Mia Krüger was standing in Malin Stoltz’s apartment, and she knew exactly why Kim had reacted the way he had.
“I’ve never seen so many mirrors in all my life,” Kim said, still reeling. “Now do you see why I jumped when I came in here?”
Mia nodded. Malin Stoltz’s apartment looked like a hall of mirrors at a carnival. There were mirrors everywhere. Every square inch of her apartment was covered with them. From floor to ceiling in every single room.
They’d waited outside for an hour, but no one had appeared. The decision to go in had been made by Munch. Mia had disagreed, but she’d said nothing. He was the boss. She would have preferred to stay in the car, wait a little longer. That would have been better. Now they had made their presence known. Munch had asked for a full team to search the apartment. Their police presence was broadcast across the whole neighborhood. Malin Stoltz would never come back now. Mia knew it, and Munch knew it. Even so, he had made the call. Perhaps Anette had been right after all. Perhaps Munch was too close to the case. With Miriam and Marion hidden away in a safe house in Frogner. With his mother linked to the church.
“Have you ever seen anything like it?” Kim asked.
Mia shook her head. She had not. She had never even come close. No matter where she went or turned, she saw her own reflection. She felt a strong sense of unease, but there was nowhere she could rest her eyes, there was no escape. She looked exhausted. She did not look like herself. The alcohol and the pills had left their traces, both in her skin and in her usually bright blue eyes. Mia wasn’t vain, but she definitely did not like what she saw. And they had lost Malin Stoltz.
Munch entered the kitchen where the others were, and he did not look particularly pleased either. He heaved a sigh as he stood in front of the mirrored fridge; it was clear that he was not used to spending much time in front of a mirror. Mia could see him looking at himself. She wondered what he was thinking.
“We have issued a description,” Munch said after a pause. “We have stationed people at Gardermoen Airport, Oslo Central Station, TORP Airport, and cars in strategic locations, but I have a feeling that she’s tricked us again.”
Munch scratched his beard and glanced at his face in the mirror once more. “What the hell is this about, Mia?”
Mia shrugged. She knew that everyone expected her to answer this question, but right now nothing came into her head. An apartment filled with mirrors? Who liked to look at themselves all the time? Someone who was frightened of disappearing? Who had to keep looking at herself to reassure herself that she existed? Something started to come into focus, but it refused to materialize fully. She was overtired. She strangled a yawn. She really had to get some sleep soon. It was apparent from multiple angles just how much she needed a rest.
The head of the search team, a short man in his fifties whose name Mia had forgotten, appeared in the doorway.
“Anything?” Munch said, sounding hopeful.
“Nothing,” the short man said.
“What did we find?”
“No, I mean nothing. There’s nothing here. No photographs. No personal belongings. No handwritten notes. No newspapers. No plants. Just some clothes in the wardrobe and quite a lot of makeup in the bathroom. It’s almost as if she did not live here.”
Mia had a sudden flashback to her house on Hitra. She had done exactly the same. No personal belongings. Just clothes, alcohol, pills, a coffee machine. It seemed so far away now. A distant memory, even though it had been barely three weeks since she’d raised her last toast to heaven, ready to disappear.
Come to me, Mia, come.
“She doesn’t live here,” Mia said.
“What?” Munch said.
Mia still felt incredibly tired, but she pulled herself together. “She doesn’t live here. Malin Stoltz lives here, but that’s not her. She lives elsewhere.”
“What do you mean?” Kim said. “Is she not Malin Stoltz?”
“There is no Malin Stoltz registered anywhere. It’s a false name,” Munch said irritably.
“So where does she live?” Kim asked.
“Somewhere else, keep up,” Munch snapped.
It was clear that he, too, was exhausted.
“There’s nowhere here you could hide the girls,” Mia said.
She sat down at the table. She was so exhausted she could no longer stand up. Her eyes were stinging. She could feel that she had to get out of this apartment soon, before all those mirror images got the better of her.
“Malin Stoltz lives here. Malin Stoltz isn’t real. She keeps her personal stuff elsewhere. A place she can be herself. And that’s where she keeps the girls. A cabin or an isolated house. Call off your people at Gardermoen and TORP. She’s not going to leave the country.”
“How do you know?” Munch said.
“She likes being at home.” Mia sighed. “Don’t ask me why.”
“We’ll have them stay there for the rest of the day,” Munch said. “And we need to go back to the nursing home. Someone there must know something about Malin.” He turned to Kim. “Would you organize that? Interviews with all staff members?”
Kim nodded.
“I’m going to need some sleep soon,” Mia mumbled.
“Go home. I’ll keep you informed.”
“You need some sleep yourself.”
“I’ll be fine,” Munch said cantankerously.
“So do you want us to pack up?” the short man asked.
“No,” Mia said.
“Why not?”
“Something is missing. She has a place where she hides things.”
“We’ve already searched the whole place,” the short man said, a little vexed and in a tone suggesting that they knew how to do their job.
Mia did not have the energy to be polite. She was too tired now.
“The lenses,” she said.
“Eh?”
“Her lenses. She wore contact lenses. If she left behind makeup and clothes, she would also have kept lenses here.”
“How do you know that she wears contact lenses?” the short police officer said.
Mia could feel herself starting to lose patience with him.
“When I saw her, she had blue eyes. Others have seen her with different-colored eyes. There must be contact lenses here somewhere. If she has hidden them, we might find something else as well.”
“But we have searched—” the short man began.
“Search harder,” Munch barked.
“But where?”
“Contact lenses must be kept in a cool place,” Mia said. “Check the mirrors.”
“But—”
“Start in the bathroom,” Mia said. “That’s the place where people keep their contact lenses, isn’t it? Try pushing the mirrors, push the damned mirrors.”
She got up, and for a second she blacked out. Her legs buckled underneath her, but Kim managed to grab her before she hit the floor.
“Mia?”
“Mia, are you okay?”
She came around and straightened up. She hated looking weak. Not in front of her colleagues. Damn.
“I’m fine. I just need some sleep and some food. Call me, okay?”
She stumbled toward the door and felt much better the moment she reached the stairwell. An apartment full of mirrors. Every wall from floor to ceiling, nothing but mirrors—who the hell did that?
Mia Krüger staggered down the stairs and got one of the police officers to drive her home. “Home” was an exaggeration. What sort of home was this? It wasn’t a home. She didn’t have a home. She was staying in a hotel in Oslo, she had her belongings in storage, and she owned a house on Hitra. That was who she was now. A nobody. That explained why seeing herself reflected in the mirrors had been so painful.
She fell facedown on the bed and slept with her clothes on.