I'm Travelling Alone (25 page)

‘We have to stop doing this,’ Susanne sighed, as if she had read Mia’s thoughts.

She collapsed on to the chair and clasped her head.

‘Absolutely,’ Mia nodded. ‘Bad company.’

‘Are you saying I’m bad company?’ Susanne said with a frown.

‘No, no, that’s not what I meant. We’re keeping bad company, it’s not our fault.’ Mia smiled.

‘Actors. Bunch of self-obsessed chimpanzees. Who cares? Incestuous bunch, sleeping with each other, gossiping about each other – they think that other people care who got which part, and what he thinks about what she thinks about what he thinks that the director is sleeping with this one instead of that one.’

‘Get it out of your system.’ Mia chuckled behind her sunglasses.

‘It’s all bollocks. ìLook at me! Look at me! Look at me!î It’s as if we never left the school playground.’

Mia had come so close to a breakthrough last night; the pieces had been just about to fall into place. All she wanted to do was shut herself inside her hotel room today, immerse herself in the material again. This was what she liked best. Losing herself in a case. Disappearing deep inside it. That was where she belonged. It was a good place to be.

‘Shit, we have a cos and prop rehearsal at noon today. It had completely slipped my mind,’ Susanne said.

‘Cos and prop?’

‘First rehearsal with everyone in costume and all props in place.’

Mia nodded and looked at her watch.

‘You’ll make it, it’s only ten thirty.’

‘Why had you made a note of the opening line of
Hamlet
yesterday?’

‘It’s work,’ Mia said. ‘I can’t talk about it.’

‘I understand.’ Susanne nodded. ‘I just thought it looked a bit strange.’

‘Perhaps,’ Mia said.

‘Is it about the missing girls?’

‘I can’t discuss it, Susanne.’

‘I told someone at the theatre that I knew you. Was that wrong?’ Susanne confessed quickly.

‘No, that’s all right. Why?’

‘There’s a girl in the cast. Pernille Lyng. Plays Ophelia. She’s the aunt of one of the missing girls. She’s completely cut up about it.’

‘I see,’ Mia said.

‘Yes, Andrea is her niece. Did you know?’

‘I can’t tell you, Susanne.’

‘No, of course. I just think it’s strange, that’s all.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘That Andrea disappears just as
Hamlet
is about to open, and that you have the opening line written on a piece of paper. I thought there might be a link.’

Mia smiled and put her hand over her friend’s.

‘Let’s not talk about this any more. It sounds as if you have enough drama in your life already. These are just coincidences, they have nothing to do with each other, OK?’

‘OK.’ Susanne nodded. ‘I shouldn’t drink, it makes me paranoid.’

‘I agree.’ Mia smiled. ‘I’ll never touch another drop.’

‘That’s exactly what I tell myself the morning after every time.’ Susanne giggled. ‘But as soon as I feel better again, it’s like I forget it. Strange, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, that is strange,’ Mia laughed.

‘Right, got to run,’ Susanne said, getting up. ‘I need to get home and change before rehearsal. I get too many sideways glances if I turn up in yesterday’s clothes. It won’t take long before everyone starts looking around the room, wondering who else didn’t sleep in their own bed last night, get it?’

‘I get it.’ Mia nodded.

She got up and gave Susanne a hug.

‘Thanks for everything,’ Susanne said. ‘See you soon?’

‘Love to,’ Mia nodded. ‘But no more beer. Tea next time.’

‘OK.’ Susanne smiled.

Her blonde friend picked up her handbag and waved as she left the hotel restaurant, trying her hardest to look sober.

Chapter 37

Holger Munch was sitting, mildly irritated, outside Mikkelson’s office in Grønland. He regretted agreeing to their phones being monitored: as a result, everyone was now insisting on face-to-face meetings. He didn’t have time for this. The girls were alive, and soon they would be dead. It was how it was. If it was the same person. And it was. A slightly different MO, a deviation from the original method, but this was their killer. A woman, but they had no trace of her. Thousands of telephone calls, but nothing to show for them. Absolutely nothing. That is, if the witness observation had been correct in the first place. He had seemed credible, the pensioner. A woman. Between thirty and thirty-five years old. About 1.7 metres tall. Hair scraped back under a hood. Straight nose. Blue eyes. Narrow lips. But that could be anyone. Where was she holding the girls? Were they already dead?

Munch took a piece of chewing gum from his pocket and drummed his fingers on the chair. He had arranged with Mia to meet at the care home so he could have a quick word with his mother, grasp the nettle, but he was tempted to cancel. He really didn’t have the time. Certainly not if he had to waste half his day on pointless meetings like this one. A quick visit to the care home, tell his mother what he thought, and then get the hell out of there. It would be all right. He had to do it, before it was too late. Before the family inheritance ended up in the hands of some charlatan promising eternal life in heaven – as long as she gave him everything she owned. He checked the time on his mobile and his irritation grew.

Andrea and Karoline were missing. They had disappeared on his watch, after he had taken over the investigation. Soon someone would anaesthetize them. Wash them. Dress them in doll’s dresses. Hang them with satchels on their back. Unless he found them first. Holger felt trapped in a fog. At this stage, he didn’t know which direction the investigation should take. What the next step should be. A woman no one knew anything about was their only lead. Roger Bakken, the transvestite. That trail had also gone cold. Mia had called him in the middle of the night, drunk, with something she absolutely had to tell him, she had made a discovery, but her words had been so slurred that he had told her to go to bed. Their phones were being monitored. Probably not such a wise move after all. He would have a word with Gabriel. See if they could delete those conversations which were clearly private. Keep them out of the reports. Including the call he had from Mia last night.

‘Holger, do come in.’

Mikkelson was fraught; Munch could tell from his furrowed brow.

‘Where are we?’ he asked when Munch had sat down.

‘Same as yesterday,’ Munch replied. ‘No credible tip-offs about the woman in the photofit. We’re still checking it but, sadly, it looks like a dead end.’

‘ALPHA1 and no new information about the girls, how is that possible?’

Munch suddenly felt as if he were back at school. In the headmaster’s office, being read the riot act. He hated it, but right now there was very little he could do about it.

‘I don’t understand it myself either. It seems incredibly well planned – that’s all I can tell you at this stage. If she had acted on impulse, we would have caught her a long time ago.’

‘It’s not good enough. It’s just not good enough,’ Mikkelson snarled.

‘Did you ask me to come here just so you could tell me that?’ Munch asked dryly. ‘You could have given me a bollocking on the phone.’

‘Yes – no – sorry.’

Mikkelson took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Not a good sign. Something was up.

‘I’m being pressured from above,’ he continued, and put his glasses back on his nose.

‘Who from? Justice?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘We’re doing our best.’

‘I know. I’ve told them. That’s not it.’

‘So what’s the problem?’ Munch asked.

He was starting to lose his patience. He really had more important things to do.

‘It’s about Mia,’ Mikkelson said, and looked at Munch.

‘What about Mia?’

‘Well.’

Mikkelson removed his glasses again.

‘They think she’s a risk. I’ve been told to take her off the case.’

‘Take her off the case? Are you out of your mind? We’ve only just managed to get her to come to Oslo. She didn’t want to, don’t you realizes that? She didn’t want to come, and we talked her into it. Because we’re bunch of selfish bastards. And now you’re kicking her out? Forget it.’

‘Now, now, Munch. I didn’t mean it like that.’

‘Well, then, how did you mean it?’

‘I mean …’ Mikkelson put on his glasses again. The frown lines on his forehead looked even deeper now. ‘Well, is she completely … I mean, well, again?’

‘I haven’t got time for this,’ Munch said, getting up. ‘Two girls are being held prisoner somewhere and the Justice Department is worried about Mia’s health? Don’t we have more important things to do?’

‘Watch your mouth, Munch, you’re at work.’

‘Oh, shut up, Mikkelson. The Justice Department? Are you serious? The civil service? The reputation of the civil service? Is that all we care about now? Is that what the Department is worried about? Remind me what the Department thought every time Mia made us look bloody brilliant. The Russian diplomat who liked killing prostitutes. Who made us look good then? Was it you, Mikkelson? Were you there? The two pensioners who were robbed and murdered in their own home in Kolsås. Did you solve that case, Mikkelson? What did the Department think of that?’

Munch got up and headed for the door.

‘I’m perfectly aware of what Mia has done for us,’ Mikkelson said. ‘“The nation is grateful,” is that what you want to hear? ìThank you, thank you, Norway thanks you.î But times change. Bjørn Dæhlie and Vegard Ulvang. Great skiers. Won a heap of medals. But that’s in the past. We wouldn’t enter them in a competition these days, would we? You know what I mean?’

‘Christ on a bike.’ Munch sighed. ‘No, I definitely do not know what you mean. What the hell have langlauf skiers to do with anything? Have you totally lost your perspective? We’re talking about death here, Mikkelson, not grown men in tights trying to be the first to cross a finishing line. Death, Mikkelson. Two six-year-old girls. Don’t you understand?’

Munch grabbed the door handle. He was incandescent with rage.

‘OK, OK,’ Mikkelson said. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. She can stay for the time being, but when this case is over she’s out. Do you understand, Munch,
then
, she’s finished, whatever happens? There’s nothing I can do about it. And …’

Mikkelson opened a drawer and took out a business card.

‘… she has to check in with this guy.’

Mikkelson handed Munch the business card.

‘A psychiatrist?’

Mikkelson nodded.

‘The Justice Department demands it.’

‘Screw you, Mikkelson. Why didn’t you tell me this before I fetched her from the island?’

Mikkelson flung out his arms.

‘Politics.’

‘Politics, my arse.’

He put the business card back on Mikkelson’s desk.

‘She’s not seeing some bloody psychologist.’

‘Psychiatrist.’

‘Oh, shut up. Same difference. She has a job to do. I’ve already said I’ll take responsibility.’

‘It’s not up to you,’ Mikkelson said.

The police commissioner opened his laptop and pressed a sound file. Munch recognized the voices immediately. It was last night’s telephone call between him and Mia:

‘Munch speaking.’

‘Holger. Holger, darling Holger.’

‘Is that you, Mia? What time is it?’

‘It’s not real. It’s just a game. Roger Bakken had one blue and one brown eye. This is where we’re going, Susanne. Yes, just lie down. I’ll help you undress. Do you hear what I’m saying, Holger?’

Mia’s slurred voice. Munch heaved a sigh as Mikkelson turned off the recording.

‘Do we need to listen to any more?’ Mikkelson said.

‘She was drunk, that’s all.’

‘What do you think would happen if the newspapers got hold of this, in your opinion?’

Mikkelson leaned back in his chair.

‘OK,’ Munch said. ‘She’ll see a psychiatrist, all right? Have we finished now?’

‘We’ve finished,’ Mikkelson said.

Munch picked up the business card from the desk and left the office without saying another word.

Chapter 38

Mia was standing outside the hotel, already regretting having agreed to go with Munch to Høvikveien Care Home. She had gone straight back to bed after haing breakfast with Susanne. With a slightly guilty conscience, of course, but she was knackered; the effects of her self-medication on Hitra still lingered in her body. And she was working the whole time, her brain never stopped; whether she lay under her duvet, sat in a car or was down at the office, she was constantly on the job. Her thoughts never left her in peace. For a moment, she fantasized about being back on her island. The sunrise and the sea. She needed more sleep. They had stayed up far too late. Talk to his mother? Surely Munch could handle that on his own? She found a lozenge in her pocket and wondered if she should call him, make up some excuse, but it was too late. She muttered curses under her breath and got in the Audi when it pulled up at the kerb.

Holger Munch looked grim, but Mia didn’t have the energy to ask.

‘You need to get yourself another mobile,’ Munch said.

‘Why?’ Mia said, finding another lozenge in her pocket.

‘You called me last night.’

‘Damn! I thought I might have.’

‘Drunk?’

‘I bumped into an old friend from Åsgårdstrand.’

‘I understand,’ Munch said. ‘You know that all our calls are being monitored, don’t you?’

Mia made no reply. She tried to recall what she had said, but it refused to come back to her. Never mind.

‘So what did you find out?’ Munch wanted to know.

‘Roger Bakken had a female friend. Someone he spent a lot of time with when he was Randi.’

‘Anyone we know?’

Mia shook her head.

‘No, but I believe her eyes are different colours.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Munch, intrigued. ‘Is that possible?’

‘Yes, one blue and one brown. I believe it’s a genetic quirk.’

‘How is that useful?’

‘We have to explore everything, don’t you think?’

‘Yes, true.’

Munch opened the window and lit a cigarette. Mia hated people smoking in cars, especially in the state she was in today, but she didn’t say anything. Munch seemed exhausted. Introverted.