Isabella Jung’s dad had always told her not to judge a book by its cover, and she had tried to live by that principle, not letting her first impression of someone determine their relationship, but now she was absolutely sure: she could not stand the sight of Benedikte Riis.
They had gathered in the TV lounge while waiting to be called individually to talk to the police, and Benedikte Riis had been the first to go in; of course she had. She had demanded to be interviewed first because she knew Camilla better than anyone, she had been her best friend, and the last person to see her alive, something Isabella Jung was pretty sure was bullshit, because Benedikte Riis was friends with no one but herself. Isabella had never come across anyone more self-obsessed. Isabella was overcome by the urge to tell the bitch to shut up. The last few days had been hard enough for everyone as it was. Isabella Jung was tough, she had managed on her own her whole life, but some of the residents had reacted badly to their sanctuary being overrun. Police officers everywhere. And all those reporters. Before the cordons had been put up, they would appear out of nowhere, and a couple of the girls had freaked out. Fortunately, the uniformed police officers had left by now, and only plainclothes investigators remained. There was no such thing as a normal day any more. Benedikte was back holding court in the small TV lounge. ‘I told them like it was,’ she said. ‘Camilla and I were tight, we shared everything; if I don’t know something, then no one knows it, do you get me?’
‘Know what?’ Cecilie piped up.
The tiny girl from Bergen had curled up fearfully in one corner of the sofa; she was hugging a cushion and looked as if she needed something to hide behind, something to cling to.
‘Hello? Know what happened? Are you a moron?’
Benedikte Riis pressed her finger against her temple, and Isabella could barely contain herself.
‘And what did you tell them?’ Cecilie asked.
So much had happened that Isabella had almost forgotten the note someone had pinned to her door. The white lily. She didn’t know what made her think of it now.
I like you.
The drawing below it.
Her heart had skipped a beat when she saw it. A secret admirer. Who liked her? Could it be …? No. Surely not.
Somehow, Benedikte Riis’s intolerable face had found its way close to hers.
‘And don’t you dare tell anyone either.’
Benedikte jabbed a finger right at her; for some reason, all the girls in the room were staring at her now.
‘Tell them what?’ Isabella said.
‘Oh, Jesus, are you deaf or something?’ Benedikte sighed.
Isabella resisted the urge to get up and punch the bitch right in her stupid face.
‘I said, none of us can tell them – we have to promise each other, don’t we?’
She looked around the room for affirmation from her audience. Even the terrified Cecilie nodded feebly behind her cushion.
‘Tell them what?’ Isabella asked again.
‘That she used to sneak out into the woods,’ Wenche, another of the girls, said with a sigh; she had sat down by the window now and had lit a cigarette, although everyone knew that smoking inside was strictly prohibited.
‘At night,’ Sofia added.
‘I didn’t know that,’ Isabella said.
‘No, because you’re new here, and, just so you know, don’t think for one minute that Paulus fancies you just because he helps you with the orchids. Paulus helps everybody with the orchids, doesn’t he, girls?’
Benedikte Riis laughed out loud, and Wenche and Sofia joined in.
‘I promise not to say anything,’ Cecilie piped up, the cushion now practically covering her face.
‘Good.’ Benedikte nodded.
‘Why can’t I tell anyone?’ Isabella said, feeling a surge of defiance.
‘Because I say so,’ Benedikte said.
‘You can’t tell me what to do,’ Isabella Jung said, and got up from her chair.
‘Don’t you dare, or—’
Benedikte’s outburst was interrupted when the door opened and Helene entered.
The manager seemed exhausted. Normally, she would have told Wenche off for smoking, but not today.
‘Isabella?’ Helene Eriksen said wearily.
‘Yes?’ Isabella replied, and turned around.
‘Your turn. They want to talk to you now.’