Mia Krüger crossed the road and started walking up Tøyengata. She tried to ignore the newspaper headlines. She passed yet another kiosk that had her life on display. MYSTERY WOMAN: STILL NO LEADS. The police sketch of the woman seen by the retiree on the front page. There was nothing wrong with the police sketch. Just as there was nothing wrong with the witness observation. The only problem was that it could be anyone. Nine hundred phone calls, and that was just on day one. People thought it was their neighbor, their colleague, their niece, someone they’d seen on line for a ferry the day before. The switchboard at police headquarters had been jammed; they’d had to shut it down, take a break. Rumor had it that waiting time to get through had been up to two hours. HAVE YOU SEEN KAROLINE OR ANDREA? New front pages, big photographs of the girls, blown up as if to mock her. You can’t do your job. This is your responsibility. If those girls die, it’ll be your fault.
And what was all that blood about? Mia Krüger did not understand it. It made no sense. It did not fit with the other evidence. They’d tested the blood, and it belonged to neither of the girls. It wasn’t even human. It came from a pig. The killer was taunting them, that was what she was doing. Or he. Mia Krüger was starting to have doubts. Something did not add up. With the woman seen in Skullerud. With the police sketch. She got the feeling that the whole thing was a game. Look how easy it all is for me. I can do whatever I want.
I win. You lose.
Mia tightened her jacket around her and crossed the street again. They had nothing on the white Citroën. Nothing from the list of previous offenders. Ludvig and Curry had reviewed the Hønefoss case in detail. One of the offices in Mariboesgate was covered from floor to ceiling with photographs and notes, but despite their efforts they hadn’t discovered anything so far. After all, there’d been nearly eight hundred sixty staff members at the hospital where the baby had been taken. Not to mention everyone with easy access: patients, visitors, relatives. It all added up to thousands of potential suspects. Nor had the surveillance cameras picked up anything. There’d been no cameras in the maternity unit itself in those days, only near the exit. Mia remembered watching hours of recordings without success. Nothing. Crates of interviews and statements. Doctors, nurses, patients, social workers, relatives, receptionists, cleaners—she had personally spoken to nearly a hundred people. All of them had been equally upset. How could it happen? How could someone just walk into a maternity unit and walk out with a baby without being challenged? She remembered how high-ranking officers at police headquarters had jumped for joy when the young Swede had “confessed” and then killed himself. They could not shelve the case fast enough. Sweep it under the rug. A blot on the force. It was a question of moving on.
Mia Krüger crossed the street again and entered a courtyard. It had been a long time since her last visit, but the place was still there. The green door without a sign, hidden away in an invisible corner of the city. She knocked and waited for someone to open it. They had decided to offer a reward now, the girls’ families and their supporters. Munch and Mia had been against it. It would only increase the number of time wasters, telephone calls, block the lines for people with important information, but after consulting their lawyers they had decided to go ahead nevertheless. The police could do nothing to prevent it. Perhaps they might even benefit from it. Maybe the right amount of money would entice someone out from the shadows.
A small hatch opened in the door, and a man’s face appeared.
“Yes?”
“Mia Krüger,” Mia said. “Is Charlie here?”
The hatch was shut again. A couple of minutes passed, and then the man returned. He opened the door for her and let her in. The security guard was new, someone she hadn’t seen before. A typical choice for Charlie: a bodybuilder, big with a square body, tattooed biceps bigger than her thighs.
“He’s down there.” The man nodded, pointing farther into the room.
Charlie Brown was standing behind the bar with a big smile on his face when she appeared. He hadn’t changed. Perhaps a tiny bit older and his eyes a little wearier, but as colorful as always. Heavily made up and wearing a bright green sequin dress with a feather boa around his neck.
“Mia Moonbeam!” Charlie laughed and came out from behind the bar to give her a hug. “It’s been absolutely ages! How the devil are you, girl?”
“I’m good,” Mia told him, and sat down.
There were only six or seven men in the club, most of them wearing women’s clothing. Leopard-print leggings and high heels. White dresses and long silk gloves. At Charlie’s you could be anyone you wanted to be—no one cared. The lighting was soft. The mood relaxed. A jukebox in the corner played Edith Piaf.
“You look terrible,” Charlie Brown said, shaking his head. “Do you want a beer?”
“What, you finally got a license to serve alcohol?”
“Tut-tut, girl. We don’t use words like that here.” Charlie winked at her and pulled her a beer. “Do you want a small one or . . . ?”
“What’s a small one in this place in the daytime?” Mia smiled and took a sip of her beer.
“It’s whatever size you want it to be.” Charlie winked again and wiped the counter in front of her.
“Sadly,” he continued, “the place isn’t buzzing the way it used to. We’re getting old, or at least Charlie is.”
He flung the green feather boa around his neck and reached for a bottle on the shelf.
“How about a Jäger?”
Mia nodded and took off her knitted cap and leather jacket. It was good to be indoors where it was warm. Hide from the world for a while. She had hung out at Charlie’s back in the days when the investigation into her had been all over the media. Mia had discovered this place by accident and felt at home immediately. No prying eyes. Tranquillity and security, almost a second family. It seemed a very long time ago, in another life. She didn’t recognize any of the men wearing ladies’ clothes sitting in the booths over by the red wall.
Charlie found two glasses and poured them each a Jägermeister. “Cheers, darling. Good to see you again.”
“Likewise.” Mia smiled.
“Goes without saying you don’t look a day older,” Charlie said.
He cupped Mia’s face in his hands and studied it.
“Those cheekbones, girl. You shouldn’t have been a police officer. You should have been a model. But seriously, how about embracing healthy living for the sake of your skin? And you are allowed to put on a bit of makeup every now and then, even though you’re a girl. Right, I’ve got it off my chest. Mama Charlie always tells it like it is.”
“Thank you.” Mia knocked back her Jägermeister. It warmed her all the way down her throat.
“Could we have a bottle of champagne over here, Charlie?” someone called.
“What have I said to you about shouting, Linda?”
Charlie was addressing a man at one of the tables. He was wearing a pink minidress, ankle boots, gloves, and a string of pearls. He might be in his forties, but he moved his body and his arms like a fifteen-year-old girl.
“Oh, come on, Charlie. Be a dear.”
“This is a respectable establishment, not some Turkish brothel. Do you need fresh glasses?”
“No, we’ll use the ones we already have,” the man whose name was Linda said with a giggle.
“No class.” Charlie sighed and rolled his eyes.
He fetched a bottle of champagne from the back room and brought it to the table. Opened it with a bang to the delight of the men-girls who clapped and cheered.
“Right,” Charlie said when he came back. “I thought we had lost you.”
“Rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated,” Mia said.
“A bit of rouge, a touch of foundation, and I would agree.” Charlie tittered. “Oh, that was naughty of me. What a naughty girl I am.”
Charlie Brown leaned over the counter and gave her a big hug. Mia had to smile. It was a long time since she’d been hugged by a bear in women’s clothing. It felt good.
“Was I being naughty? You look absolutely gorgeous, you do. A million dollars.”
Mia laughed. “That’s quite all right.”
“Two million.”
“That’s enough, Charlie.”
“Ten million. Another Jäger?”
Mia gave him a thumbs-up.
“So what’s up?” Charlie said when they’d both emptied their glasses.
“I need your help,” Mia said, and she produced a photograph from the inside pocket of her jacket.
She slid the picture across the counter. Charlie put on a pair of bifocals and held the photograph close to a candle.
“Ah, Randi.” Charlie nodded. “Tragic story.”
“Was he one of your customers? Sorry, I mean she.”
Charlie took off his spectacles and pushed the photograph back across the counter.
“Yes, Randi used to come here,” he told her. “From time to time. Sometimes she would come often, and then several months would pass before we saw her again. Roger was one of those who . . . well, how do I put it? Who wasn’t comfortable with who he was. I think he tried really hard not to be Randi, but you know what it’s like, he couldn’t help himself. He had to get very drunk in order to let himself go. Sometimes we had to ask her to leave when she started bothering the other guests.”
“Any idea why?”
“Why he jumped?” Charlie heaved a sigh. “No idea. It’s a tough world out there, that’s all I can say. It’s hard enough to be normal. It’s even tougher when society wants you to be one person while your body tells you something else.”
“No one is more normal than you,” Mia said, and raised her beer glass from the counter.
Charlie chuckled. “Me? Christ, I gave all that up thirty years ago, but not everybody is like me, you know. Some are riddled with guilt, shame, and a bad conscience. We can get the Internet on our cell phones and send rockets to Mars, but mentally and emotionally we still live as we did back in the Dark Ages. Then again, you would know all about that.”
“Would I?” Mia said.
“Yes, because you’re smart, and that’s why I like you so much. And pretty—that helps obviously—but smart. I don’t need to explain everything to you. Why don’t you become prime minister, Mia? Teach this country a thing or two?”
“Oh, I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“You may be right. You’re far too nice.”
Charlie laughed and poured them each another Jäger.
“Did she always come here alone?” Mia asked.
“Who? Randi?”
“Yes.”
“Mostly. She brought a female friend a couple of times, but I never spoke to her.”
“A man?”
“No, a woman.”
“What did she look like?”
“Strict. Straight-backed. Dark hair pulled tightly into a ponytail. Rather odd eyes.”
“What do you mean by odd eyes?”
“They were different colors.”
“Really?”
“Really. One was blue and one was brown. She looked a bit freaky. Callous. Serious. I was quite pleased when he stopped bringing her, to be frank. She gave me the creeps.”
“When was this?”
“Oh, I can’t remember.” Charlie found a cloth and started wiping off the bar again. “Some months after you stopped coming here, I guess. By the way, where have you been?”
“I left the world for a while.”
“Well, it’s good to have you back. I’ve missed you.” Charlie raised her shot glass. “Do you want me to throw out the other guests? Then we can have a proper drink like we used to in the old days?”
“Some other time, Charlie.” Mia put on her jacket. “Too much to do right now.”
She found a pen in her pocket and scribbled her number on a napkin.
“Call me if you remember anything else, will you?”
Charlie leaned over the counter and kissed her good-bye on both cheeks. “Don’t be a stranger.”
“I promise.” Mia smiled.
She pulled her cap well over her head and stepped out into the rainy Oslo evening. She scouted for a taxi but saw none. Never mind. She wasn’t in a hurry. It was not as if anyone were waiting for her back at the hotel. She’d pulled the hood of her jacket over her cap and had started walking back to the city center just as her phone rang. It was Gabriel Mørk.
“Hi,” Mia said.
“Hi, it’s Gabriel. Is now a good time?”
“Absolutely,” she replied. “Are you still at the office?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t actually have to be there 24/7—you are allowed to go home, you know. Has Holger told you that?”
“No, I know that, but there’s quite a lot to learn.” Gabriel sounded a little weary.
“So any news for me?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, there is. It occurred to me that there must be a way to retrieve deleted text messages, so I called a buddy of mine, an Apple freak.”
“And?”
“Simple. I found them.”
“Everything that was on Roger’s cell phone?”
“Yep.”
“Wow, that’s brilliant!” Mia said. “So what have we got?”
“Good news and bad. I found the deleted messages, but there weren’t many of them. His phone must have been quite new. I’m starting to get cross-eyed, and I don’t have the energy to read them all out loud. Do you think you could look at them tomorrow?”
“Sure. Am I right in thinking there was no sender this time either?”
“No, I have a number.”
“Whose is it?”
“It’s not listed. That’s why I’m calling. I’m going to have to hack several databases to find out who owns it.”
“How many are we talking about?”
For a moment there was silence from Gabriel’s end. “As many as I have to.”
“And?”
“Er, it’s illegal. We should really get a court order first. What do you think?”
“Have you spoken to Holger?”
“He’s not answering his phone.”
“We can’t wait for that,” Mia said. “Go ahead.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” Gabriel said.
“Are you starting now?”
“I thought I might hit the sheets first.”
“As you wish. I’m sure it can wait until tomorrow morning.”
“Or I could do it now.”
“Now is fine. I’m staying awake.”
“Okay.”
Mia ended the call and continued toward the city center. The streets were practically deserted. She could see people through the windows, the glare from their television screens. Suddenly her hotel seemed even less attractive than it had earlier. There was no reason to go there. She wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway. She might as well have another beer. Try to focus her mind.
Fortunately, Justisen wasn’t busy. Mia ordered a beer and found a table in a quiet corner. She took out pen and paper and sat staring at the blank sheet in front of her. Four girls. Six years old. Pauline. Johanne. Karoline. Andrea. She wrote down their names at the top of the sheet. Pauline. Went missing from her nursery school. Found in Maridalen. Johanne. Went missing from her nursery school. Found by Hadelandsveien. Karoline and Andrea. Taken from their homes. Where would they be found? She could see no pattern. The answer had to be there somewhere. Roger Bakken/Randi. The text messages. It is unwise to fly too near the sun. Who’s there? Bye, bye, birdie.
First message. Icarus. Roger had done something he shouldn’t have. Second message. Who’s there? She seemed to remember a series of jokes that started like this. Knock-knock jokes. Knock, knock. Who’s there? Doris. Doris who? Doris locked, that’s why I’m knocking. It made no sense. Bye, bye, birdie. That was easier. Bye Bye Birdie was a musical popular with gay men. The eagle tattoo. See you later, birdie.
Mia got a foul taste in her mouth and ordered another Jäger to wash it away. The alcohol made her feel good. She was starting to get a little drunk, but that made it easier to think. She found another piece of paper and placed it alongside the first. Backpacks. Books. Paper. The names on the books. Dolls’ dresses. I’m traveling alone. “These go together,” she quickly scribbled. “They add up.” Pig’s blood. Who’s there? “They don’t add up,” she wrote below it. Two from nursery school. Two in their homes. Ten dresses. A woman. Mia ordered another beer. It was happening now. Her head was clearer. The transvestite. A woman. Gender. Playing with gender? Gender confusion? Shame. Guilt. I’m traveling alone. The first symbols were clear proof of intelligence. Backpack. Sign. Dolls’ dresses. The others didn’t fit in with the rest; they were just white noise. Pig’s blood? Who’s there? She tore off another sheet and placed it next to the first two. Knocked back her beer and ordered another beer and chaser. This was it. She was onto something. She wrote “Woman” at the top of the third piece of paper. “Hønefoss. Maternity ward. Washed and got the girls ready. Anesthesia. Care. Nurse? Police sketch. Looks like everyone else. Invisible? How can you hide in plain sight?” She left a section of the paper blank and wrote something at the bottom. “Callous. Serious. Different-colored eyes. One brown and one blue. One in Maridalen. One near Hadelandsveien. Forest. Hidden. Have to search. Have to work. Have to hunt. On display and yet hidden. She wants to show us what she has done but not make it so obvious that we don’t have to look. Pig’s blood? Who’s there? Why so clean first? Serious? Why so unclean later?” Mia ordered more alcohol and found another sheet of paper. It was starting to flow now, there was something there. Something was taking shape, but it refused to come into focus. “Pride. Look at me. Look at what I’ve done. Toni J. W. Smith. You’re useless, and I’m going to prove it. It’s me against you. A game. Why so clean first and then so unclean? Blood? Pig’s blood? Staged. So theatrical. Fake. Ignore it.” It was loosening up inside her now. A rush of unstoppable thoughts. That was it. “Fake. Ignore it.” Mia scribbled so furiously that she almost forgot her drinks. “Ignore it. Not everything matters. Not the staged elements. Not the theatricality. It is dishonest. Fake. It does not add up. Look at what does add up. What is true. Which symbols point where? What do we need to address and what can we disregard? Is that the game?”
That is the game.
Mia smiled to herself but was unaware of it. She was miles away. Deep inside herself. The city did not exist. Justisen did not exist. The table did not exist. Beer did not exist. Jump rope, yes. Satchels, yes. Dolls’ dresses, yes. I’m traveling alone, yes. Anesthesia, yes. Pig’s blood, no, fake. Bye, bye, birdie, no, not important. Fly too near the sun, no, not important. Who’s there?
“Mia?”
Mia was so startled that she leaped from her chair. She looked around, dazed, not knowing where she was.
“Sorry, am I disturbing you?”
Reality slowly returned. Her beer came back. The room came back. And there was Susanne standing next to her table with frizzy hair, her jacket soaked from the rain, looking upset.
“Hi, are you all right?”
“Do you mind if I sit down? I can see that you’re working. I don’t want to intrude.”
Mia didn’t have time to reply. Susanne took off her jacket and collapsed on the chair like a drowned rat.
“Sit down,” Mia said. “No, it’s fine. Is it raining outside?”
“Inside and out.” Susanne heaved a sigh and buried her face in her hands. “I didn’t know where to go. I thought you might be here.”
“And I was,” Mia said. “Do you want a beer?”
Susanne nodded softly. Mia went up to the bar. She came back to the table with two beers and two Jägermeisters.
“Are you writing a novel?” Susanne said, mustering up a feeble smile under her bangs.
“No, it’s just work,” Mia said.
“Good, because that title has already been taken,” Susanne said, pointing to one of the sheets. “‘Who’s there?’”
“What do you mean, taken? Where is it from?”
“It’s the opening line of Hamlet.” Susanne brushed her hair behind her ear and drank some of her beer.
“Are you sure?”
Susanne laughed. “Yes, I should hope so. I mean, I’m the assistant director. I practically know the script by heart.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” Mia said. “Is it really?”
Susanne coughed slightly and suddenly switched to Drama Susanne from Åsgårdstrand. “‘Who’s there? Nay, answer me: stand, and unfold yourself. Long live the king!’”
She took another sip of her beer and suddenly seemed a little embarrassed.
“It’s not original. We can ignore it,” Mia said quietly.
“Ignore what?” Susanne said.
“Oh, nothing. So what has happened? Why are you looking so miserable?”
Susanne sighed again. Pulled out her hair from behind her ear and tried to hide behind it. “The same old story. I’m an idiot.”
It was not until now that Mia realized that her friend had had quite a lot to drink already. She was slurring her words and struggled to steer the beer glass to her lips.
“Actors. Never trust them,” she continued. “One day they tell you they love you, and then the next day they don’t, and then they love you again, and then you believe them, and they sleep with one of the girls from the lighting crew. What’s wrong with them?”
“Two faces,” Mia said. “It’s hard to know which one is real.”
Two faces?
Playing with gender?
An actor?
“Lying bastards,” Susanne said, quite loud.
Mia was starting to feel pretty drunk herself. She drained her beer and watched as Susanne tried to drink the rest of hers.
“I always end up going home alone,” Susanne said, wiping away a tear.
Mia’s cell rang. It was Gabriel Mørk again. “Yes. What have we got?”
“Another dead end.”
“You didn’t find anything?”
“Yes, the number is registered to a Veronica Bache.”
“Excellent, Gabriel. Who is she?”
“The question you should be asking me is who was she? Veronica Bache lived to be ninety-four. She died in 2010.”