I'm Travelling Alone (11 page)

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.

‘There was no sign of sexual assault,’ Munch continued. ‘The girls had recently been washed, their nails trimmed and cleaned, their hair brushed. Both girls had a sign from Norwegian Airlines hanging around their neck. ‘I’m travelling alone.’ Both had satchels on their backs. Both were killed with an overdose of anaesthetics. There is no doubt that we are dealing with the same killer, and that both the abductions and the murders were carefully planned. Pauline was found by a man called Walter Henriksen – he has a record, but not for anything like this, two counts of driving under the influence some years ago – but we have no reason to think that he is involved. Johanne was found by two brothers, Tobias and Torben Iversen, aged thirteen and seven years old. The boys have a stepfather, Mikael Frank, who is also known to us. He served six months for minor offences, but again there is no reason to think that any of them is involved. Door-to-door inquiries carried out in the vicinity of the crime scenes have not produced many leads but, as you know, a car was spotted which might turn out to be of interest, a white Citro‘n, year unknown.’

Munch hit the keyboard again and the photographs from the newspapers appeared. Munch took a sip from a bottle of Farris mineral water on the desk and carried on.

‘The dresses are copies of doll’s clothes made especially to fit the girls. If the killer made them himself, we probably won’t get any useful leads from them, but there is a chance that he or she had the job done by a third party who did not know what the clothes were intended for. That’s why we went to the newspapers, in the hope that someone might recognize them. We haven’t heard anything so far, Anette, is that right?’

Munch turned to the blonde woman.

‘Nothing,’ Anette said. ‘But it’s early days yet.’

‘Absolutely.’ Munch nodded. ‘For those of you who don’t know, Anette is the link between us and Police Headquarters at Grønland. All communication with them must go through her; we don’t want any leaks our end. There’s a reason we’re hiding up here, isn’t that right, Kim?’

‘I thought it was so that you can smoke on the terrace?’

There was muffled laughter among the small gathering.

‘Thank you, Kim. Don’t get hit by the door on your way out. But, seriously, and I cannot stress this enough: we don’t talk to anyone. Not to the press. Not to our colleagues down at Grønland. Not to family, friends, wives, girlfriends, flatmates, mistresses or, in your case, Kim, your dog.’

There was scattered laughter once more. Gabriel Mørk looked around, he couldn’t see how anyone could laugh in these circumstances, but then it struck him that that was all they could do. Distance themselves emotionally. They had to detach themselves. If they didn’t, then they wouldn’t be able to think straight and do their job properly.

Don’t feel too much. Don’t get emotionally involved.

He took a deep breath and tried to join in the laughter, but did not manage to utter a sound.

‘What we know,’ Munch continued, ‘we keep to ourselves. We’ll get all the help we need. Just ask Anette over there. Whatever you want, talk to Anette. We’ve been allocated unlimited resources for this.’

‘What you mean by ìunlimitedî?’ Kim asked.

‘I mean no limits at all,’ Munch said. ‘Overtime, vehicles, tech, manpower – this investigation is not only a priority for us and Grønland, it’s a case which concerns the whole nation. The orders are coming from the highest level, and I’m not talking about Mikkelson.’

‘The justice secretary?’ asked one of the men whose name Gabriel did not think he had caught.

His head was shaved and he looked like a thug. He could easily play the villain in a movie.

‘Among others,’ Munch nodded.

‘The prime minister?’ the man continued.

‘The prime minister’s office has been informed,’ Munch said.

‘Isn’t this year an election year?’ The man with the shaved head grinned.

‘It’s always an election year, Curry.’ Kim smiled.

Curry. So that was his name. Gabriel had thought the man had said Kari.

‘I don’t give a toss what the two of you think about the prime minister,’ Munch went on in a more brusque tone of voice. ‘Those two girls could be our daughters, and we aren’t the only one who feel that way – the whole country does, look at the Net, at the news. We’re a nation in mourning, in shock. We’re not just solving this case to deliver justice to the girls’ families. It’s a state of emergency out there, people fear for their children’s lives, so I couldn’t care less where you stand politically, Curry: a united government is backing this investigation with unlimited resources. It isn’t our job to question political motives, we have to find the killer. That’s our job, do you understand?’

For a moment, the mood in the room was rather strained. Curry said nothing more, bowed his head slightly and played with his fingers in his lap. Gabriel had not seen this side of Munch yet. On the telephone and in his office he had seemed incredibly kind and calm, affable, like a big teddy. Now he looked more like a grizzly bear. Dark were his eyes and dark was his purpose. Slowly, he began to understand why Munch was the boss here, rather than any of the others.

‘As you can all see, Mia is back,’ Munch continued, in his usual pleasant mood this time.

‘Hello again,’ said Mia Krüger, who had been sitting quietly during the whole presentation but who now got up and walked up to the screen.

There was scattered applause and the odd whistle from the room.

‘Thank you, everyone. It’s good to be back.’

Gabriel glanced furtively at Mia; he was frightened of looking at her too often, scared that he would not be able to stop staring. It was all getting too much for him. Pauline and Johanne hanging dead from the trees, and now Mia Krüger herself was standing only a few metres away from him. Gabriel Mørk was not the only person who had a crush on Mia Krüger. Mia Krüger had her own fan pages on Facebook. Or perhaps she didn’t these days, he wasn’t quite sure, but she used to have. He had considered ‘liking’ some of them but, as a hacker, Gabriel Mørk knew that all your online activity could be traced down to a single click, so he was very careful with anything he did. Rumours had it that Mia Krüger had set out to shoot and kill her sister’s boyfriend, a junkie; the newspapers had been all over the case for a few weeks, until it had been overtaken by other events. He believed the final police report had concluded that Mia Krüger had done nothing wrong but, even so, she had clearly been away for a while.

The skinny girl with the jet-black hair was wearing a black-and-white roll-neck jumper and tight black trousers with zips on the thighs. She looked exhausted, her eyes were dull, and she was much thinner than she had looked in the photographs in the papers.
Mia Moonbeam.
That was what they had called her on the Net. It was taken from a cartoon Gabriel did not know, it was before his time, but he believed it was called ‘The Silver Arrow’. One of the characters had been a very beautiful Native American girl, Moonbeam, and during the 1980s all the boys were supposed to have had a secret crush on her.

Even so, he couldn’t help staring at her. Mia Krüger. There were not many famous Norwegian crime investigators, perhaps that explained it. A beautiful, young, talented, blue-eyed Norwegian girl who look like an American Native, caught up in a huge scandal: perfect tabloid fodder. He couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for her now. She really did look exhausted. Her thin legs ended in a pair of big biker boots with buckles that rattled whenever she moved. She wore a silver charm bracelet around one wrist and a leather cord around the other. In chat forums on the Net, stories had been circulating about both items. The silver bracelet was supposedly a present from her sister, who had died from a drugs overdose. She was said to have taken the leather cord from a Latvian man who was suspected of having murdered a young girl he had trafficked to Norway as a sex slave. It had been early in her career, and the Latvian man had made her feel sorry for him. She had allowed him to be interviewed without being handcuffed. He had attacked her with a craft knife concealed in one of his boots. With blood all over her face, she had managed to overpower him, and then used his own craft knife to cut the leather cord off his wrist. It was said that she wore it to remind herself never to be weak. She had almost lost an eye in the attack. Gabriel could see the scar from where he was sitting. Rumours and stories. He didn’t know if any of it was true but, even so, it was fascinating. Now she was standing right here in front of him. And they would be working together.

Mia Krüger hugged herself with one arm and spoke softly and cautiously; Gabriel had to strain to hear what she was saying.

‘Most of you already know everything that we know. We’re going to take a look at a few things you don’t know about, which we believe are important.’

Mia pressed a key on Holger’s laptop and another photograph appeared on the screen.

‘The girls wore satchels when they were found. The satchels contained schoolbooks. A name had been written on the cover of the books. On Johanne Lange’s books, it said ìJohanne Langeî. However, on Pauline’s books, it said “Toni J. W. Smith”.’

Another photograph on the screen.

‘Why?’

Mia Krüger smiled briefly.

‘Thanks, Curry, just as patient as always. Good to see you again.’

‘Let Mia finish,’ Munch said irritably.

‘So, on Johanne’s books it said ìJohanne Langeî. On Pauline’s books, however, it said Toni J. W. Smith. As you can see, nothing in these cases is accidental. Everything seems to be planned down to the last detail. The killer knew what he was doing, he knew the girls’ names, we have reason to think that he watched them for a long time before he abducted them – and we’ll get back to that later – but as I was saying …’

Mia Krüger stopped for a moment, cleared her throat and hugged herself more tightly. Munch got up and offered her his mineral-water bottle. Mia shook her head and continued in a low voice.

‘As everyone knows, there’s no doubt that these two cases are connected, but we now have reason to believe they are also connected to a third case, a case some years ago we didn’t manage to solve.’

She pressed a key on the computer again.

‘In 2006, a baby disappeared from Hønefoss Hospital. A few weeks later, a Swedish nurse called Joachim Wicklund was found hanging in his bedsit. On the floor below his body we found a typed note where he takes responsibility for the kidnapping. The baby was never found. The case was shelved.’

Mia Krüger stopped again. Decided to drink some mineral water after all. She was not in good shape. Everyone could see that. The normally fit and healthy woman was trembling slightly; it looked as if she was struggling to make her head work properly.

‘Holger and I,’ she continued after a short pause, ‘are convinced that the name on Pauline’s book, ìToni J. W. Smithî, is a message from the killer. We’re still not sure why he did it, but we think that J. W. is short for Joachim Wicklund, and that Toni Smith is an anagram: ìit’s not him.î’