‘I agree.’ Mia smiled. ‘I’ll never touch another drop.’
‘That’s exactly what I tell myself the morning after every time.’ Susanne giggled. ‘But as soon as I feel better again, it’s like I forget it. Strange, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, that is strange,’ Mia laughed.
‘Right, got to run,’ Susanne said, getting up. ‘I need to get home and change before rehearsal. I get too many sideways glances if I turn up in yesterday’s clothes. It won’t take long before everyone starts looking around the room, wondering who else didn’t sleep in their own bed last night, get it?’
‘I get it.’ Mia nodded.
She got up and gave Susanne a hug.
‘Thanks for everything,’ Susanne said. ‘See you soon?’
‘Love to,’ Mia nodded. ‘But no more beer. Tea next time.’
‘OK.’ Susanne smiled.
Her blonde friend picked up her handbag and waved as she left the hotel restaurant, trying her hardest to look sober.
Chapter 37
Holger Munch was sitting, mildly irritated, outside Mikkelson’s office in Grønland. He regretted agreeing to their phones being monitored: as a result, everyone was now insisting on face-to-face meetings. He didn’t have time for this. The girls were alive, and soon they would be dead. It was how it was. If it was the same person. And it was. A slightly different MO, a deviation from the original method, but this was their killer. A woman, but they had no trace of her. Thousands of telephone calls, but nothing to show for them. Absolutely nothing. That is, if the witness observation had been correct in the first place. He had seemed credible, the pensioner. A woman. Between thirty and thirty-five years old. About 1.7 metres tall. Hair scraped back under a hood. Straight nose. Blue eyes. Narrow lips. But that could be anyone. Where was she holding the girls? Were they already dead?
Munch took a piece of chewing gum from his pocket and drummed his fingers on the chair. He had arranged with Mia to meet at the care home so he could have a quick word with his mother, grasp the nettle, but he was tempted to cancel. He really didn’t have the time. Certainly not if he had to waste half his day on pointless meetings like this one. A quick visit to the care home, tell his mother what he thought, and then get the hell out of there. It would be all right. He had to do it, before it was too late. Before the family inheritance ended up in the hands of some charlatan promising eternal life in heaven – as long as she gave him everything she owned. He checked the time on his mobile and his irritation grew.
Andrea and Karoline were missing. They had disappeared on his watch, after he had taken over the investigation. Soon someone would anaesthetize them. Wash them. Dress them in doll’s dresses. Hang them with satchels on their back. Unless he found them first. Holger felt trapped in a fog. At this stage, he didn’t know which direction the investigation should take. What the next step should be. A woman no one knew anything about was their only lead. Roger Bakken, the transvestite. That trail had also gone cold. Mia had called him in the middle of the night, drunk, with something she absolutely had to tell him, she had made a discovery, but her words had been so slurred that he had told her to go to bed. Their phones were being monitored. Probably not such a wise move after all. He would have a word with Gabriel. See if they could delete those conversations which were clearly private. Keep them out of the reports. Including the call he had from Mia last night.
‘Holger, do come in.’
Mikkelson was fraught; Munch could tell from his furrowed brow.
‘Where are we?’ he asked when Munch had sat down.
‘Same as yesterday,’ Munch replied. ‘No credible tip-offs about the woman in the photofit. We’re still checking it but, sadly, it looks like a dead end.’
‘ALPHA1 and no new information about the girls, how is that possible?’
Munch suddenly felt as if he were back at school. In the headmaster’s office, being read the riot act. He hated it, but right now there was very little he could do about it.
‘I don’t understand it myself either. It seems incredibly well planned – that’s all I can tell you at this stage. If she had acted on impulse, we would have caught her a long time ago.’
‘It’s not good enough. It’s just not good enough,’ Mikkelson snarled.
‘Did you ask me to come here just so you could tell me that?’ Munch asked dryly. ‘You could have given me a bollocking on the phone.’
‘Yes – no – sorry.’
Mikkelson took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Not a good sign. Something was up.
‘I’m being pressured from above,’ he continued, and put his glasses back on his nose.
‘Who from? Justice?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘We’re doing our best.’
‘I know. I’ve told them. That’s not it.’
‘So what’s the problem?’ Munch asked.
He was starting to lose his patience. He really had more important things to do.
‘It’s about Mia,’ Mikkelson said, and looked at Munch.
‘What about Mia?’
‘Well.’
Mikkelson removed his glasses again.
‘They think she’s a risk. I’ve been told to take her off the case.’
‘Take her off the case? Are you out of your mind? We’ve only just managed to get her to come to Oslo. She didn’t want to, don’t you realizes that? She didn’t want to come, and we talked her into it. Because we’re bunch of selfish bastards. And now you’re kicking her out? Forget it.’
‘Now, now, Munch. I didn’t mean it like that.’
‘Well, then, how did you mean it?’
‘I mean…’ Mikkelson put on his glasses again. The frown lines on his forehead looked even deeper now. ‘Well, is she completely… I mean, well, again?’
‘I haven’t got time for this,’ Munch said, getting up. ‘Two girls are being held prisoner somewhere and the Justice Department is worried about Mia’s health? Don’t we have more important things to do?’
‘Watch your mouth, Munch, you’re at work.’
‘Oh, shut up, Mikkelson. The Justice Department? Are you serious? The civil service? The reputation of the civil service? Is that all we care about now? Is that what the Department is worried about? Remind me what the Department thought every time Mia made us look bloody brilliant. The Russian diplomat who liked killing prostitutes. Who made us look good then? Was it you, Mikkelson? Were you there? The two pensioners who were robbed and murdered in their own home in Kolsås. Did you solve that case, Mikkelson? What did the Department think of that?’
Munch got up and headed for the door.
‘I’m perfectly aware of what Mia has done for us,’ Mikkelson said. ‘“The nation is grateful,” is that what you want to hear? ìThank you, thank you, Norway thanks you.î But times change. Bjørn Dæhlie and Vegard Ulvang. Great skiers. Won a heap of medals. But that’s in the past. We wouldn’t enter them in a competition these days, would we? You know what I mean?’
‘Christ on a bike.’ Munch sighed. ‘No, I definitely do not know what you mean. What the hell have langlauf skiers to do with anything? Have you totally lost your perspective? We’re talking about death here, Mikkelson, not grown men in tights trying to be the first to cross a finishing line. Death, Mikkelson. Two six-year-old girls. Don’t you understand?’
Munch grabbed the door handle. He was incandescent with rage.
‘OK, OK,’ Mikkelson said. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. She can stay for the time being, but when this case is over she’s out. Do you understand, Munch, then, she’s finished, whatever happens? There’s nothing I can do about it. And…’
Mikkelson opened a drawer and took out a business card.
‘… she has to check in with this guy.’
Mikkelson handed Munch the business card.
‘A psychiatrist?’
Mikkelson nodded.
‘The Justice Department demands it.’