘Kim?’
‘Yes, Kim, he said it was on its way.’
‘Great, great,’ Holger Munch said, now scratching his beard. ‘We had another guy doing your job, but he succumbed to temptation. Pity, but that’s how it goes.’
Gabriel wondered if he could ask what kind of temptation his predecessor had succumbed to, but he decided against it. There was something in Munch’s eyes. He had seen the same expression in Kim’s. The heavy, burdened expression of someone with a lot on their mind.
‘I’m sorry about the somewhat unorthodox hiring process; I normally meet everyone I employ, but there was no time on this occasion, regrettably.’
‘It’s fine,’ Gabriel replied.
‘You came highly recommended,’ Munch nodded, and patted Gabriel on the shoulder. ‘Again, I’m sorry about the rush. It’s a bit, well, I don’t know, did Kim brief you?’
Gabriel shook his head.
‘OK, you’ll learn on the job. Have you read today’s papers?’
‘On the Net.’ Gabriel nodded.
‘Any particular news that stood out, in your opinion?’
‘The two dead girls?’
Munch nodded.
‘Mia and I will brief everyone shortly, so you’ll soon know what we’re talking about. You have no previous experience with police work?’
Gabriel shook his head.
‘Don’t worry about it. I picked you because of what you know already,’ Munch continued. ‘Like I said, if we had more time, we would have sent you on an induction course, a short version of Police College, but there isn’t, so it’ll be learning by doing and, if you have any questions, then just come to me, OK?’
‘Sure.’ Gabriel nodded.
‘Fine,’ Munch muttered, looking absent-minded again. ‘By the way, what did you think?’
‘About what?’ Gabriel said.
‘When you read the news today?’ Munch continued.
‘Oh, right,’ Gabriel replied, blushing slightly, feeling he should have realized what his new boss was asking him. ‘I guess I thought the same as everybody else, I presume. It was a bit of a shock. I’ve been following the case about the two missing girls. Hoping they would turn up alive.’
Gabriel thought about the headlines in the papers.
PAULINE AND JOHANNE FOUND KILLED …v
LIKE TWO DOLLS IN THE TREE …
FAMILIES IN DEEP MOURNING …
WHITE CITRO‘N SPOTTE …
HAVE YOU SEEN THESE CLOTHES …
‘Was that what you meant?’
‘What?’
Munch had been lost in thought.
‘Should I say anything else?’
‘No, that’s fine,’ Munch replied, placing his hand on his shoulder and turning to the door. ‘Or, no, tell me a bit more.’
Munch gestured for Gabriel to sit down, while he continued to lean against the glass wall.
‘Well, I don’t really know,’ Gabriel began. ‘When I woke up this morning I was an ordinary guy. I didn’t know that this was the case I’d be, well, working on.’
The words tasted strange in his mouth. Working. On a case. A murder investigation. The newspapers wrote of little else; same went for the TV channels. Everyone was talking about the discovery of the bodies of two girls who had been missing for weeks; all of Norway had been hunting high and low for them. It was obvious that the police knew more than they were saying, but they were asking anyone who had seen the clothes to come forward. The dresses. The girls had been found wearing doll’s clothes. Between the lines, a phrase was starting
to appear, a phrase which had yet to be used, because this was Norway, not the US or some other country where such things happened, and that phrase was ‘serial killer’. It had not been printed anywhere, and yet it was what everyone thought.
‘I thought it must be the same killer,’ Gabriel said.
‘Aha, go on.’
‘I thought that it doesn’t seem very Norwegian.’
‘Exactly. Go on.’
‘I was pleased they were not the children of someone I knew,’ Gabriel continued.
Munch gestured for him to carry on talking.
‘It was strange that both of them were about to start school. At first, I wondered if it might be about a teacher. Then I feared that perhaps more girls will disappear. Then I thought that, if I had a six-year-old daughter, I would take extra care of her right now.’
‘What did you say?’ Munch said, and seemed to come round momentarily.
‘If I had a six-year-old daughter, I would take extra care of her.’
‘No, before that.’
‘Perhaps more girls will disappear?’
‘Before that.’
‘I thought it might be about a teacher.’
‘Hmmm,’ Munch said, scratching his beard again.
He reached for the door.
‘Incidentally, are you any good at code-breaking?’
Gabriel smiled faintly.
‘I thought that was why you hired me?’
‘Oh, yes, so it was.’ Munch smiled.
He stuffed his hand into his trouser pocket and produced a scrap of paper on which he had scribbled something.
‘This isn’t a priority, it’s a private matter, but I’m hoping you might be able to help me.’
Munch handed Gabriel the note.
‘I have several nerdy friends who like to challenge me. One of them sent me this, but I haven’t been able to crack it.’
Gabriel looked at the note Munch had just passed him.
Bwlybjlynwnztirkjoa=5
‘Can you tell what it is?’ Munch asked him with interest.
‘Not at first glance,’ Gabriel said.
‘He’s been testing me for a few days.’
Munch sighed. ‘But I think I’ll have to give up. Let me know if you make anything of it, would you? I hate it when these mates of mine get one over on me.’ Munch chuckled and patted Gabriel on the shoulder again.
‘But it’s not a priority, it’s just a private matter, OK?’
‘Sure.’ Gabriel nodded.
Munch finally left and, this time, Gabriel made it all the way out into the corridor before Munch popped his head round the door again.
‘Full briefing has been postponed. It’ll be in just under an hour, OK?’
‘Sure.’ Gabriel nodded and stayed in his chair, studying the challenge on the note Munch had just given him.
Chapter 18
Benjamin Bache could not hide his disappointment as he flicked through today’s edition of VG without spotting his name. The paper had crowned this year’s best-dressed men and, last year, he had come a respectable third, beaten only by Morten Harket and Ari Behn; this year, however, he had not even made the list. Dammit. The actor punched the wall in his dressing room, but regretted it immediately. It hurt and made a noise. A moment later, there was a knock on the door and Susanne, the assistant director, appeared.
‘Everything all right, Benjamin? I thought I heard something?’
Benjamin Bache stuck his still-aching hand into his pocket and put on his best smile. After all, he was an actor.
‘Everything is just peachy; perhaps it came from Trond-Espen?’
‘OK.’ Susanne smiled. ‘Rehearsals start in fifteen minutes, Act III from the beginning.’
‘To be or not to be, that is the question,’ Benjamin recited with a wink.
The assistant director giggled before she disappeared. Oh yes, he still had it. But, for the love of God, he had made the list last year – what had gone wrong this time? He had taken such care with his appearance. He had even hired a PR firm and a stylist to advise him. Making sure he looked good. Having his pictures taken at all the right events. From all the right angles. He heaved a sigh and sat down in front of his dressing table. He had not aged much in one year. A few tiny wrinkles around his eyes. His temples were possibly slightly higher. He leaned forward and examined his hairline. There was cause for concern: it looked as if it had receded by a few millimetres since the last time he checked. He swept his hair to the side; it looked thicker when he wore it like that. He began some vocal exercises. Warmed up his throat, pouted at himself in the mirror.
He had been hired by Nationaltheatret almost eight years ago. ‘A star is born,’ Dagbladet had written after his interpretation of Estragon in Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot, and from then on he had been cast almost exclusively in leading roles, at least initially. He had played Romeo. He had played Peer Gynt. And now Shakespeare’s Hamlet on the main stage. He had hoped for the title role. Hamlet. ‘To be or not to be.’ But, instead, he had been cast as Horatio. The part of Hamlet had gone to Trond-Espen because. well, it would, wouldn’t it? Though he didn’t really see why. He was obviously the better actor by far.
Oh, my lord …
He was most put out. Acting in the shadow of Trond-Espen. Bloody Horatio, a character ignored by practically everyone; it was pretty much only Hamlet who bothered to speak to him. Standing on stage, bowing his head, treating Trond-Espen like a king – no, that really went against the grain. Benjamin Bache got up and studied his body in the mirror. He really was very good-looking. It put him in a slightly better mood. His recent workout routine was producing results. The yoga, too. As were the skin treatments: he couldn’t see a flaw anywhere.
He returned to his chair and carried on with the vocal warm-up as the stage manager’s voice crackled through the intercom.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, we’re ready to run Act III. Hamlet. Hamlet, Act Three from the top starting in five minutes.’
Benjamin Bache finished his vocal exercises, left his dressing room and made his way to the main stage.
Chapter 19
Gabriel Mørk was sitting at the back of the incident room, waiting for the briefing to start. He had greeted everyone, shaken their hands in turn, said hi, hi, without being able to remember very many of their names. There was Kim, who had met him in the street, and a woman with long, blonde hair called Anette, then there were three younger men whose names he could not remember and an older man whose name was … Ludvig, was it?
Holger Munch entered the room, closely followed by Mia Krüger. Mia took a seat in a chair at the front, while Holger turned on the projector and connected it to his laptop.
‘Right, hello, everyone. Today is the first briefing with everyone present. Full team in place, and that’s what we need. We have some new faces – welcome to you; those of you who have done this before, please help the newcomers settle in so that we get the best out of everyone. It’s now ten days since we found the body of Pauline Olsen and eight days since we found Johanne Lange. After imposing a media blackout, we have decided to use the press to our advantage. As you have no doubt seen, we have today released pictures of the dresses the girls were found wearing.’
Holger paused briefly and looked across the assembly. Gabriel Mørk thought he could detect a faint smile behind the grave eyes.
‘We should really be celebrating being back here in Mariboesgate,’ Munch added. ‘But, as you know, we have more important things to do, so that will have to wait.’
Gabriel glanced around the room. Even though the mood was sombre, he saw smiles and a couple of contented faces around him. There was no doubt that this team was pleased to be back together again.
‘Some of you have been here from the start, but as we also have some new faces, I’m going to give you a full briefing. I would like to add that this briefing is available as a PDF file on the server, which will be up and running later today. We ask that you share all information, and by that
I mean absolutely everything you discover in the course of the investigation; please upload it to the server so everyone has access to it. Things move faster this way and it makes it easier to write reports later.’
Munch hit a button on his laptop and the first slide of his PowerPoint presentation appeared. They were not the same photographs that had been on the front pages of the newspapers, the two doll’s dresses. These were of the missing girls wearing the same dresses and hanging from two separate trees. Gabriel Mørk had never seen anything like it. It was at this point he suddenly realized what he had signed up for. This was not a movie. This was not just another TV programme. This was real. The two little girls no longer existed. Someone had killed them. In real life. They were no longer breathing. They would never talk again. They would never smile again. They would never start school. Gabriel Mørk tried to stay calm and forced himself to look at the photographs, even though his stomach churned. He feared that he stood out enough as it was. Fainting during his first briefing would not look good.
‘Pauline Olsen and Johanne Lange,’ Munch said. ‘Both of them six years old. Due to start school this autumn. Pauline was reported missing four weeks ago. Johanne three weeks ago.’
More photographs, some maps.
‘Pauline disappeared from Skøyen Church Nursery and was found in Maridalen. Johanne disappeared from Lille Ekeberg Nursery and was found in Krokskogen, not far from Hadelandsveien. The times of their deaths have been difficult to pinpoint exactly, but evidence suggests that the girls were kept prisoner for a period of time before they were dressed in these costumes and left in a place where we would find them.’
Munch pressed the key on his computer again and fresh images appeared. Gabriel was unable to look at them and began glancing at the floor and at his shoes.
Dear God. What had he let himself in for? These girls were dead. In real life. The victims of some grotesque game.
He wished with all his heart he was back in his bed now; he felt that his life had changed in just a matter of minutes. He wished he had never seen these photographs. That he did not know that such people existed. People capable of such acts. Suddenly, he felt utterly despondent. He was overcome by a sadness he had never previously known. Of course, he knew that such things happened, and yet a part of him had refused to believe it. This was too unreal – no, it was far too real, it was reality bloody and brutal, that was what it was. Gabriel took a deep breath and concentrated very hard on sitting still.