Curry woke up to a beeping sound and reached for the alarm clock on his bedside table to make it stop. His fingers found the button and the sound disappeared. He drifted back to sleep with a smile on his face, hugging the duvet around him and rolling towards Sunniva to feel the heat from her body. He loved lying like this. These short moments, brief minutes where they would act as if neither of them had to go to work. When they turned off the alarm, pretending it was a day off to be spent as they wished, do exactly what they wanted: no demands, no bosses, just the two of them under the duvet. Her warm, soft skin against his as she buried her nose at the base of his neck and snuggled up to him, as if she wanted him to take care of her. Curry smiled and pulled her closer. Sunniva. He had known it from the very first moment he saw her. That she was the one for him. With her long, red hair and pretty smile; the woman always got her morning coffee at the same place he did every day, he on his way to the police college, she a nurse on her way to work.
Curry opened his eyes and saw a pile of cardboard boxes in a flat that was not his own, and reality slowly began to dawn on him. He had been asleep, fully dressed, on a sofa, not at home, no, definitely not at home; she had changed the lock, she must have done, because his key no longer fitted. The beeping sound came back. Curry slowly got up from the sofa and, still half asleep, followed the sound out into the hallway until he found a man on the other side of the door to Mia’s flat.
‘Mia Krüger?’ the man with the thin moustache said, checking a piece of paper in his hand.
‘Does it look like it?’ Curry mumbled, realizing he was still drunk.
A two-day bender. After she had told him she had had enough. Sunniva.
‘Eh, yes, no,’ the man said, looking around now, clearly taken aback by the sight he had stumbled upon.
Screw you, Jon. And this time I bloody mean it. I’ve had it up to here. All the money? All our money? Do you know how hard I’ve worked for that? Do you?
‘Do I look like my name is Mia Krüger?’
He could smell himself now, and hoped that this man had not noticed.
‘I can come back later,’ said the man, who was wearing a boiler suit; he looked almost apologetic now. ‘But there’s mould in the basement …’
‘What?’ Curry said. He was struggling to stay upright; the narrow passage was moving under his feet.
‘Only this is the last flat,’ the short man outside the door said. ‘The housing co-operative has …’
‘OK.’ Curry nodded, grabbing the wall for support as the floor underneath his feet started undulating.
A little later, he was outside Bislett Stadium, now also wearing his shoes and coat; he had given the man in the boiler suit the key to the flat, told him to just pop it through the letterbox. He searched his pockets until he found a box of snuff and stuffed a lump behind his upper lip as he flagged down a cab that was driving slowly down Bislettgata.
The lift at work felt oppressive. He had taken it a million times, but today was different. It was like being inside a tin can; he was relieved when the doors opened and let him out.
‘Hello?’
Curry slowly wove his way through the office, but it was quiet. He went to the kitchen, fetched himself a cup of coffee from the pot, slowly made his way to the incident room.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi, so you decided to come in after all?’ Ylva had suddenly appeared in front of him in the corridor.
‘What do you mean, “after all”?’ Curry smiled, took a sip of his coffee, tried to appear sober.
‘Mia said you were ill, that you wouldn’t be coming in, that was all,’ she said, continuing in front of him down the corridor.
‘Yes, I have a bit of a cold,’ Curry said, and coughed. ‘But I had to come in. I couldn’t bear being at home, you know what it’s like. How are things here? Anything happened?’
He followed Ylva down to her desk, making sure to keep a safe distance so that she would not detect his bad body odour.
Bollocks.
He took out his mobile from his pocket: nothing, not a word from Sunniva, although he had called her a million times and left just as many messages.
Come on. Surely we can talk about this?
Why won’t you pick up the phone?
Call me?
Call me, OK? When you can?
I miss you.
Call me, please?
‘Anette took part in a press conference this morning at nine o’clock, and Munch gave a team briefing at ten. Has Mia brought you up to speed, or do you want me to?’
Ylva smiled and straightened her glasses, then went over to the computer by the window.
‘No, no,’ Curry said, and took another sip of his coffee. ‘I’m totally up to speed, obviously, but where are all the others?’
‘Would you like the short version of the morning meeting? Although you’re totally up to speed, obviously?’
Curry smiled and nodded back. She was not so bad after all, the newcomer. He followed her into the incident room.
‘So, how far had you got?’ Ylva said, pointing to the big board by the window. ‘Do you know about Anders Finstad?’
‘Eh?’ Curry said.
Ylva scratched her head and turned to him. ‘Why don’t I just start from the beginning?’
‘Thank you.’ Curry nodded and took a seat.
‘What’s the last thing you know?’ Ylva asked him.
‘Naked girl. Found strangled in the woods with a flower in her mouth.’
‘Camilla Green,’ Ylva said.
‘We’ve identified her?’
‘Yes,’ Ylva continued; they both knew he should have known this. ‘Camilla Green, aged seventeen, living at some kind of halfway home for teenagers, children in care. Do you want the details, or …?’
‘No, no, just make it quick.’ Curry smiled.
‘OK,’ Ylva said, turning to the board again. ‘So, Camilla Green. Reported missing from this place called Hurumlandet Nurseries three months ago, but then they withdrew the report because they were told that she was fine and not to look for her.’
‘Told how?’ Curry asked, feeling the detective inside him starting to stir.
‘A text message,’ she said, taking a piece of paper from the board and placing it in front of him.
‘Her telephone records?’
‘Yes.’ Ylva nodded. ‘Gabriel got them from Telenor yesterday, but the strange thing is, and this is something Munch, Kim and Mia have been discussing all day, that the message was sent from the Nurseries.’
‘What do you mean?’ Curry asked, surprised.
‘Gabriel should really be explaining this to you, but he said something about – mobile towers?’
‘Go on?’
‘Camilla disappeared, and they reported her missing,’ Ylva continued. ‘But then they got a text from her, saying she was OK and that they should stop looking for her.’
‘And that message was sent from that place? Hurumlandet Nurseries?’ Curry was intrigued.
‘Yep.’ Ylva nodded.
He got up and walked closer to the board with all the pictures.
‘So … you mentioned a name. Do we have a suspect already?’
‘Anders Finstad.’ Ylva placed her finger on a black-and-white picture of a middle-aged man in a riding helmet in front of something that had to be stables.
‘And who is this?’
‘The tattoo?’
‘What tattoo?’ Curry asked, starting to feel a bit stupid now.
A two-day piss-up, drinks in both hands, wallowing in self-pity, while a madman was on the loose. They had made extensive progress, and he had contributed sod all.
‘The initials AF – do you see them?’
‘Yes,’ Curry said, following her finger on the picture.
‘And the horse’s head?’
‘Aha?’
‘He’s Anders Finstad,’ Ylva said. ‘Camilla loved horses. Finstad runs a riding school, not far from the Nurseries, where she lived.’
‘And?’
‘We found him in our files: sixty-six years old. Previously reported for assault. Encouraged two girls at the riding school to strip from the waist up in front of one of the horses so that he could take pictures of them. The girls were twelve and fourteen years old.’
‘Holy shit …’
‘I know.’ Ylva nodded.
‘So? What happened?’
‘The report didn’t lead to anything. Clever lawyer, lack of evidence – what do I know? – but, anyway, they’re focusing on Anders Finstad now. Camilla belonged to his riding school. She was a skilled rider, too, as far as I can gather. Might have been a contender for the junior national show-jumping team.’
‘Wow.’
Ylva nodded. ‘Mia has gone there now. The rest of the team are out at Hurumlandet Nurseries.’
‘Any cars left in the basement?’ Curry asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Ylva said, leading the way out into the corridor. ‘Do you want me to put you down as being on duty, or are you off sick?’
‘I thought it was Grønlie’s job to log that?’
‘Nope.’ Ylva sighed. ‘Does the newcomer always get all the crap jobs?’
‘You’ll have to take it up with Anette.’ Curry winked, found a set of car keys in the cupboard, left the empty coffee cup in the kitchen and took the lift down to the basement.