Mia Krüger was sitting on the smoking terrace watching Munch destroy his lungs. They had just finished today’s briefing, and Munch was in a particularly bad mood.
“How is that possible?” he kept repeating, rubbing his eyes.
None of the team had slept much in the past week, but Munch looked as if he might have slept even less than the others. Mia had been waiting for the right moment to tell him what was on her mind, but she was having second thoughts. She couldn’t be sure. It was just a hunch. But a hunch that had grown stronger as the day went by.
“How is that possible?” Munch said again, lighting his next cigarette with his current one.
“What are you talking about?” Mia said.
“Eh?” Munch grunted, turning to her.
When he realized who he was talking to, his eyes softened.
“All of it,” he said, rubbing his eyes again. “Surely someone must have seen them. Two six-year-old girls don’t just vanish into thin air.”
“Have we had a ransom demand yet?”
“We’ve got nada. The families have offered a reward of half a million, I believe. You’d have thought that amount of money would make someone come forward.”
“Will they increase it to a million?”
Munch nodded. “They’re announcing it tomorrow. We’ll just have to cross our fingers.”
“And hope that not every nutjob in the world jams our switchboard,” Mia said.
“That’s the risk we run.” Munch sighed, taking a long drag of his cigarette. “Did you manage to contact Benjamin Bache?”
“I’m meeting him at four-thirty at the theater. He could only spare me half an hour. I think he’s doing Karius and Bactus, the Tooth Trolls as well as rehearsing Hamlet. Do you want to come along?”
Munch shook his head. “No, you take that one. Does he live in his great-grandmother’s apartment? Is that the address where the bills are sent? You know the drill.”
“No problem,” Mia said.
“I just refuse to believe it,” Munch said. “Someone must have seen something. Our killer getting in and out of a car? Going into or out of a cabin? In or out of a basement? The girls have to be fed—our killer buying extra food? Our killer . . .” He continued to stare at the tip of his cigarette.
“If it’s so well planned, then we need a lucky break. You must be aware of that,” Mia said quietly.
“And it does seem well planned, doesn’t it?” Munch agreed.
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Mia said. “It could have been years in the preparation, for all the evidence we have.”
“And we know what that means,” Munch said. “The girls will be dead if we don’t find them soon.”
Mia said nothing. She, too, stayed where she was, staring down at the street. Sometimes she envied the people down there. Normal people. Who owned a corner shop or bought shoes for their kids. Who did not have to deal with stuff like this. She braced herself for what she had to say. “There’s something I have to tell you,” she said to Munch.
“Spit it out,” he said.
Mia paused as she struggled to find the right words.
“What is it?” Munch urged her.
“I think that you’re involved,” she said at length.
“Involved?”
“I think you were part of the planning.”
“What are you talking about, Mia?”
They were interrupted by a timid Gabriel Mørk, who popped his head through the door to the terrace.
“Sorry to disturb you, but—”
“What do you want?” Munch barked at him.
“Oh, it’s just . . . Mia, I found . . . well, you know the information you asked for earlier today? What do you want me to do with it?”
“I want you to give all the names to Kim and Ludvig and get them to cross-reference them with the Hønefoss case. I have a hunch we might find something there.”
“Will do,” the young man said, and he quickly closed the door without ever once looking at Munch.
“Just what did you mean when you said that I was part of the planning?”
“I think,” Mia said pensively, “that this is about you.”
“About me?”
“I think so.”
They were interrupted once more, this time by an agitated Anette Goli, who didn’t even bother knocking.
“You have to come right now,” she said to Munch.
“What is it?”
“We have a breakthrough. We’ve just had a call from a lawyer—” She looked at a Post-it note in her hand. “His name is Livold. He represents Aftenposten. They’ve been contacted by the killer.”
“Shit,” Munch said. He got up and stubbed out his cigarette. “When?”
“Several times, I believe. Some days ago. Most recently lunchtime today.”
“And they call us now?” Munch was fuming. “Now? Morons.”
“They’ve clearly spent a day or two taking legal advice.”
“Goddamn fools, where are they?”
“The Postgirobygget building. They’re waiting for us now. I have a car downstairs.”
Munch turned to Mia. “Are you coming?”
She shook her head. “I’m off to see Benjamin Bache.”
“Yes, of course.” He gave her a strange look. “We’ll have to do this later, but soon. I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I’ll meet you at Justisen afterward,” Mia said.
“Fine,” Munch said, and he half ran after Anette out of the office.