‘Screw you, Mikkelson. Why didn’t you tell me this before I fetched her from the island?’
Mikkelson flung out his arms.
‘Politics.’
‘Politics, my arse.’
He put the business card back on Mikkelson’s desk.
‘She’s not seeing some bloody psychologist.’
‘Psychiatrist.’
‘Oh, shut up. Same difference. She has a job to do. I’ve already said I’ll take responsibility.’
‘It’s not up to you,’ Mikkelson said.
The police commissioner opened his laptop and pressed a sound file. Munch recognized the voices immediately. It was last night’s telephone call between him and Mia:
‘Munch speaking.’
‘Holger. Holger, darling Holger.’
‘Is that you, Mia? What time is it?’
‘It’s not real. It’s just a game. Roger Bakken had one blue and one brown eye. This is where we’re going, Susanne. Yes, just lie down. I’ll help you undress. Do you hear what I’m saying, Holger?’
Mia’s slurred voice. Munch heaved a sigh as Mikkelson turned off the recording.
‘Do we need to listen to any more?’ Mikkelson said.
‘She was drunk, that’s all.’
‘What do you think would happen if the newspapers got hold of this, in your opinion?’
Mikkelson leaned back in his chair.
‘OK,’ Munch said. ‘She’ll see a psychiatrist, all right? Have we finished now?’
‘We’ve finished,’ Mikkelson said.
Munch picked up the business card from the desk and left the office without saying another word.
Chapter 38
Mia was standing outside the hotel, already regretting having agreed to go with Munch to Høvikveien Care Home. She had gone straight back to bed after haing breakfast with Susanne. With a slightly guilty conscience, of course, but she was knackered; the effects of her self-medication on Hitra still lingered in her body. And she was working the whole time, her brain never stopped; whether she lay under her duvet, sat in a car or was down at the office, she was constantly on the job. Her thoughts never left her in peace. For a moment, she fantasized about being back on her island. The sunrise and the sea. She needed more sleep. They had stayed up far too late. Talk to his mother? Surely Munch could handle that on his own? She found a lozenge in her pocket and wondered if she should call him, make up some excuse, but it was too late. She muttered curses under her breath and got in the Audi when it pulled up at the kerb.
Holger Munch looked grim, but Mia didn’t have the energy to ask.
‘You need to get yourself another mobile,’ Munch said.
‘Why?’ Mia said, finding another lozenge in her pocket.
‘You called me last night.’
‘Damn! I thought I might have.’
‘Drunk?’
‘I bumped into an old friend from Åsgårdstrand.’
‘I understand,’ Munch said. ‘You know that all our calls are being monitored, don’t you?’
Mia made no reply. She tried to recall what she had said, but it refused to come back to her. Never mind.
‘So what did you find out?’ Munch wanted to know.
‘Roger Bakken had a female friend. Someone he spent a lot of time with when he was Randi.’
‘Anyone we know?’
Mia shook her head.
‘No, but I believe her eyes are different colours.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Munch, intrigued. ‘Is that possible?’
‘Yes, one blue and one brown. I believe it’s a genetic quirk.’
‘How is that useful?’
‘We have to explore everything, don’t you think?’
‘Yes, true.’
Munch opened the window and lit a cigarette. Mia hated people smoking in cars, especially in the state she was in today, but she didn’t say anything. Munch seemed exhausted. Introverted.
‘Anything else?’
‘Yes,’ Mia said. ‘Gabriel managed to retrieve a number from Bakken’s mobile.’
‘Yes, I heard.’ Munch nodded. ‘Veronica Bache. Died in 2010.’
‘Have you found out anything more about her?’
‘Not very much. Last known address was in Vika; lived with her great-grandson, a Benjamin Bache – he’s an actor. Do you know who that is?’
‘No.’
‘Nationaltheatret. Hello magazine. A celeb, as they say.’
Mia mulled over the implications. It was heavy going today. Her brain was treacle. She promised herself yet again not to drink any more. Not until the case was over. If it ever was. She felt drained. For a moment, she was annoyed with herself for letting Susanne disturb her. She should have dived deeper into the evidence instead. She had been on the way. There had been something there, something she hadn’t quite been able to pin down.
‘Someone has been using her mobile for two years. Paid every bill so the contract was never terminated – that must be what happened, am I right?’ Mia said.
‘Yes, that’s the only way.’ Munch nodded.
‘So what do you think? The great-grandson with access to the bills? The actor?’
‘It’s a possibility, certainly. I tried to get hold of him today, but he was going to some kind of rehearsal. We’ll need to talk to him at the earliest opportunity.’
‘How’s the lung cancer?’ Mia said, opening her window.
‘You should talk,’ Munch snapped. ‘I don’t drink, I don’t…’
‘… touch coffee, so, for Christ’s sake, I must be allowed a cigarette. I know.’ Mia laughed.
‘You’re very cheerful today, why?’
‘No reason,’ Mia said. ‘I think I’m on to something. Maybe.’
‘What?’
Munch turned off Drammensveien and on to Høvikveien.
‘You know all the symbolism?’ Mia continued.
‘Yes?’
‘Wouldn’t you say that it’s a bit obvious?’
‘Possibly,’ Munch said. ‘That’s your area of expertise.’
‘No, seriously, Holger, I mean it.’
‘Yes, I understand, only I can’t follow all the twists and turns of your brain. It makes me dizzy.’
He muttered this last as he drew up outside Høvikveien Care Home.
‘Here we go.’ He sighed, turning off the ignition.
Mia was convinced that, if he had been a Christian, he would have made the sign of the cross. It was clear that Holger Munch was dreading this conversation.
‘It’ll be fine,’ Mia said. ‘Just relax.’
‘I need one more cigarette,’ Munch said, and got out of the car.
Mia followed him and took off her sunglasses. She was starting to feel slightly better. And being here in Høvik was fine. She was glad she had come with him after all.
‘Go on, try me,’ Munch said, and lit a cigarette.
‘Now?’
‘Yes, why not? Make me see inside your head.’
‘OK,’ Mia said, sitting down on the bonnet. ‘What was the first sign he left us?’
‘I thought we were looking for a woman?’
‘Never mind that now. What was the first clue?’
Munch shrugged his shoulders.
‘The dresses?’
‘No.’
‘The satchels?’
‘No.’
‘Mark 10:14, ìsuffer the little childrenî?’
‘No.’
‘Go on, then, enlighten me.’
Munch sighed and took another drag on his cigarette.
‘Toni J. W. Smith,’ Mia said.
‘And why is that the first clue?’
‘Because it doesn’t quite fit. Everything else fits, doesn’t it? It’s a part of the bigger picture, but it’s not what we need to look at. We need to look beyond it.’
‘Aha!’ Munch said, clearly intrigued now.
‘So the first clue which didn’t fit?’
‘The name on the book?’
‘Exactly. A clear sign, wouldn’t you say?’
‘A sign of what?’
‘Of intent, Holger. Come on, try harder.’
‘Intent?’
‘Oh, I give up.’ Mia sighed.
Holger took another long drag on his cigarette and blew smoke at the spring sun.
‘OK, intent,’ Munch said. ‘All the other symbols are fake. Washing the girls. The dresses. The school items. Toni J. W. Smith was invented by a someone with an agenda? By someone with a plan?’