Miriam Munch was sitting in the back of her father’s Audi trying to keep her emotions in check. On orders from her father, she wore a woolly cap pulled over her ears and large sunglasses. Marion was lying on the seat next to her, curled up under a blanket that completely concealed the little girl. Miriam had not understood very much when her father woke her two days ago and told her to lock all the doors. Don’t let anyone in. Keep Marion home from nursery school.
What do you mean, keep her home from nursery school?
For God’s sake, Miriam, just do as I say!
The thought had occurred to her, obviously. Miriam Munch wasn’t stupid. Quite the contrary. Miriam Munch had always been one of the smartest girls in school. Ever since she was little, she found it incredibly easy to do what others struggled with. Rivers in Asia. Capitals of South America. Fractions. Algebra. English. Norwegian. She’d soon learned to keep quiet about her cleverness, not to come in first on every test, not to raise her hand too often. She also possessed emotional intelligence. She wanted to have friends. She did not want to be thought of as better than anyone else.
So of course the possibility had crossed her mind. Her daughter was due to start school this autumn. And her father was heading the investigation into the murder of four girls. She wasn’t an idiot. But she had been stubborn. There was no way she would allow herself to be intimidated. Her life would not be destroyed by some madman. She’d taken precautions, of course—who hadn’t? She took Marion to and from nursery school herself. She had already said no to letting Marion go to birthday parties, to her daughter’s great despair. She had organized a meeting at the nursery school with staff and parents of all girls due to start school this autumn. Some of the parents had taken time off work, too frightened to send their children to nursery school, some thought the nursery school ought to shut temporarily, others wanted to be with their children—it was mayhem, but Miriam had managed to calm them down. Convinced them that it was about living as normal a life as possible. Not least for the girls’ sake. But all the time there’d been a nagging voice at the back of her head: You might be at greater risk. You have the most to fear. And now this.
Miriam wrapped the blanket more tightly around her daughter, who was sound asleep. It was dark outside, and the black Audi drove smoothly through the almost deserted streets. Miriam Munch was not frightened, but she was concerned. And sad. And frustrated. And irritated. And outraged.
“Is everything okay in the back?”
Mia Krüger turned to look at her. They had yet to tell Miriam why she was being moved again, the second time in as many days, but deep down they guessed she knew.
“We’re fine,” Miriam assured her. “Where are we going this time?”
“An apartment we have at our disposal,” her father said, glancing at her in the rearview mirror.
“Isn’t it about time someone told me what’s going on?” Miriam said.
She tried sounding stern, but she was exhausted. She had barely slept for two days.
“It’s for your own good,” her father said, looking up at her in the mirror again.
“Has the killer made a threat against Marion? Are you doing this just to be on the safe side? I have a right to know what’s going on, don’t I?”
“You’re safe as long as you do what I say,” her father said, jumping a red light at an intersection.
She knew what her father was like once he’d made up his mind about something, so she didn’t push him. Suddenly she felt fourteen again. He had been incredibly strict when she was younger, but he’d mellowed with age. Back in those days, there was no point in trying to talk to him. No, Miriam, you can’t wear that to school, that skirt is far too short. No, Miriam, you have to be home by ten. No, Miriam, I don’t like you seeing that Robert, I don’t think he’s good for you. Her paranoid police-officer father micromanaging her teenage life. It had raised her status among her friends, though. Those who had it toughest at home got the most sympathy from the other students at school. Besides, she knew how to pull the wool over her father’s eyes, no matter how good a police officer he was. Toward the end he’d barely been at home, which meant he rarely presented a problem for her. Her mother, too, had been bound up in her own concerns. Christ Almighty, adults, parents—did they really think their children didn’t know what was going on? Miriam had known about Rolf before the eruption at home. Her mother, whose routine you could set your watch by. Who suddenly had to “see a friend”? Who suddenly got a lot of calls, which turned out to be “wrong numbers”? Please.
“Is she asleep?”
Mia Krüger turned around again and looked at Marion, who was still curled up under the blanket.
Miriam nodded. She liked Mia, always had. There was something about her personality. She was charismatic. She had great presence. At times she might seem a little distant and eccentric, but not to Miriam. Mia reminded her of herself, perhaps that was why Miriam had taken to her. Intelligent and strong, but also quite vulnerable.
“Your father received a coded message via a website,” Mia said.
“Mia!” Munch hissed, but Mia simply continued.
“The sender pretended to be a Swedish mathematician named Margrete. When we cracked the code, it turned out to be a direct threat against Marion.”
Miriam could see her father’s face grow redder.
“Seriously?” Miriam said.
To her surprise, she realized that she was intrigued rather than scared.
“And how long have you been in contact with her? Online, I mean?”
Her father made no reply. His jaw was clenched and his knuckles white around the steering wheel.
“Almost two years,” Mia said.
“Two years? Two whole years?”
Miriam could not believe her ears.
“Have you been in contact with this person for two years, Dad? Is that true? Have you been communicating with a killer for two years without realizing it?”
Munch still made no reply. His face was puce now, and he pressed the accelerator hard.
“He couldn’t have known,” Mia said. “Everyone on that website was anonymous. It could have been anyone.”
“That’s enough, Mia,” Holger Munch hissed.
“What?” Mia said. “Maybe Miriam knows something. If the killer has been in contact with you for two years, he might have contacted her as well. We have to know.”
Without warning, Holger Munch slammed on the brakes and pulled over, turning off the engine.
“You, stay where you are,” he ordered Miriam in the mirror. “You, out.”
“But, Holger,” Mia protested.
“Out. Get out of the car.”
Mia unbuckled her seat belt and left the Audi, against her better judgment. Holger Munch opened the driver’s door and followed her out onto the pavement. Miriam couldn’t hear the exact words, but it was clear that her father was incandescent with rage. He waved his arms about and was practically frothing at the mouth. She could see that Mia was trying to say something, but Munch did not let her get a word in edgewise. He jabbed his finger right up in her face, and for one moment Miriam feared that he might slap Mia. He ranted at length, and eventually Mia stopped talking. She was just nodding now. Then the two police officers got back inside the car. Munch started the engine, and nothing more was said. The mood in the car was tense. Miriam thought it best not to say anything. Two years? Her father had been in touch with a killer that long? No wonder he was livid. Someone had tricked him. And now four girls were dead. Was Marion meant to be number five? Had that been the message? Was that why they had to go into hiding? Miriam tightened the blanket around her daughter even more and stroked the girl’s hair while the black Audi continued through the night to a safe house whose location not even she knew.