I'm Travelling Alone (13 page)

‘Will it be as high as we discussed?’

‘Yes.’ His brother nodded again.

‘So what’s the reason you’re no longer up there?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Why are you here when you have work to do there?’

Nils glanced at Lukas again. It looked as if he had something on his mind but didn’t dare say it while Lukas was in the room.

‘The flock nearly lost a member,’ he muttered at length, with his head bowed; he looked ashamed.

‘What do you mean, “lost a member”?’

‘We had an accident with one of the younger members.’

‘What do you mean by “accident”?’

‘Just an accident. A mistake. It has been taken care of.’

‘Who was it?’

‘Rakel.’

‘Rakel the good one? My Rakel?’

The brother nodded, his neck bowed even lower.

‘She disappeared from us one night. But she’s back now.’

‘So everything is all right?’

‘Yes, everything is all right.’

‘So I ask you again, my brother: why are you down here when you have work to do up there?’

Nils looked up at the pastor, his big brother. Even though Nils was a man well past fifty, he seemed almost like a little boy who had just been told off by his father.

‘You asked me to keep you updated.’

‘As long as everything is all right, then everything is all right, is it not?’

Nils nodded obediently.

‘It might have been easier if we had a telephone,’ he said tentatively after a small pause.

The pastor leaned back in his chair and pressed his fingertips together.

‘Do you have any other suggestions? Any other opinions? Are you dissatisfied with what God has given you?’

‘No, no … That’s not what I … I just wanted …’

Nils struggled to find the words, and his face grew red. The pastor shook his head briefly, and a strange silence spread across the room. It was not awkward for Lukas – he was always on the pastor’s side – but it was uncomfortable for the brother, and he deserved it. How dare he question the pastor’s orders? The brother got up, still keeping his eyes on the floor.

‘You’ll be coming up on Saturday?’

‘We’ll be there on Saturday.’

‘Good. See you then.’ His brother nodded and left the room.

‘
Lux domus
,’ Lukas said, when only he and the pastor were left. That was how he liked it best: just the two of them.

The pastor smiled and looked at him.

‘Do you think we have done the right thing?’

‘Absolutely.’ Lukas nodded.

‘Sometimes, I’m not so sure,’ the pastor said, and pressed his fingertips together again.

‘There is something I have to tell you,’ Lukas said.

‘Yes?’

‘You know that it’s my job to take care of you.’

‘Is it, Lukas? Is it?’ The pastor smiled.

Lukas blushed faintly. He knew the pastor so well. He knew his voice. He knew when he was being praised.

‘I don’t know if you’re aware, but we might have a problem with the congregation.’

‘You mean, this one?’

‘Yes, the amateurs.’

‘And what is the problem?’

‘Well, that’s up to you to decide, I’m only here to tell you what I see and to take care of you.’

‘Yes, so you say, Lukas, and I appreciate that.’

Lukas coughed slightly before he continued.

‘One of our regular supporters has somewhat unfortunate connections.’

The pastor shook his head.

‘You’re speaking in tongues now, Lukas. Spit it out. Out with it.’

‘An elderly lady in a wheelchair, glasses … she usually sits at the back.’

‘Hildur?’

Lukas nodded.

‘What about her?’

‘She’s the mother of Holger Munch.’

‘Who?’

‘Holger Munch. He’s a police officer.’

‘Oh, is he? I didn’t know that.’

Lukas was somewhat taken aback, because he knew that the pastor had heard of Holger Munch, but he said nothing.

‘Hildur is his mother,’ he said again.

‘And why would that present a problem for us?’

‘I just wanted you to be aware.’

‘Are you thinking about the contents of the envelope now?’

Lukas nodded cautiously.

‘Thank you very much, Lukas, but I don’t think that we need to worry about Holger Munch. We have more important things to think about right now, don’t we?’

‘Yes, we have.’ Lukas nodded, and got up.

‘
Lux domus
, my friend.’ The pastor smiled amicably.

‘
Lux domus
,’ Lukas said, smiling back at him.

He bowed deeply and left the pastor’s office without saying anything else.

Chapter 21

Mia Krüger was sitting in her office, fidgeting with the tablets she kept in her trouser pocket. She had promised herself not to take any with her, leave them all behind in her house on the island until she had finished this case, until she needed them again, but she had not quite succeeded. She had stuffed a few pills in her pocket, just in case. She was longing to take one now. She was itching all over. She had forgotten what it was like to be exposed to the real world. She had pushed it so far away. After all, she had not expected to have to deal with it for much longer, but then Munch had turned up and ruined her plans.

Mia Krüger had not had a drink for four days either, not since she had returned to Oslo. Several times, she had been tempted to attack the minibar in her hotel room, but she had managed to restrain herself. Holger had offered her a government flat, but she had insisted on a hotel room and was happy to pay for it out of her own pocket. She did not want to come back. She was not coming back. An impersonal hotel room was all she needed. A transitional room. A waiting room. She did not want to get too close to everyday life. Just to solve this case. Then she would go back again. To Hitra. To Sigrid. She had been searching for a new, symbolic date. The eighteenth of April, the tenth anniversary, had passed. The next one was their birthday: 11 November. When they would both turn thirty-three. Would have turned thirty-three. November seemed incredibly far away. Much too far. She had to find a nearer date. Or maybe she didn’t need one. It could be any time. The most important thing was that it happened. That she was spared this. These people. She stuck her hand in her pocket and placed a pill on her tongue. Changed her mind. Spat it out and put it back in her pocket.

‘Someone has called about the clothes.’

Anette had appeared in her office.

‘What?’

‘We have a hit on the doll’s dresses.’

‘So soon?’

‘Yep.’ The blonde woman smiled, waving a piece of paper in her hand. ‘Jenny, from Jenny’s Sewing Room in Sandvika, called. She apologized for not calling sooner, but she had not got round to reading the papers until now. Do you want to come with me?’

‘Yes, please. Where’s Munch?’

‘He had to pick up his granddaughter from nursery.

‘Do you want to drive, or shall I?’ Anette said, dangling a set of car keys in front of her.

‘You had better.’ Mia smiled and followed her colleague down to the underground car park.

‘So what did she say?’ she asked, when they had left the city centre and were heading down Drammensveien.

She had worked with Anette on several cases in the past, but it had not resulted in a close relationship. Mia did not quite know why: there was nothing wrong with Anette. She was quick thinking and always friendly. She had trained as a lawyer, she was incredibly clever and perfectly suited to the special unit. It was probably because Mia wasn’t close to any of her colleagues. Except Holger Munch, of course, but that was different. Was she close to anyone these days? She had not spoken to her friends from Åsgårdstrand for years. After Sigrid left, she had isolated herself more and more. Perhaps that had not been such a smart move? Perhaps it would have done her good to have a life outside work? It made no difference now. Solve this case, then go back to Hitra. Back to Sigrid. She caressed the S dangling from the charm bracelet. It made her feel safe.

‘I didn’t speak to her myself – a colleague down at Police Headquarters reported it to me. But I think we have the right one.’

‘She knew about the writing on the collar?’

Anette nodded and changed lanes.

‘Mark 10:14. ìSuffer the little children to come unto me.î Do you think we’re dealing with a religious maniac?’

‘It’s too early to say,’ Mia said, putting on her sunglasses.

The light outside was bright; other people might regard it as pale spring sunshine, but not her. Her body felt as if it could not handle any kind of sensory impression. She had tried to watch television last night, but it had given her a headache. She had even had to ask Holger to turn off the radio in his office. They drove down Drammensveien in silence. Mia was aware that Anette wanted to ask questions, but ignored it. The others had been just the same. Polite smiles behind curious eyes. Except for the people who knew her best – Curry, Kim, Ludvig – or maybe them as well.
How are you? How have you been? Are you feeling better, Mia? We heard that you had had a breakdown? Shaved your head? Tried to kill yourself on an island in the middle of the sea?
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Anette glancing at her. The car was full of unanswered questions, just like the offices in Mariboesgate, but Mia did not have the energy for them right now. She decided she would put it right later. She really liked Anette. Perhaps they could go out one evening and have a beer together? Or maybe not. Why this, and why that?

Come to me, Mia, come.

Why are you out there alone?

The rain set in just as they turned off towards Sandvika. It drummed on the windscreen, but Mia kept her sunglasses on. She closed her eyes behind the lenses and listened to the sounds. The raindrops hitting the windscreen. The droning of the engine. For a brief moment she was eleven years old again, sitting in the back of her father’s car one Saturday, going home from Horten after being with him at work in his paint shop. She could recall his smell, his voice as he hummed to himself, the leather gloves gripping the steering wheel with only one hand, free and relaxed now that her mother was not in the car.

Do you want to sing our song, Mia?

Yes, sing it, please!

And he would sing Einar Rose’s old revue song.

Again, again!

Again, again?

Yes!

Mia smiled to herself behind the sunglasses, feeling like a little girl, that tingling feeling in her stomach which had always given her goosebumps and made her cheeks go red. Back then, life had been simple. Now, everyone had gone. She was the only one left.

She was jolted out of her reverie when the car stopped.

‘We have arrived,’ Anette announced, and got out.

Mia placed her sunglasses on the dashboard and followed her. The rain had ceased – it had been only a little local shower – the mild spring sun peeked out from behind the clouds once more and showed them the way to a small shop painted yellow, on the outskirts of Sandvika.

It said ‘Jenny’s Sewing Room’ on the window. Behind the door hung an old-fashioned sign: C
LOSED
. Mia knocked, and a kind but anxious old face appeared behind the curtains.

‘Yes?’ the woman said through the closed door.

‘Mia Krüger, Oslo Police, Violent Crimes Section,’ Mia said, holding up her warrant card to the glass to reassure the old woman.

‘You’re police?’ the woman said, looking incredulously at both of them.

‘Yes,’ Mia replied kindly. ‘Please may we come in?’

It was clear that reading the newspapers had given the elderly woman quite a shock, as it took her some time to unlock the door. Old, shaky fingers struggled to turn the key, but at last she succeeded. Mia entered calmly and showed the woman her warrant card again. The woman closed the door behind them and locked it straightaway. She stayed in the middle of the small, colourful room, not knowing quite what to do with herself.

‘You’re Jenny?’ Mia asked.

‘Yes, and I’m sorry, I’m forgetting my manners. Phew, what a day, I’m shaking all over. Jenny Midthun.’ She introduced herself and held out a small, delicate hand to Mia.

‘Is this your shop?’ Anette said, taking a look around.

There were tailor’s dummies in the windows wearing homemade clothes. The walls and the shelves were filled with items which Jenny had clearly made herself. Tablecloths, dresses, one wall covered with patchwork quilts – the whole shop exuded good, old-fashioned craftsmanship.

‘Yes, we’ve had it since 1972.’ Jenny Midthun nodded. ‘My husband and I started it together, but he’s no longer with us. He died in ’89. It was his idea to call it Jenny’s Sewing Room. I thought it would have been more obvious to call it Jenny and Arild’s, but he insisted, so, well …’

Jenny Midthun’s voice petered out.

‘Did you make these dresses?’

Mia took out the photographs from her inside pocket and placed them on the counter. Jenny Midthun put on her glasses, which hung from a cord around her neck, and examined the photographs before nodding.

‘Yes, I made both of them. What about them? Am I in trouble? Have I done something wrong?’

‘Not at all, Jenny. We have no reason to think that you have done anything wrong. Who was the customer?’ Mia asked.

Jenny Midthun walked behind the counter and took a ring binder from one of the bookshelves.

‘It’s all in here,’ she said, tapping it with her finger.

‘What’s all there?’

‘All my orders. I write everything down. Measurements, fabric, price, due date – everything is here.’

‘Would you mind if we borrowed that?’ Mia asked.

‘No, no, of course not, take whatever you want. Oh, it’s terrible, oh, no, I don’t know if I can … I had such a shock when … Yes, it was one of my neighbours who dropped by with the papers …’

‘Who ordered the dresses?’ Mia said.

‘A man.’

‘Do you have a name?’

‘No, I never got his name. He brought in photographs. Of dolls. Said he wanted the dresses made to fit children.’

‘Did he say what the dresses were for?’