Mia Krüger was sitting in her office, fidgeting with the tablets she kept in her pants pocket. She had promised herself not to take any with her, to leave them all behind in her house on the island until she had finished this case, until she needed them again, but she hadn’t quite succeeded. She had stuffed a few pills into her pocket, just in case. She was longing to take one now. She was itching all over. She had pushed it so far away that she’d forgotten what it was like to be exposed to the real world. After all, she hadn’t expected to have to deal with it for much longer, but then Munch had turned up and ruined her plans.
Mia Krüger hadn’t had a drink for four days either, not since she returned to Oslo. Several times she’d been tempted to attack the minibar in her hotel room, but she’d managed to restrain herself. Holger had offered her a government apartment, but she 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 transition room. A waiting room. She did not want to get too close to everyday life. Just solve this case. Then she would go back again. To Hitra. To Sigrid. She’d been searching for a new, symbolic date. April 18, the tenth anniversary, had passed. The next one was their birthday, November 11. When they would both turn thirty-three. Would have turned thirty-three. November seemed incredibly far off. Much too far. She had to find a nearer date. Or maybe she didn’t need one. It could be anytime. The most important thing was that it happened. That she was spared this. These people. She stuck her hand into her pocket and placed a pill on her tongue. Changed her mind. Spit it out and put it back in her pocket.
“Someone has called about the clothes.”
Anette had suddenly appeared in her office.
“What?”
“We have a hit on the dolls’ dresses.”
“So soon?”
“Yep.” The blond 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 hadn’t gotten around to reading the papers until now. Do you want to come with me?”
“Yes, please. Where is Munch?”
“He had to pick up his granddaughter from nursery school.”
“Do you want to drive, or shall I?” Anette said, dangling a set of car keys in front of her.
“You had better drive.” Mia smiled and followed her colleague down to the underground garage.
“So what did she say?” Mia asked when they had left the city center.
She’d worked with Anette on several cases in the past, but it had not resulted in a close relationship. Mia didn’t quite know why. There was nothing wrong with Anette. She was quick-thinking and always friendly. She had trained as a lawyer, and she was incredibly clever and the perfect member of the special unit. It was probably because Mia was not 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 hadn’t been such a smart move. Perhaps it would have done her good to have a life outside of 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. ‘Suffer the little children to come unto me.’ 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 input. She had tried to watch television last night, but it had given her a headache. She’d even had to ask Holger to turn off the radio in his office. They drove 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 that 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 toward Sandvika. It drummed on the windshield, but Mia kept her sunglasses on. She closed her eyes behind the lenses and listened to the sounds. The raindrops hitting the windshield. The droning of the engine.
“We have arrived,” Anette announced finally, 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, and now the mild spring sun peeked out from behind the clouds once more and showed them the way to a small shop painted yellow, here on the outskirts of Sandvika.
It said JENNY’S SEWING ROOM on the window. In the door hung an old-fashioned sign: CLOSED. 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 ID 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. Shaky old fingers struggled to turn the key, but at last she succeeded. Mia entered calmly and showed the woman her ID card again. The woman closed the door behind them and locked it immediately. She stayed in the middle of the small, colorful 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, holding 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 that Jenny had clearly made herself. Tablecloths, dresses, one wall covered with patchwork quilts—the whole shop exuded good old-fashioned craftsmanship.
“Yes, we have had it since 1972,” Jenny Midthun told them. “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 appropriate 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 she nodded.
“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’ve done anything wrong. Who was the customer?” Mia said.
Jenny Midthun walked behind the counter and took a ring binder from one of the bookshelves.
“It’s all in here,” she said, tapping the ring binder 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 neighbors 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?”
“No, and I didn’t ask either. Had I known that . . . But I didn’t know that . . .”
Jenny Midthun clutched her head. She had to sit down on a chair. Anette disappeared into the back room and returned with a glass of water.
“Thank you,” the old woman said, her voice shaking.
“When was the order placed?”
“About a year ago. Last summer. The first one, I mean.”
“Did he visit more than once?”
“Oh, yes.” Jenny nodded. “He came here many times. Payment was never a problem. Always cash, always on time. A good price. No problems there.”
“How many dresses did you make?”
“Ten.”
The old woman stared at the floor. Anette looked at Mia and raised her eyebrows.
There will be others. Ten dresses.
“When did you last see him?”
“It’s not that long ago, not really. Perhaps a month. Yes, I think so. In the middle of March. That’s when he came to pick up the last two.”
“Can you tell us what he looked like? Are you feeling well enough to do that?” Anette said.
“Completely ordinary.”
“What does ‘completely ordinary’ mean to you?”
“He was well dressed. Nice clothes. A suit and a hat. Nice, newly polished shoes. Not so tall, as tall as Arild perhaps, my late husband, medium height. Neither fat nor thin, completely ordinary.”
“Any regional accent?”
“What? No.”
“Did he speak like us?” Anette said.
“Oh, yes, he was Norwegian. From Oslo. Perhaps forty-five or thereabouts. A completely ordinary man. Very nice. And very well dressed. How was I to know . . . ? I mean . . . If I had known then . . .”
“You’ve been very helpful, Jenny,” Mia said, gently patting the old woman’s hand. “And a great help. Now, I want you to think carefully: Was there anything about him that was unusual. Something that stood out?”
“I don’t know what that would be. Do you mean his tattoo?”
Anette looked at Mia again and smiled faintly. “He had a tattoo?”
Jenny Midthun nodded. “Here,” she said, touching her neck. “Usually he would wear a turtleneck sweater, so you couldn’t see it, but once he didn’t or he didn’t quite cover it up properly, if you know what I mean—it was loose around the collar.” She touched her own collar to illustrate.
“Was it a big tattoo?” Anette wanted to know.
“Oh, yes, it was. Covered practically everything from here and then down to—”
“Did you see what kind of tattoo it was?”
“Yes, it was an eagle.”
“He had an eagle tattooed on his neck?”
Jenny Midthun nodded tentatively.
“Call it in immediately,” Mia said.
Anette got out her cell phone. She went outside into the street to make the call.
“Have I been helpful?” Jenny Midthun looked up at Mia with frightened eyes. “Am I going to go to prison?”
Mia patted her shoulder. “No, you’re not. But I would like you to come into town so that we can get an official statement from you. It doesn’t have to be right now, but in the next few days, would that be all right?”
Jenny Midthun agreed and walked Mia to the door. Mia produced a business card from the back pocket of her jeans and handed it to the woman.
“If you remember anything else, I want you to call me, okay?”
“I will. But I’m not in trouble, am I?”
“No, definitely not.” Mia smiled. “Many thanks for your help.”
She heard the door being locked behind her when she stepped out into the street. Poor thing. The old woman really was terrified. Mia saw the old woman’s face peer out from behind the curtains and hoped that she would not be alone for the rest of the day, that there was someone she could phone.
Mia turned when Anette had ended the call. “Did you speak to Holger?”
“No, he didn’t answer his phone. I spoke to Kim. He’ll follow it up.”
“Good.” Mia smiled.
The two police officers got into the car and drove back to Oslo quickly.