For the second time in less than an hour, Holger Munch was sitting in his car with the binoculars raised to his eyes, with a Delta team ready for entry, but this time outside the right location. Definitely the right one. A girl had seen Marion run out of this very house. Only to be brought back inside. By Karen Nylund. The girl was local, and she knew what she was talking about; there was no longer any doubt. And where everything about the ramshackle cottage they’d just left had felt wrong, everything here felt absolutely right. It was an old red house, a little shabby but clearly habitable. There was a faint light coming from behind the windows, as if someone had covered them with film to prevent anyone from looking in. A thin column of smoke rose from a brick chimney on the roof. An idyllic little cottage in the country. From the outside. But it was clear to them that the inside was another story. Karen Nylund was inside. She had murdered four six-year-old girls. She had ruined the lives of innocent parents, grandparents, siblings, friends, neighbors, inflicted pain on them so extreme that it would never go away. She had tricked him into thinking he might experience love again. He felt hatred well up in his chest, his forehead grow hot and his palms sweaty, but he tried to stay calm. Professional. No acting rashly. She had Marion. Marion was alive. Or at least she had been less than an hour ago. Holger Munch didn’t dare to contemplate whether Mia was inside and what might have happened to her.
It was a matter of acting quickly but not too quickly. They had to get an overview of the situation. Get every team member into place. Munch glanced farther down the road, where three ambulances had pulled up a short while ago, all with their lights turned off so as not to draw attention to themselves. Curry sat impatiently in the back, tapping his pistol against his thigh. As usual, Kim Kolsø sat like a stone pillar in the seat next to Holger Munch, with his gaze fixed on the door they would soon break down.
“Delta One, this is Nine, come in.”
“Nine, this is Delta One, we’re in position. Over.”
“Delta Two, this is Nine, come in.”
“Nine, this is Delta Two. We need a few minutes. Over.”
“Delta Two, this is Nine, received, we’ll wait. Over.”
“What the hell is going on?” Curry said impatiently from the back.
“We’re waiting,” Munch said briefly.
“What are we waiting for? Mia is in there, for God’s sake.”
The bald police officer could barely keep still any longer, his fingers going like drumsticks against his thigh and his eyes narrow and filled with rage.
“We’re waiting for Delta Two to get into position,” Munch said as evenly as he could manage.
“Calm down, Curry,” Kim said, still sitting motionless in the front.
“Fuck this,” they suddenly heard from the back.
It all happened so quickly that Munch had no time to react. Curry had already opened the rear door and was heading for the house.
Munch flung open his door and was followed by Kim leaping out of the car. He wanted to shout, but he didn’t want to alert Karen.
Damn.
Munch increased his speed as much as his heavy body could manage, running down the gravel track, through the gate, across the flagstones, and reaching the steps just as Curry pushed on the door handle and stormed inside the house.
From then on, everything happened in slow motion. Munch caught a glimpse of Karen’s startled reaction to the noise. She’d been caught off guard. It was clear that she hadn’t been expecting this, but she still had time to swing the barrel of the shotgun toward Curry, who threw himself to one side as the shot was fired.
Did she hit him?
Curry, you bloody idiot!
Still in slow motion, she turned and faced Munch. Her hands gripped the weapon so hard that her knuckles were white. It looked as if she were opening her mouth to say something as her finger curled around the trigger, but by now Holger Munch had had enough of slow-motion movies.
He raised his gun and fired twice. Once to the neck. Once right through her heart. Karen Nylund twitched, fell backward, and lay lifeless on the floor as the blood ran slowly down her chest and along her arms.
And that was when he spotted Mia. She was tied to a chair near a wall. Tape covering her mouth. A needle in her hand connected to a tube from some kind of stand.
Oh, no.
Oh, please, no, no, no.
Holger Munch froze right in front of his lifeless colleague, unaware of all the people who had come rushing in behind him. Kim. The Delta teams. The doctor. The paramedics. He stayed where he was, unable to utter a single word, watching people who seemed miles away free Mia from the chair and carry her out into the waiting ambulance. He didn’t see Curry get up from the floor, clutching his arm and being supported down the steps. Holger Munch didn’t snap out of his trance until Kim appeared with a small, trembling figure in his arms.
Marion.
She was alive.
In poor shape, but she was breathing.
“Ambulance!” Holger Munch shouted, and helped his colleague carry the little girl down the steps.
“Doctor! We need a doctor here!”
And this time the ambulances did not move discreetly. A noisy motorcade of flashing blue lights and sirens left the house and sped through the evening darkness toward the E6.