Mia Krüger awoke to the sound of what she presumed must be seagulls. She was back on her island. In the house she’d bought to be alone. To get away from people. To get away from herself. She had self-medicated almost to death. The sea. The air. The birds. The calm. She was going to join Sigrid. It was too hard to be alone. When your whole family is gone. Dead. It was too hard not to have someone who understands. Sigrid had always understood. Lovely, beautiful, adorable Sigrid. Mia had never needed to say anything. I understand, Mia. Without even opening her mouth. Her lovely warm eyes behind the blond hair.
Now Mia was alone. No comfort. No peace. Just this house and the seagulls. Tough, intelligent, one-in-a-million Mia Krüger, Mia Moonbeam, the Native American with the sparkling blue eyes, one of Norway’s best murder detectives. Reduced to an exhausted eccentric on a remote island.
Mia’s mouth felt dry. She tried to open her eyes, but it was heavy going. A slow-motion transition from dream to reality, with music in the background. A radio. Then the music stopped. She tried to open her eyes again, but her eyelids were stuck, and it wasn’t just her eyelids, it was all of her. She couldn’t move. Mia slipped quietly back into her dream—the coffee brewing, the sound of the kettle in her kitchen on Hitra.
“Hello, Mia?”
Mia Krüger opened her eyes to find Karen Nylund standing in front of her. The strawberry blonde smiled and held up a bottle of water.
“Would you like something to drink? I imagine you must be terribly thirsty.”
Mia suddenly remembered what had happened, and her body jerked automatically, trying to free itself. Something was covering her mouth. Her hands were taped to a chair. Her legs. Her legs as well. Taped down. The movements were instinctive—they came from her body, not from her brain, muscular panic—but it was futile. All she could move was her head.
“You’re very sweet, you really are.” Karen laughed, waving the water bottle in front of her. “Do you intend to go on like that? It’s fun to watch, so don’t let me stop you.”
Mia could feel that she was panicking but managed to calm herself down, push the panic aside. She breathed deeply into her diaphragm and looked around. Her police gaze. She was in a small house. A cabin. No, a house. The windowsills were white. The countryside. She was in the country. There was a film of some kind on the windowpanes. You could look out, but no one could look in. Warmth and crackling behind her. An oven, no, an open fireplace. A sofa. A chair, 1960s. A rug on the floor. Multicolored. A door to the left. An old fridge. The kitchen. Another door, ajar. A passage. A pair of muddy boots. A sweater. A raincoat.
“Yes, it’s nice here, isn’t it?” Karen said, setting the bottle on the floor. “Would you like me to show and tell?”
Mia tried to say something but managed only a gurgling sound in her throat. The tape was covering her mouth. She stuck out her tongue, pressed it between her lips, and felt the taste of adhesive.
“If you want something to drink, then you mustn’t shout,” Karen said. “We’re a long way from other people, so they can’t help you, but I don’t want you waking the child.”
There was a television screen in front of her. No, it wasn’t a television, it was a monitor connected to a computer. A keyboard. A mouse.
Karen turned on the screen.
“She’s asleep. We must be quiet. Shhh.”
Karen Nylund smiled and pressed her finger against her lips. The screen slowly came to life, displaying the image of a sleeping girl. Marion. In a white room somewhere. The angle was a bird’s-eye perspective, a webcam mounted in a corner.
“Gorgeous, isn’t she?” Karen smiled. She sat down by the table, softly caressing the screen. “We mustn’t wake the sleeping child.”
Karen took a step forward and swiftly tore the tape off Mia’s face. Mia gasped for breath and coughed. She felt nauseous. The injection to her neck. She thought she was going to throw up.
“There, have some water,” Karen said, putting the bottle to her lips.
Mia gulped as much water as she could manage, the rest trickling down her chin and onto her sweater, into her lap, wetting her thighs.
“Good girl,” Karen said, wiping her chin and the corners of her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Have you hurt her?” Mia spluttered. Her voice sounded strange and rusty.
“Is that what you think?” Karen smiled. “Of course I haven’t hurt her. I’m going to kill her, that’s true, but how can that hurt her?”
“You bitch,” Mia hissed, and spit at her.
Karen jumped aside and just avoided being hit.
“Tsk-tsk, Mia. Do you want me to put the tape back, or will we try to behave?”
Mia could feel the rage surge violently inside her, but at the last second she managed to control herself.
“I’ll be good,” she said quietly. “Sorry.”
“There, there, that’s better.” Karen sat down again.
“Why me?” Mia said.
“Wow, straight to the point, is that how we’re doing it? Isn’t that a bit dull?” Karen laughed. “Why don’t we play a little game first? I like games. Games are fun, don’t you think? Don’t you like playing games, Mia? Mia Moonbeam, what a lovely name. A little Native American girl who’s been captured? How appropriate, wouldn’t you say?”
Mia said nothing. She closed her eyes and let her head slump toward her chest. Karen rose and came over to her.
“Mia? Mia? Now, don’t you fall asleep, Mia, we’re going to play a game.”
Mia opened her eyes and spit again, this time right into Karen’s face.
The strawberry blonde was unprepared, and her personality changed in a fraction of a second. Her smile was gone. Her eyes were flashing.
“You fucking cunt.”
Karen Nylund raised her hand and slapped Mia across the face. The blow was hard. Mia’s head was flung backward. She blacked out for a second, and her eyes closed.
When she opened them again, the grotesque smile was back in place.
“Would you like some cake?” Karen tilted her head winsomely to one side. “I baked it especially for you.”
“Who the hell are you really?”
“Now, no swearing,” Karen said. “It’s not necessary. That’s a rule. Agreed? That’s the rule of the game.”
Mia regained her composure and nodded. She glanced around a second time. The police gaze. She was trapped here. She was far away from other people. She was restrained. She would have to talk her way out. It was her only hope. Play along.
“That’s a good rule,” she said quietly, attempting a smile of her own.
“Excellent,” Karen said, clapping her hands. “Who will begin? Why don’t I start?”
Mia nodded.
“I grew up in this house,” Karen said. “There was me, my mother, my sister, and he who must not be mentioned.”
“Your father?” Mia said.
“We don’t say his name.” Karen smiled, sitting down by the table again. “Your turn?”
“I grew up in Åsgårdstrand,” Mia said. “With my sister and my parents. We lived in a white house, not far from Edvard Munch’s house. My grandmother lived close by.”
“Boring,” Karen said. “Party pooper. We already know that. Tell us something new, something we don’t know. Why don’t I say something?”
Mia nodded again.
“My mother worked at Hamar Hospital. I came with her to work. She showed me everything. She had the softest hair in the world. I got to brush it. My sister was far too young, so she only got to watch. One day my mother didn’t come home from work. Everyone knew what had happened, but the police did nothing. Isn’t that strange? That we live in a country where the police don’t care?”
Karen smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear. She glanced up at the ceiling, and she seemed to be contemplating something.
Hamar Hospital. Mia guessed they must be near Hamar. Karen Nylund’s father had murdered her mother. The police had done nothing. That explained her hatred of the police.
“Am I allowed to ask questions?” Mia said.
“Everything is allowed.” Karen laughed. “Everything is allowed in this game!”
“Except swearing,” Mia said, forcing out another smile; she hoped it looked genuine.
“That’s right.” Karen giggled. “We don’t like that.”
“What did you call her?” Mia said.
“Who?”
“The baby from the maternity ward.”
Karen had stopped smiling.
“Margrete,” she said.
“Beautiful name,” Mia said.
“Yes, it is, isn’t it?”
“Yes, very beautiful. Was that her room?” She nodded in the direction of the monitor.
“Yes,” Karen said forlornly. “Or no, it wasn’t as nice as that. That was where it was, but I had a new one built. The old one became so sad.”
“What happened to her?”
“Oh, no, my turn, my turn.”
Mia took her eyes off the screen. She could not bear to watch it. Marion was lying on the bed, wearing a white doll’s dress trimmed with lace.
“He bled to death inside.” Karen smiled.
“Who?”
“The one we never mention. I put rat poison in his food. After the police said that my mom had run away, I had to cook for all three of us. It was fun watching him die. We watched him, my sister and I. He bled from his mouth, from everywhere. It was really good to watch. A red-letter day, you could say. Almost like Christmas.”
“Where did you bury him?” Mia said, trying her hardest not to look at the screen.
Focus now, Mia, focus.
“Right behind the outhouse.” Karen smiled. “Stinky, stinky, filthy, filthy, filthy. Very apt. Are you sure you don’t want some cake?”
“Maybe later.” Mia smiled.
“It’s very good.” Karen nodded and disappeared inside her own head for a moment.
“Malin Stoltz.”
“Oh, you mean Maiken?”
“Two different-colored eyes? Malin?”
“Maiken.” Karen nodded again. “Poor Maiken. She’s as mad as a hatter, did you know? But together we made loads of money.”
Slowly it began to dawn on Mia how everything was connected.
“Through the church?”
Karen Nylund gleefully clapped her hands again.
“Well done, Mia. Clever girl. You’ve no idea how easy it is to make old ladies give all their money to Jesus when they think they’re about to die.”
She laughed briefly.
“The church got sixty percent, we got forty. A fair deal in my opinion. That’s a lot of money, Mia. Do you know how much money that is?”
“No,” Mia said.
“It’s a lot.” Karen winked at her. “Let’s put it this way, this is not my real home.”
“But she didn’t know anything about Margrete or the other girls?”
“Oh, no!” Karen laughed. “Maiken is downright crazy, no doubt about it, but much too soft for anything like that. That stupid friend of hers, Roger Bakken, at least I could use him for something. He could never make up his mind whether he was a man or a woman—a bit bizarre, really. People like that are always weak, easy to manipulate.”
“Wow, that’s quite a scam,” Mia said. “Working with the church. Clever for sure. Everyone’s a winner.”
“Yes, they are, aren’t they?” Karen said proudly.
“So what happened to her?” Mia continued.
“Who?”
“Margrete. The baby?”
Karen fell silent for a moment before she replied. “I was hit by a car. I broke my foot and both arms,” she said, pressing her lips together. “I was admitted to the hospital.”
“For a long time?”
Karen nodded. “I can’t blame them either,” she said, putting on her smile again. “The old people, I mean. Giving away their money. They lie there all alone. Their bodies are packing up. They look back on their lives and have regrets. Oh, they have so many regrets, Mia. I have seen them. Heard them talk. About all the things they wish they’d done differently. Worried less about other people. Put themselves first. Traveled more, had more fun, explored the world. They’re all terrified. They have fear in their eyes. It’s extreme, Mia, you should have seen some of them. They realize that they’ve made mistakes. They panic. They hope for another go. They want to buy their way to a second chance. I can’t blame them, really. How does it feel to be about to die, Mia?”
“Are you going to kill me?” Mia said.
Karen looked at her strangely. “Yes, of course I am. Why do you ask?”
“Why me?”
“Have you really not figured that out? And here I was thinking you were so clever!”
“No, I have not figured it out,” Mia said quietly.
“No, you haven’t, because I’m smarter than you.”
Karen smiled triumphantly and clapped her hands again in a childish fashion.
“I killed a dog, did you know? So that the girls would have someone to play with, wasn’t that nice?”
“I didn’t know that,” Mia mumbled.
“That’s because you’re stupid.” Karen Nylund smiled even wider.
“Yes, you’re smarter than me.”
“That’s right, I am.”
“So why are you going to kill me?”
“Do you not know? Do you really not know?” said the woman with the strawberry-blond hair, laughing.
“No.”
“Do you want me to tell you?”
“Yes.”
“Because you killed my sister,” Karen said, and she disappeared into the kitchen.