Tobias felt icy cold. Not on the outside, but underneath his skin. His thoughts ran amok and he started hyperventilating, even though he was lying completely still. What on earth was going on down there? He scrambled to his feet. There was no time to make a plan. Nor was there any time to pack. He raced back to the tent, picked up his knife and the map he had drawn and made his way stealthily down the mound, towards the farm.
Chapter 46
Mia was sitting in Justisen, toying with the idea of ordering a beer, but she ended up getting a Farris. Some minutes later, Holger arrived. He collapsed breathlessly on the chair opposite her.
‘What happened?’ Mia asked.
‘The killer contacted Aftenposten some days ago. He called a journalist called Mikkel Wold. Distorted voice. Gave information about Karoline.’
‘Why didn’t they come to us?’
‘Because they’re a bunch of selfish bastards who only care about selling newspapers.’
Munch was visibly annoyed.
‘So now what?’
‘I’m not sure,’ he fumed. ‘Their lawyer kept stressing that they had done nothing wrong and that we couldn’t charge them with anything.’
‘Surely we can bring them in, if nothing else?’ Mia said.
‘Mikkelson said he’d think about it, but that my interviewing them would probably suffice.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Bloody politicians,’ Munch snarled. ‘Always feathering their own nests.’
He ordered a prawn sandwich and a cola and took off his jacket.
‘So what did you get?’
‘A verbal statement. They’ll send us a written one tomorrow.’
‘Anything useful?’
‘Not really, no,’ Munch said, shaking his head in despair. ‘What did Bache say?’
‘Bingo,’ Mia said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I think you are involved.’
Munch raised his eyebrows.
‘I heard you, what do you mean by it?’
‘I think this is about you.’
Munch’s food came and he took a sip of his cola.
‘It’s a bit difficult to explain. Like I said, I have this hunch,’ Mia continued.
‘Try me,’ Munch said.
‘OK,’ Mia said. ‘The killer points us to Hønefoss and the missing baby. Who was responsible for that investigation?’
‘I was,’ Munch said.
‘Correct.’
‘Hamlet,’ Mia said. ‘What’s Hamlet about?’
‘True love?’ Munch ventured.
‘That’s Romeo and Juliet. Try again, Holger, Hamlet?’
‘You were the one who studied literature, Mia.’
‘Three lectures in two terms and no exam doesn’t make me an expert,’ Mia said.
‘I don’t know Shakespeare very well.’ Munch sighed.
‘OK, never mind. Revenge. Hamlet is about revenge. There’s more to it than that, obviously, but that’s the main theme.’
‘Right. Baby disappears. I’m in charge of the investigation. The Swede hangs himself. We shelve the case. The baby is still missing. Presumed dead. The killer tells us the Swede didn’t do it.’
‘Toni J. W. Smith.’
‘Exactly, and points us to Hamlet. So this is about revenge?’
‘Something like that.’
‘But now what? OK, I can follow you some of the way. The baby is missing, yes. I’m responsible, yes. Hamlet, revenge, yes. But why kill ten girls? What does that have to do with me? Surely you can hear it sounds a bit far-fetched, Mia?’
Mia drank her mineral water and thought about it.
‘Benjamin Bache’s great-grandmother.’
‘Veronica Bache, what about her?’
‘She lived at the same care home as your mother. What do you make of that?’
Munch’s eyes widened.
‘Did she? How do you know that?’
‘I discovered it earlier today. Ludvig is cross-referencing all staff members, residents and names associated with the care home with the Hønefoss case as we speak. I don’t think Benjamin Bache is our guy, but we need to remember that a mobile registered to Veronica Bache was used to send those messages. By someone at the care home? Or are we being played? I have to admit that I’m not clear about that right now. I’ve asked Ludvig to look into it.’
‘And?’
‘Nothing yet. And, oh, the care home isn’t the only link between your mother and Veronica Bache.’
‘What more is there?’
‘A church.’
‘Bache was a member of it?’
‘More than that. She was going to leave it all her money.’
‘What?’
‘Do you see it now? Do you understand what I’m saying?’
‘Good job, Mia,’ Munch muttered. ‘This is good.’
He became lost in his own world. Tried to process the information she had given him.
‘Why?’ Mia said.
‘Yes, why?’
‘I don’t know that yet, but there are too many coincidences, wouldn’t you say? What’s the common denominator here, Munch?’
‘The church.’
‘Precisely.’
‘But-’ Munch frowned.
‘I know, I don’t really understand it either. It’s too messy. I almost think that’s the point, that we’re meant to get lost. A million dead ends. I know it sounds weird, but he’s doing a good job. The killer, I mean. I would have done it the same way.’
Munch sent her a sideways glance.
‘You know what I mean. If I was on the other side. Symbols everywhere, changing the MO… we’re running around in circles. We’re sent this way, then that way. It’s how you play tennis, isn’t it?’
‘Tennis?’
‘The player who serves always has the advantage. As long as you keep pressing your opponent so hard that all they can do is return the ball, you’re in the driving seat. Unless you make a mistake, you’ll win.’
‘So the killer is serving?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m not sure I get the comparison.’ Munch sighed. ‘Tennis and murder?’
‘Oh, you know exactly what I mean, you numpty, you’re just refusing to give me credit for anything. You like having all the ideas yourself.’
‘Yes, that’s me all right.’
Munch winked at her, swallowed the last bite of his prawn sandwich and wiped a little mayonnaise from his beard with the napkin.
‘I need a cigarette.’
‘I’m going to have to start smoking.’ Mia sighed. ‘Having to accommodate your nicotine cravings the whole time is seriously dull.’
‘Sorry,’ Munch said, without meaning it, and walked ahead of her out into the beer garden.
‘I know I’m rambling and speculating,’ Mia said when they were seated next to the patio heaters. ‘But we can’t just sit here twiddling our thumbs.’
‘Well, we could always bat some ideas around.’ Munch winked at her.