I'm Travelling Alone (31 page)

‘And?’

‘Nothing yet. And, oh, the care home isn’t the only link between your mother and Veronica Bache.’

‘What more is there?’

‘A church.’

‘Bache was a member of it?’

‘More than that. She was going to leave it all her money.’

‘What?’

‘Do you see it now? Do you understand what I’m saying?’

‘Good job, Mia,’ Munch muttered. ‘This is good.’

He became lost in his own world. Tried to process the information she had given him.

‘Why?’ Mia said.

‘Yes, why?’

‘I don’t know that yet, but there are too many coincidences, wouldn’t you say? What’s the common denominator here, Munch?’

‘The church.’

‘Precisely.’

‘But—’ Munch frowned.

‘I know, I don’t really understand it either. It’s too messy. I almost think that’s the point, that we’re meant to get lost. A million dead ends. I know it sounds weird, but he’s doing a good job. The killer, I mean. I would have done it the same way.’

Munch sent her a sideways glance.

‘You know what I mean. If I was on the other side. Symbols everywhere, changing the MO … we’re running around in circles. We’re sent this way, then that way. It’s how you play tennis, isn’t it?’

‘Tennis?’

‘The player who serves always has the advantage. As long as you keep pressing your opponent so hard that all they can do is return the ball, you’re in the driving seat. Unless you make a mistake, you’ll win.’

‘So the killer is serving?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m not sure I get the comparison.’ Munch sighed. ‘Tennis and murder?’

‘Oh, you know exactly what I mean, you numpty, you’re just refusing to give me credit for anything. You like having all the ideas yourself.’

‘Yes, that’s me all right.’

Munch winked at her, swallowed the last bite of his prawn sandwich and wiped a little mayonnaise from his beard with the napkin.

‘I need a cigarette.’

‘I’m going to have to start smoking.’ Mia sighed. ‘Having to accommodate your nicotine cravings the whole time is seriously dull.’

‘Sorry,’ Munch said, without meaning it, and walked ahead of her out into the beer garden.

‘I know I’m rambling and speculating,’ Mia said when they were seated next to the patio heaters. ‘But we can’t just sit here twiddling our thumbs.’

‘Well, we could always bat some ideas around.’ Munch winked at her.

‘Oh, shut up,’ Mia laughed. ‘Fine, no more sports analogies, but you know where I’m coming from.’

‘Chaos.’

‘Correct.’

‘…Chaos” is a better term to describe this than tennis.’

‘All right, all right,’ Mia said. ‘Fine, let’s call it chaos.’

‘There’s a big difference between chaos and tennis. Tennis is a positional game.’

‘And this isn’t?’

Munch lit a cigarette. ‘Hmm, yes, I guess so.’

‘You see, I was right to some extent.’

‘Chaos is better.’

‘You can be so childish, did you know that?’

‘How do you rob a bank without getting noticed?’

‘You blow up the building across the road, I know.’ Mia sighed again.

‘Sorry.’ Munch smiled and rubbed his eyes. ‘It’s been a long week. I lost my temper with my lawyer today. Why won’t people ever take responsibility for their own actions? So where do we go with this?’

‘That was what I wanted to ask you about.’

‘The church?’

‘That goes without saying.’

‘You and me tomorrow morning?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Is Gabriel still at the office?’

‘I think so.’

‘Send him a text. Ask him to check up on the church so we’re prepared when we get there. I can’t remember what they call themselves, but the address is on Bogerudveien in Bøler.’

‘OK,’ Mia said, taking out her mobile.

‘By the way,’ Munch said, lighting a fresh cigarette with his current one. ‘What did you say just now?’

‘About tennis?’

‘Yes, that if you’re serving, then you’ll win.’

‘Unless you make a mistake …’

They both fell silent and looked at each other.

‘It’s a nice idea, isn’t it?’ Munch said.

‘Definitely.’ Mia nodded.

‘Putting pressure on the killer,’ Munch said.

‘I’ll see what I can come up with.’ Mia nodded once more.

‘You do that. Meanwhile, I’ll put together a list of the sons of bitches who want my money.’ Munch got up.

‘Are you leaving already?’

‘I have Marion tonight. The wedding, you know. They have so much to do.’

‘Of course.’ Mia nodded again. ‘Give my love to Miriam.’

‘I will.’

Munch stubbed out his cigarette and left. Mia considered having a beer but willed herself to order a Farris instead. She took out her pen and her papers, which she spread across the table, as she usually did when she wanted to get her thinking in order. In the past, she had seen everything so clearly and worked much faster; at her peak, all she had to do was close her eyes, and everything would play out in her head, but that was a long time ago. The Tryvann incident. The months on Hitra. It was as if her eyes were veiled. A kind of fog clouded her brain cells. She had been told to rest. Plenty of rest for a long time. Not to subject herself to any kind of pressure. Her response had been to drug herself. Almost to the point of death. And now she was paying the price. She started making notes on the sheets in front of her. Trying to get the pen to do the work. To impose some kind of order on the chaos. Thinking was almost painful. Two girls were dead. Two girls were missing. It was her responsibility. Munch. Munch was definitely involved somehow. She was sure of it. Or was she? Something which had been so easy for her a few years ago now seemed impossible. She should never have agreed to leave the island. She should have stuck with her plan.

Come to me, Mia, come.

She wrote down the names at the top of the sheets again. Pauline. Johanne. Karoline. Andrea. Six years old. About to start school this autumn. Mark 10:14. ‘Suffer the little children to come unto me.’ ‘I’m travelling alone.’ Skipping rope. From the trees. The forest. Clean clothes. Freshly washed bodies. Shakespeare.
Hamlet.
Satchels. School books. It was coming now. Toni J. W. Smith. Hønefoss. The baby, who was never found. ‘I’m travelling alone.’

Come, Pauline, come.

Come, Johanne, come.

Come, Karoline, come.

Come, Andrea, come.

Mia was roused from her reverie when the waitress suddenly appeared next to her.
Damn.
She had been on her way. To the place where she had to go. A place she hadn’t visited for a long time.

‘Can I get you anything else?’

‘Yes, get me a beer, please,’ Mia muttered irritably. ‘And a Ratzeputz. Make that two Ratzeputz.’

She needed assistance to get back to the place where she needed to be.

Chapter 47

Mia Krüger was drunk but she couldn’t fall asleep. She had drunk too much. She had not drunk enough. The hotel room seemed colder and even more impersonal than usual. The clean bedlinen, which had been a friend, had become an enemy. She had chosen this room because it didn’t remind her of anything, but now she was missing home. A home. Something familiar. Something safe. Someone who could take care of her. Perhaps Mikkelson had been right after all. Perhaps she should go to see a psychologist. Perhaps she needed to be admitted. She had balanced on a knife edge for a long time, recovered a little, been positive, felt strong, but now she was spiralling downwards once more.

Her body spun around the large bed and she clung to it. She shouldn’t drink. She should so obviously not drink. No one should, really. She had been on her way, hadn’t she? To the place where she belonged? Get behind the façade. Her speciality. Seeing what no one else saw. Don’t put pressure on yourself. Just rest. Go someplace. Hide away on an island. Shut out the world. You’ve done your part. But no. Reality kept knocking. Evil insisted on disturbing her. Cars where there used to be seagulls. Streetlights and neon had replaced the stars. She was sensitive now. Her skin almost transparent. She used to be so tough. She shouldn’t drink. She should so obviously not drink. No one should, really.

Mia walked barefoot across the floor and found her trousers on a chair. Her pills were still in the pocket. She took one of them with her to the window and swallowed it with a mouthful of water. She sat for a long time staring at the traffic lights until she could no longer distinguish the colours. She staggered back to her cold bed and rested her head on the pillow.

Her mobile rang just as she had managed to fall asleep. She did her best to ignore it. Rest. Pretend nothing had happened. Her mobile stopped ringing. It couldn’t have been important. Her mobile started ringing again. Then it stopped. Her leaden body lay on the white sheet. When her mobile rang for the third time, she could no longer leave it alone.

‘Mia?’

It was Munch.

‘What time is it?’ Mia mumbled.

‘Five,’ Munch said.

‘What is it?’

‘They’ve found the girls.’

‘What?’

‘I’ll pick you up outside the hotel. Can you be ready in ten minutes? We have a long drive ahead of us.’

‘Damn,’ Mia heard her own voice say. ‘I’m on my way.’

Chapter 48

Tobias Iversen was lying behind a tree, waiting for darkness to fall. He had eaten his last sandwich a long time ago and was starting to feel hungry, but he couldn’t go home now, he had more important things to do. His plan had been to try the gate first, but that had proved impossible. It was locked with a chain and, besides, it was far too visible. The men had carried Rakel inside one of the small houses and, ever since then, the farm had been quiet. A few times, someone had emerged from the church and gone to the greenhouse, but apart from that he hadn’t seen anyone. The place seemed deserted. Almost like a graveyard. The wind rustled the trees above him. Tobias tightened his jacket around him and took out his binoculars again. Perhaps going home was a better option? Contacting the police? After all, he had seen them restrain her. Surely that was against the law? Or was it? They hadn’t hurt her, they had carried her across the yard. A naughty child who had refused to do as she was told. And wouldn’t the police need a warrant? They always had to have one in American movies. If they didn’t, they weren’t allowed to enter people’s houses to search them. Tobias didn’t quite know how things were in Norway, but perhaps it was the same. Suddenly, he no longer felt quite so tough. It had started out as a game. All he wanted was to take a closer look. A small expedition. He had never imagined meeting someone in need of help. He thought about Torben, who was probably back home now and wondering where his big brother was. About his mother and stepfather, who wouldn’t know what to tell him. He didn’t like the thought of his little brother being at home without him. The temptation to go home grew stronger. After all, he didn’t know this girl. What if she was just a spoiled brat? Perhaps she was just like Elin, a girl who had been in his class last year; she had broken into the head teacher’s office and stolen money and bitten the hand of one of the teachers during break-time when he caught her smoking in the playground. She, too, had seemed very nice, or at least she had been towards him, but then she was expelled, and no one had seen her since. Rakel might be just like her. Perhaps he was making a mountain out of a molehill. His mum often told him to stop making things up. It wasn’t a good thing to do. Making stuff up. It was bad. It was getting colder now. It was supposed to be spring, but it wasn’t really, certainly not in the evenings. He regretted not bringing his camping gear. The tent and sleeping bag and his rucksack were still on the mound where he had spent the night. He hadn’t brought his torch either. What a stupid thing to forget. ‘Where is your head?’ his mum would often say. ‘Is anyone at home?’ He was starting to feel a little ashamed. He had behaved like an idiot. Soon it would be too dark to get back to the tent. Too dark for him to find his way through the forest. If he left now, he could do it. At least he could reach the tent. He’d be able to walk home as long as he had his torch. It was probably for the best. Pack up his stuff. Make for home. And Torben. Tobias got up from his hiding place and looked around, just as one of the doors opened and something happened. He raised the binoculars to his eyes and stood very still. Two men had appeared from one of the houses with a figure between them. Rakel. It was her. Her head was covered. They had put a hood over her head. The two men were holding her arms, one on each side, frogmarching her. They disappeared behind the church and reappeared slightly further ahead. Tobias’s heart was racing. He could barely believe his own eyes. It was like a movie. They had captured her. Tied her hands in front and pulled a hood over her head. The two men continued walking in the direction of where Tobias was hiding, still dragging the girl between them. Past the tractor and the small shed, across the field – and what were they doing now? Tobias plucked up his courage and moved closer to the fence. The two men had stopped. One bent down towards the ground. He did something;Tobias couldn’t see what it was. Then, suddenly, she was no longer there. She was gone. Only the two men were left, and they began to make their way back to the house.

Tobias made a spur-of-the-moment decision. His plan had been to wait until it was completely dark, but now there was no time to lose. He crept all the way up to the fence and started scaling it. You weren’t allowed to treat a child like that. You weren’t allowed to be cruel to them, no matter what they had done; no grown-up should be allowed to get away with it. His courage was swelling now. He was angry. He grabbed hold of the wire netting, sticking his fingers through the holes. He managed to get a foothold and, hey presto!, almost before he knew it, he had climbed over the tall fence and was inside. He stayed crouched on the ground to catch his breath while he glanced around. The farm was quiet again. The ground was cold and wet underneath him. Where could she be? They had dragged her into the middle of a flat area, and then she had disappeared. Tobias should have been scared, but he wasn’t. He was livid. He was furious with all the adults who hurt children. Children should be free. To play. To feel safe. Not to stand with their heads bowed in the kitchen. It hurt to be told you were stupid. It hurt to have your arms grabbed. It hurt not to be able to answer back because you didn’t know what would happen to your baby brother if you said the wrong thing. Tobias started creeping across the ground. The man had bent down about a hundred metres away. Then she had disappeared. Why did adults have children if they weren’t going to treat them properly? One day after Norwegian, Emilie had asked him why he had marks on his neck. Bruises on his arms. ‘You can tell me,’ she had said. She had been very nice, stroked his shoulder: ‘You can tell me, it’s safe to tell me.’ But he hadn’t said anything. It wasn’t her fault. She was just trying to help. But she didn’t know what it was like. She wouldn’t be there when he came home from school and they found out that he had told tales, would she? Telling would only make it worse. Everything would be worse, oh yes, he knew exactly how it would be. It was a question of endurance. Survival. Making sure that his younger brother didn’t suffer the same treatment. Take the beatings. ‘Is anyone in there?’ ‘Are you thick or something?’