Gabriel Mørk was sitting at the back of the incident room waiting for the briefing to start. He had greeted everyone, shaken all their hands in turn, said “Hi . . . Hi” without being able to remember very many of their names. There was Kim, who had met him in the street, and a woman with long blond hair named Anette, and then there were three younger men whose names he could not remember and an older man whose name was . . . Ludvig, was it?
Holger Munch entered the room, closely followed by Mia Krüger. Mia took a seat in a chair at the front, while Holger turned on the projector and connected it to his laptop.
“Right, hello, everyone, today is the first briefing with everyone present. Full team in place, and that’s what we need. We have some new faces, welcome to you. Those of you who have done this before, please help the newcomers settle in so that we get the best out of everyone. It’s now ten days since we found the body of Pauline Olsen and eight days since we found Johanne Lange. After imposing a media blackout, we have decided to use the media to our advantage. As you have no doubt seen, we have today released pictures of the dresses the girls were found wearing.”
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 somber, 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 not all, so 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. These were not the same photographs that had been on the front pages of the newspapers, the two dolls’ 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 program. This was real. Those 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. 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 School and was found in Maridalen. Johanne disappeared from Lille Ekeberg Nursery School and was found in Krokskogen. The times of their deaths have been difficult to pinpoint exactly, but evidence suggests that the girls were kept prisoners for a period of time before they were dressed in these costumes and left in a place where we would find them.”
Munch again pressed a key on his computer, 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. The victims of some grotesque game.
He wished with all his heart he were 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 traveling alone.’ Both had backpacks on their backs. Both were killed with an overdose of anesthetics. There is no doubt that we are dealing with the same killer, and both the abductions and the murders were carefully planned. Pauline was found by a man named 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 offenses, but again there is no reason to think that any of them are 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 that might turn out to be of interest, a white Citroën, the year unknown.”
Munch hit the keyboard again, and the photographs from the newspapers appeared. He took a sip from a bottle of Farris mineral water that was sitting on the desk and carried on.
“The dresses are copies of dolls’ 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 got the job done by a third party who didn’t know their intended purpose. 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 blond woman.
“Nothing,” Anette said. “But it’s still early.”
“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 at 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, roommates, mistresses, or in your case, Kim, your dog.”
There was scattered laughter once more. Gabriel Mørk looked around. He could not 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 jobs properly.
Don’t feel too much. Don’t get emotionally involved.
He took a deep breath and tried to join in the laughter but didn’t 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 do you mean by unlimited?” 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 that 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 allowed.
“The prime minister?” the man persisted.
“The prime minister’s office has been informed,” Munch said.
“Isn’t this year an election year?” The man with the shaved head grinned.
Kim smiled. “It’s always an election year, Curry.”
Curry. So that was his name. Gabriel had thought the man had said “Kari.”
“I don’t give a damn what the two of you think about the prime minister,” Munch continued in a more brusque tone of voice. “Those two girls could be our daughters, and we are not the only ones who feel that way, the whole country feels that way—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 fearing for their lives, so I could not 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, just 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, the man 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 Gabriel 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 now got up and walked over 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 wouldn’t be able to stop staring. It was all getting to be too much for him. Pauline and Johanne hanging dead from the trees, and now Mia Krüger standing only a few meters away. Gabriel Mørk was not the only person who had 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. 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 ever did. Rumor 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. Gabriel believed that 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 turtleneck sweater and tight black trousers with zippers on the thighs. She looked exhausted, her eyes were dull, and she was much thinner than she’d looked in the photographs in the papers. Mia Moonbeam. That was what they’d called her on the Net. It was taken from a Belgian cartoon Gabriel did not know, something 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 eighties 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 looked like a Native American, 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 drug overdose. She was said to have taken the leather cord from a Latvian man who was suspected of having murdered a young girl he’d 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 allowed him to be interviewed without being handcuffed. He attacked her with a craft knife concealed in one of his boots. With blood all over her face, she 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. Rumors 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 backpacks when they were found. The backpacks contained schoolbooks. A name had been written on the cover of the books. On Johanne Lange’s books, it said Johanne Lange. 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 Johanne Lange. 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 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 we didn’t manage to solve some years ago.”
She pressed a key on the computer again.
“In 2006 a baby disappeared from Hønefoss Hospital. A few weeks later, a Swedish nurse named Joachim Wicklund was found hanging in his studio apartment. On the floor below his body, we found a typed note in which he takes responsibility for the kidnapping. The baby was never found. The case was shelved.”
Mia Krüger stopped again. Decided to drink some water after all. She was not in good shape. Everyone could see that. The normally fit and healthy woman was trembling slightly, and it looked as if she were 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, Toni J. W. Smith, 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: ‘It’s not him.’”
Low murmuring in the room. It was clear that everyone had huge respect for Mia Krüger and her intellect.
Munch took over again. “As a result we’re reopening the Hønefoss investigation. Everything we discovered back then must be reviewed, every interview, every observation, and any names linked to that case must be revisited. I want you to take charge of this, Ludvig, because you worked with us back then, and take Curry with you, because he didn’t. A pair of old eyes and a pair of fresh ones, that would be good, I think.”
Both the older man named Ludvig Grønlie and the man with the shaved head, Curry, who had been so eager to comment on politicians, nodded.
“So that’s our first lead, Hønefoss 2006, Ludvig and Curry. Our second lead, the dresses. Anette will coordinate any tip-offs received by Grønland and go over them with Mia and me. Ex-offenders and other likely suspects . . .” Holger looked up again. “Kyrre?”
A tall, slim man with short black hair and large glasses looked up from his notes.
“Yes. Trond and I are on it, but it’s not a long list. What we have so far are sex offenders, assault cases. To be quite honest, I’m not really sure what we’re looking for. Have we seen anything like this before? I mean, seriously? Not me, certainly. We have cross-referenced our lists with our friends down in Europe, especially in Belgium, with the names of everyone associated with Marc Dutroux, but again, that case involved serious sexual assaults, quite unlike this one. To tell you the truth, our colleagues abroad are shaking their heads at us, but we’ll keep looking, of course.”
“Good.” Munch nodded. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. We have a new database system that will be up and running later today. Everything we enter—names, observations, anything at all—will immediately be cross-referenced against all other available databases, ours and anyone else’s. If anyone experiences any problem making it work, please talk to Gabriel Mørk, our new nerd. Have you all met Gabriel?”
Gabriel jumped when he heard his name spoken. He looked up and saw that everyone had turned to him.
“Hi, Gabriel,” some of them said.
“Hello, everyone,” Gabriel replied, sounding a little nervous.
He had the feeling of being back at school again. That soon he would have to stand up and say something, but fortunately he was not made to. He had no idea what database they were talking about. Munch looked at him and winked.
“A project I didn’t have time to tell you about, but we’ll do it later, okay?”
“Okay.” Gabriel was relieved when Mia Krüger started talking again.
“I don’t know how many of you have seen this.” She pressed a key.
“But we discovered a number on the nail of the left little finger when we examined Pauline. It’s the number one. As you can see . . .”
Another photograph on the screen.
“Johanne had exactly the same, the number two, in the form of two lines on her left ring finger.”
“Damn!” Ludvig exclaimed spontaneously. He was the older man with the round glasses.
“Yes, exactly.” Mia looked at him.
“What the hell?” Curry said.
“There will be others,” Anette said.
The room fell silent.
“We have cause to fear that Pauline and Johanne were only the beginning. That there will be others, unfortunately.”
Munch had taken over again.
“So we pay special attention to any missing-persons cases. Girls aged six years, even if they have only been gone for thirty minutes, we turn up like gangbusters, do you understand?”
The assembly nodded.
“Now I feel the need for a cigarette, so we’ll break for ten minutes and meet back here again.”
Munch produced cigarettes from his jacket pocket and went outside on the smoking terrace, closely followed by Mia. Gabriel did not quite know what to do with himself. Seeing the photographs of the two girls had been overwhelming enough by itself. And they were saying there would be more? He breathed in and out deeply a couple of times to lower his pulse and went out into the corridor to get himself a cup of coffee.