I'm Travelling Alone (7 page)

‘What?’

‘I don’t know. Normal. If it is a man, then he’s not normal.’

‘You mean in terms of sexual inclination?’

‘It doesn’t quite add up, and yet it does, if you know what I mean. Yes, it adds up, but not exactly … something doesn’t add up, and yet it does, somehow.’

She had left him behind now; she was no longer in the room but back inside her own head. Munch let her continue without interrupting her.

‘What is Methohexital?’

Munch opened the folder and flicked through the crime-scene report before he found the answer. She had not read it, of course. Only looked at the photographs, like she used to.

‘It’s marketed under the brand name Brevital. A barbiturate derivative. It’s used by anaesthetists.’

‘An anaesthetic,’ Mia said, and disappeared back inside herself.

Munch was desperate for a cigarette, but he stayed put. He did not want to light up inside, nor did he want to leave her, not now.

‘He didn’t want to hurt her,’ she suddenly said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘The killer didn’t want to hurt her. He dressed her up, he washed her. Gave her an anaesthetic. He didn’t want her to suffer. He liked her.’

‘He liked her?’

Mia Krüger nodded softly.

‘Then why did he hang her with a skipping rope?’

‘She was about to start school.’

‘Why the satchel and the books?’

She looked at him as if he were a complete idiot.

‘Same reason.’

‘Why does it say Toni J. W. Smith rather than Pauline Olsen on the books?’

‘I don’t know.’ Mia sighed. ‘That’s the bit which doesn’t add up. Everything else does, except for that, wouldn’t you agree?’

Munch made no reply.

‘The embroidered label at the back of her dress. “M10:14”. That adds up,’ she continued.

‘Mark 10:14. From the Bible? ìSuffer the little children to come unto meî?’

Munch had remembered this detail from the report, which was actually quite thorough, but they had overlooked the significance of the line on the nail.

Mia nodded.

‘But that’s not important. M10:14. He’s just messing with us. There’s something else which matters more.’

‘More than the name on the books?’

‘I don’t know,’ Mia said.

‘Mikkelson wants you back.’

‘To work on this case?’

‘Just back.’

‘No way. I’m not coming back.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m not coming back,’ she exploded. ‘Didn’t you hear me? I’m not going back.’

Munch had never seen her like this before. She was trembling; she seemed on the verge of tears. He got up and walked around to the sofa. Sat down next to her and put his arm around her shoulders. He pulled her head towards his armpit and stroked her hair.

‘There, there, Mia. Let’s call it a day. Thank you so much.’

Mia made no reply; Holger could feel her skinny body quiver against him. She really was unwell. This was something new. He pulled her to standing and helped her up the stairs. Ushered her into the room, to the bed, and covered her with the duvet.

‘You want me to stay the night? Sit here with you? Sleep downstairs on the sofa? Make you some breakfast? I could try to make that spaceship work. Wake you with a cup of coffee?’

Mia Krüger said nothing. The pretty girl he was so fond of was lying almost lifeless under the duvet, not moving. Holger Munch sat down on a chair next to the bed and, a few minutes later, he heard her deep breathing enter a calmer tempo. She was asleep.

Mia? In this state?

He had seen her exhausted and run down in the past, but never like this. This was completely different. He gazed at her tenderly, made sure that she would not be cold and walked downstairs. He found the path leading to the jetty and took out his mobile from the pocket of his jacket.

‘Mikkelson speaking?’

‘It’s Munch.’

‘Yes?’

‘She’s not coming.’

There was silence from the other end.

‘Damn,’ he heard at length. ‘Did she say anything useful? Something we’ve missed?’

‘“There will be others.”’

‘What do you mean?’

‘What I just said: there will be others. She has a number scratched into the nail of her little finger. Your people missed that.’

‘Damn,’ Mikkelson swore, and fell silent again.

‘Is there something you’re not telling me?’ Munch said eventually.

‘You had better come back,’ Mikkelson said.

‘I’m staying here until tomorrow. She needs me.’

‘That’s not what I meant. I want you to come back.’

‘We’re reopening the unit?’

‘Yes. You’ll report directly to me. I’ll make some phone calls tomorrow.’

‘OK, I’ll see you tomorrow evening,’ Munch replied.

‘Good,’ Mikkelson replied, and another silence followed.

‘And, no, Mia won’t be coming,’ Munch said in reply to the question that was hanging in the air.

‘Are you sure?’

‘I guarantee you,’ he replied. ‘Mariboesgate, the same offices?’

‘It’s already been taken care of,’ Mikkelson replied. ‘The unit has been reopened unofficially. You can pick your crew when you return to Oslo.’

‘OK,’ Munch replied, and quickly rang off.

He could feel the joy rise in him, but he did not want Mikkelson to know it. He was going back where he belonged. To Oslo. The unit was up and running again. He had got his old job back, and yet his joy was not complete. He had never seen Mia Krüger like this, so far gone, and he would not be bringing her back with him. And the thought of the little girl hanging from the tree continued to send shivers down the spine of the otherwise level-headed investigator.

Munch looked up at the sky. The horizon was darkening now. The stars bathed the silence in a cold light. He tossed his cigarette into the sea and walked slowly back to the house.

Chapter 12

Tobias Iversen found another branch and began making yet another arrow while he waited for his brother to come back. He liked using the knife. Liked the way the blade sliced its way through the wood, liked how steadily he had to angle the knife between the bark and wood in order not to dent the arrow. Tobias Iversen was good with his hands; it was in art and woodwork lessons where he received the most praise. He was only average in the other subjects, especially in maths, but when it came to his hands, then he was gifted. And in Norwegian, too. Tobias Iversen loved reading. Up until now, he had preferred fantasy and sci-fi, but last autumn they had got a cool, new Norwegian teacher, Emilie, who laughed out loud and had lots of freckles; it was almost as if she were not a teacher but a really nice, grown-up girl whose lessons were incredible fun, so different from their last teacher, who had just … come to think of it, he couldn’t remember anything they had done during those lessons. Emilie had given him a long list of books she thought he ought to read. He had almost finished
Lord of the Flies
, one of her suggestions, and realized how much he was looking forward to going home so he could carry on reading in bed. Or, at least, the reading in bed part; he wasn’t very keen on being at home. On paper, Tobias Iversen was only thirteen years old, but he was much older inside and he had experienced things that no child should. He often thought of running away, packing what little he owned into his rucksack and heading out into the world, away from the dark house, but it was a pipe dream. Where would he go? He had saved up some money from birthdays and Christmas, but it was not enough to travel anywhere and, besides, he couldn’t abandon his younger brother. Who would look after him, if not Tobias? He tried to think about something else, sliding the blade of the knife smoothly under the bark and smiling contentedly to himself when he managed to slice off a long strip without breaking it.

Torben was keeping him waiting. Tobias glanced into the forest, but did not worry unduly. His younger brother was an inquisitive little boy, he had probably just stumbled across an interesting mushroom or an anthill.

‘Why don’t we shoot the Christian girls?’

Tobias had to laugh. Kids, eh, so innocent; they knew nothing, they would say just about anything that came into their heads. It was the opposite in Tobias’s class or in the school playground, where you had to watch every word and thought in case it didn’t fall in line with the majority. Tobias had seen it happen so many times. It was just like in
Lord of the Flies.
If you showed weakness, you were marked out as a victim straightaway. Right now, he was worried about PE; he was athletic, fortunately, could run quickly, jump long and high, and his football skills were good. The trouble was his PE kit. A couple of new boys who had moved out here from Oslo had brought with them other ways, more money. It was all Adidas or Nike or Puma or Reebok now, and Tobias had had a few snide comments recently about his crappy shoes and shorts, jogging bottoms and the old T-shirts that did not have the right logo or style. Luckily, there was one thing that mattered more, and that was if girls liked you. If girls liked you, then no one cared about your PE kit or how clever you were or what music you listened to, and girls liked Tobias Iversen. Not just because he was fit, but because he was a really nice guy. Then it didn’t matter that his football boots had only one stripe and the soles had holes in them.

The Christian girls. The rumours had started the moment new people had moved into the old farm near Litjønna which had been empty for a long time. They had done up the place; it looked completely different now, and everyone thought that was highly suspicious. Some of the locals thought the newcomers belonged to Brunstad Christian Church, but that turned out to be wrong; apparently, they used to belong to Brunstad Christian Church, but they had decided that they did not agree with it, so they had started their own religion, or whatever you would call it. Everyone thought they knew something, but no one really knew the full story, only that the children who lived there did not go to school and that it was very Christian and all about God and stuff. Tobias was pleased they had come; he had twigged quite early on that whenever people made comments about his clothes or about poverty in general, all he had to do was turn the conversation round to the Christian girls and, hey presto!, everyone forgot about designer labels. Once, after PE, he had even lied about having seen them, just to shut up the two new boys from Oslo, and it had worked a treat. He had made up a story about the girls wearing strange clothes and having almost dead eyes, and how they had chased him away when they spotted him. It had been a dumb thing to do, obviously, because he didn’t know the Christian girls personally, and had no opinion about them, but what else could he do?

Tobias put down the knife and looked at his watch. His brother had been gone for quite a while now, and he started to worry. Not that they had to get home: they had no curfew, no one noticed whether they were in or out. Tobias could only hope that there would be something in the fridge so that he could give his brother some dinner. He had taught himself most household tasks. He could change bed linen, use the washing machine, pack his brother’s schoolbag; he could manage most things really, except for buying food – he didn’t want to spend his own money on food, he didn’t think that was fair – but most of the time there was something in the kitchen cupboards, instant soup or a bit of bread and jam. They usually managed.

He stuck the arrow into the ground next to the tree stump and got up. If they were to have time to hunt bison up near Rundvann, they would have to get a move on. He liked having his brother in bed by nine o’clock, at least on school days. Both for his brother’s benefit and for his own, they shared the attic room, and he enjoyed the few hours he had to himself by the reading lamp once his brother had fallen asleep.

‘Torben?’ he called out.

Tobias started walking through the forest in the direction in which the arrow and his brother had disappeared. The wind had increased slightly and the leaves rustled around him. He wasn’t scared, he had been out here alone many times, and in stronger winds and worse weather; he loved how nature took over and shook everything around him, but his brother scared easily.

‘Torben? Where are you?’

Once more, he felt bad about the things he had said about the Christian girls. He had lied, invented stories in the boys’ changing room. He decided to go on an expedition soon, like the boys in
Lord of the Flies
who had no adults around. Sneak out, pack some provisions and his torch, make a trip up to Litjønna. He knew the way. See for himself if it was true what they said about the new farm and the fence and everything else. ‘Exciting and educational’: now he remembered the phrase his former Norwegian teacher had been so fond of; everything they were going to do was always exciting and educational, so they had to sit still and listen, but then it never was, it was never exciting and it couldn’t have been all that educational either, because he couldn’t recall anything from those lessons. Then he remembered something his grandfather had said once when they were out for a drive in the old red Volvo: that not everyone is suited to have children, that some people should never have become parents. It had struck a chord with him: perhaps it was the same with teachers? That some were not suited to it and that explained their sad faces every time they entered the classroom.

His train of thought was interrupted by a rustling in the bushes in front of him. Suddenly, his brother appeared out of nowhere with a strange look on his face and a large wet stain on his trousers.

‘Torben? What’s wrong?’

His brother looked at him with empty eyes.

‘There’s an angel hanging all alone in the forest.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘There’s an angel hanging all alone in the forest.’

Tobias put his arms around his brother and could feel how the little boy continued to tremble.

‘Are you making this up, Torben?’

‘No. She’s in there.’

‘Would you show me, please?’

His brother looked up at him.

‘She doesn’t have any wings, but she’s definitely an angel.’

‘Show me,’ Tobias said gravely, and nudged his brother in front of him through the spruce.