‘Moonbeam.’ The face of the man in the doorway lit up in a smile. ‘I wondered when you would turn up. I had a feeling you would when I saw the picture in the newspapers. Come in, come in.’
Mia Krüger crossed the threshold and followed the thin man with the ponytail into his flat.
‘No need to take off your shoes, we don’t stand on ceremony here. Would you like a drink, or something stronger?’
Mia knew exactly what he was suggesting. The small flat reeked of marijuana.
‘Please excuse the mess. I don’t get a lot of visitors. I prefer my own company, as you know.’
‘It’s fine.’ Mia smiled and moved a messy pile of stuff from one end of the sofa so she could sit down.
‘Good, good,’ the man with the ponytail said, and flopped into an armchair opposite her, still smiling. ‘So I can’t offer you anything?’ He gestured towards the table. ‘I’ve got some good Afghan. Straight from the grower. Banned in thirty countries, he-he. No, not really, but it’s still good. Soft as butter. And some Maroc lying around here somewhere, if you fancy a calmer trip? Are you sure I can’t tempt you?’
Sebastian Larsen grinned at her. She was a little surprised that he had replied to her so quickly. He did not like visitors, but, right now, he actually seemed pleased to see her.
‘No, thank you. You know I don’t touch that stuff,’ Mia smiled, feeling it was starting to affect her now, the desire for sleep.
‘It’s up to you. But you don’t mind if I indulge?’
‘Please yourself,’ Mia said with a light shrug.
Sebastian Larsen. Social anthropologist. Used to work at the University of Oslo. A brilliant mind that had quickly risen up the academic ranks, until he was thrown out for selling marijuana to the students. Mia had called on his services in previous cases, but these days senior police officers pretty much discouraged it. The force did not want to be associated with a man like Sebastian Larsen, and Mia could see why: the smell in the flat and the smile on his face was more than enough.
‘It’s been ages, Moonbeam. Good to see you. I thought you had forgotten all about me.’
‘I’ve been busy,’ Mia smiled, feeling the tiredness again.
Munch had given her strict instructions: get some rest – but she had been unable to make her body switch off. Instead, she had swallowed some pills. She had been thinking about Sebastian Larsen ever since they had found Camilla. The occult. Rituals. Mia could think of no one else who knew more about this subject than the man currently sitting in front of her.
He had his own blog these days, she believed; that was how he had managed since he got kicked out of the university. Conspiracy theories. That was pretty much all he wrote about. She looked him up every now and then. New evidence: the Americans never landed on the moon. Area 51, witnesses say: we saw extraterrestrials. And so on.
‘You’re sure?’ Larsen said, taking a drag from the bong in front of him.
‘No, thank you,’ Mia said, shaking her head again.
‘As you wish.’ He smiled and filled the room with smoke as he exhaled.
He had been highly regarded at the university. Travelled the world to give lectures. Right until he had let his weakness – or perhaps his liberal attitude – become known.
‘You know why I’m here?’ Mia said, aware that her eyes were starting to close.
She stuffed her hand into her pocket, fidgeted with the white pills which would give her a little extra energy, but she held back. Enough now. She had to get some sleep soon.
‘Of course.’ Sebastian nodded, looking earnestly at her. ‘In fact, I’m glad you came. I was hoping you would.’
‘So what do you think?’
‘About the pictures in the newspapers?’
Mia nodded.
Sebastian Larsen ran a hand over his hair, and hesitated.
‘Well, what’s there to say? It’s not easy to draw conclusions from just one picture on the cover of a newspaper. Do you have anything else for me?’
‘Possibly,’ Mia said. ‘But you have to give me something first.’
‘So you no longer trust me, is that it?’
Mia grinned and indicated the bong on the table. ‘Would you?’
Larsen giggled. ‘Point taken.’
He went over to his laptop and entered the address of a newspaper website.
‘This is very interesting, I have to admit,’ he said, bringing up the photograph which had been in the newspapers.
The forest floor. The feathers. The five candles.
‘It’s a pentagram, of course, but you already know that, don’t you?’ Larsen looked at her.
Mia nodded.
‘I haven’t seen the feathers before,’ he said, turning his attention back to the screen. ‘But the candle formation is well known; the pentagram is used by many, it’s thousands of years old – but if I’m to help you, you’re going to have to give me a bit more.’
Mia could sense he was already intrigued, but she still had her doubts as to whether she should show him the photographs in her bag of Camilla Green.
‘The pentagram. Let’s say that it’s a ritual. Who would do something like that today?’ she asked.
‘Where do you want me to start?’
‘With what’s most relevant.’
‘So you have nothing more to show me?’
‘If you were to name names, I mean, based only on this, then who would it be?’ Mia said, ignoring his question.
Larsen typed away, brought up a new webpage. ‘OTO,’ he said, nodding at the screen.
‘Who?’
‘Ordo Templi Orientis.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law. Love is the law, love under will. Founded in 1895, a Knights Templar order breaking with the Church. Have you heard of Aleister Crowley?’
‘Yes.’ Mia nodded.
‘Thelemite teachings?’
‘Not quite.’
‘Satanism?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Many people think that Aleister Crowley was the man behind OTO, but he wasn’t; Crowley didn’t join until 1904, when he—’
‘What did you say before that?’
‘What?’
‘Thelemite teaching?’
‘Do what thou wilt,’ Larsen said, turning towards her.
‘What does that mean?’
‘You need to bear in mind that, at that time, the Church—’ Larsen began, but Mia did not have the energy for a lecture.
‘The short version?’
Larsen looked at her and shook his head. ‘You said you wanted to know.’ He sounded a little hurt.
‘Sorry, Sebastian,’ she said, putting her hand on his shoulder. ‘It has been a long couple of days. So this organization …?’
‘Ordo Templi Orientis.’
‘It exists here in Norway?’
‘Oh, yes, alive and kicking. Has its own senate established in 2008. Lodges in most major cities; Bergen and Trondheim have figured prominently in recent years.’
‘And they live according to this … thelemite teaching?’
‘Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law,’ Larsen quoted again.
‘And what does that mean?’
He turned with a small smile. ‘What do you think it means, Mia? Do what you want?’
‘Enlighten me,’ Mia said.
‘The rights of the individual. Resistance against government control. Against the teachings of the Church. Against the conventional moral and ethical norms forced upon us.’
‘Which means?’
‘Oh, come on, Mia, are you even listening to me?’
Larsen looked at her and shook his head. He was right, Mia thought: he had just inhaled illegal substances from God knows where, and yet his brain was working better than hers.
She slipped her hand into her pocket again.
Another pill?
No, she had to sleep now. Her body was on the verge of giving up. She needed to rest soon.
‘Of course I’m listening,’ Mia mumbled, turning to the screen again. ‘OTO. Satanism. Thelemite teaching. Do what you will. Alive and kicking in Norway today.’
‘They keep their rituals secret, like all other sects,’ Larsen said. ‘I’ve spoken to some of them – well, former members – and it’s serious stuff.’
‘Like what?’
‘Sexual magic. Ritual sacrifice. Break away from society. Give away your body. Give away your mind. Be free.’
‘Sexual magic?’
Larsen smiled faintly now. ‘Yep.’
‘Which means what exactly?’
‘Well, if one of the senators wants you to take off your clothes and devote yourself to thelemite teaching in front of old men wearing masks, then you do it.’
‘Senators?’
‘Yes, interesting, isn’t it?’ Larsen said. ‘How all these sects, which claim to exist in order to escape the strict controls society imposes, end up being just as controlling? They promise you freedom, but there’s no freedom with them. Of course there isn’t.’
‘And you think this looks like them?’ Mia said, pointing at the screen again.
‘Way too early to say,’ Larsen replied. ‘Do you have anything else to show me?’
‘Who else have we got?’
‘Take your pick,’ Larsen said, bringing up another webpage on his screen.
Google Maps this time. He typed in an address and leaned back.
‘What are we looking at?’ Mia said.
‘The Palace.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The official residence of the Norwegian royal family,’ Larsen said, expanding the picture a little. ‘This is Parkveien. You know where Parkveien is?’
Mia looked at him with a frown. Of course she knew. It was one of the most expensive streets in Norway, in the heart of Oslo, home of the Prime Minister and several embassies.
‘Where are you going with this?’
‘These organizations all have their addresses on Parkveien,’ Larsen said, clicking a few more times. ‘I mean, right behind the Palace. The Order of Norwegian Druids.’
‘Druids?’
‘Yes. Address Parkveien.’
Larsen clicked again. ‘The Order of the Knights Templar. Address Parkveien.’
‘And all these … I mean … the pentagram?’
Mia thought she was about to pass out.
‘No, I’m not saying that. It’s most likely either OTO or the sect your boss belongs to.’
‘Munch?’
Larsen laughed out loud. ‘No, not Munch, I don’t think he would feel at home there.’
‘Then who?’
Larsen brought up yet another website.
‘Mikkelson,’ said the thin man, pointing at the screen.
‘Mikkelson?’
‘Yep. Rikard Mikkelson.’ Larsen nodded. ‘Proud member of the Norwegian Order of Freemasons.’
Mia suddenly felt a little more awake. ‘Freemasons?’
‘Oh, yes, they love pentagrams. They’re desperate to come across as pillars of the community, God-fearing, hah … Did you see the video where the grandmasters of the Thirty-third Degree are dressed in gowns with their willies hanging out as they sacrifice a goat?’
‘No,’ Mia said, not quite sure whether to believe him now.
Was Larsen still high, or was it the academic talking?
‘Mikkelson is a member. As are most of the great and the good in this country. Freemasons, Mia. Grown men who take part in rituals. They join hands. They dress up in costumes. They drink blood from silver goblets. Oh, how gullible we are. Do you really think decisions about this country are made in government meetings?’
Larsen reached out for the bong on the table and lit it again.
‘Sebastian,’ she said earnestly, fixing her eyes on the small, skinny man in front of her.
‘Yes?’ Larsen said.
‘I’m about to show you something. Something I obviously should not be showing you, but I’m going to do it anyway.’
‘OK.’
He seemed almost a little nervous now.
‘I need you to tell me exactly what you think, OK?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘I appreciate it. What you’ve just shown me. I’ll look into it, but right now I need something specific from you, OK?’
Mia got up, went out into the passage and took the folder from her bag. She came back to the messy living room and squatted down on her haunches in front of Larsen, who was almost as excited as a little kid now. Mia opened the file, and she watched his eyes widen as she placed the photograph of Camilla Green on the table in front of him.
‘Shit.’
‘Yep,’ Mia said. ‘And let me make this absolutely clear, Sebastian, if I ever hear even a squeak about this, on your blog or anywhere else, that you have seen this picture, then I, well, I don’t know …’
‘I get it.’ Larsen nodded earnestly, and she could see that he meant it.
‘You see why I’ve come to you? It’s not random, how these candles have been arranged?’ Mia had seen Munch stagger out of the incident room earlier today, barely able to speak clearly, and she was starting to feel the same way.
‘Oh, no, no, a pentagram is, well, for people who believe in it, it’s …’ Larsen drifted off, studying the image in front of him. ‘Well, there’s the standard interpretation.’ Larsen cleared his throat; he was quite lucid now.
Being a specialist in theories was one thing, but being face to face with the reality, a picture of a seventeen-year-old girl naked on a bed of feathers, surrounded by a pentagram of candles, there was no doubt that he struggled to take it in.
‘Let’s pretend I know nothing,’ Mia said. ‘Teach me.’
‘OK.’ Larsen nodded nervously. ‘The pentagram has, as you know from its name, five corners. And each one of them symbolizes something.’
‘What?’
‘The traditional interpretation is quite standard. Shall I take it from the top, clockwise …?’
Her mobile started to vibrate. Mia picked it up, struggling to focus on the name on the display. Kim Kolsø. She pressed the red button and returned the phone to her pocket.
‘The soul is at the top,’ Sebastian said.
‘Go on,’ Mia said.
‘The other points are water, fire, earth, air.’
‘Water, fire, earth, air?’
‘Yes.’
‘OK, great. Thank you, Sebastian.’
Mia took the picture from the table and was about to put it back in the file when she was stopped by a thin hand.
‘But that’s just – how can I put it? – the standard version. Kids’ stuff. There is a deeper interpretation.’
‘Go on?’
Larsen stared at the photograph again.
‘Birth, virgin, mother, law, death,’ he said in a low voice, not taking his eyes off the photograph.
Mia stifled a yawn.
‘And look how her arms have been arranged,’ he continued.
‘How are they arranged, in your opinion?’
‘Birth. And mother.’ The skinny man nodded gravely.
Mia fumbled to get her mobile out of her pocket and call for a cab.
‘Thank you, Sebastian.’
‘It can’t be a coincidence, can it?’
Mia smiled at him and put the photograph into her bag as she got up.
Sleep. She could not put it off any longer.
‘Birth and mother,’ Larsen said gravely.
‘Thank you, Sebastian,’ said Mia again.
She stumbled down the stairs and fell into the cab that was waiting for her.