‘Daddy is at work, but he loves you very much, he told me to tell you that.’
‘Did you speak to him on the phone?’
‘Yes, just now.’
‘Oh, why didn’t I get to talk to him?’
‘Because you were asleep.’
‘But I wasn’t asleep.’
‘I thought you were.’
‘That’s not the same thing, Mum. Next time you have to check, you really must, this won’t do.’
Miriam smiled again.
‘I will, sweetheart. I will.’
‘Good,’ Marion said.
The little girl threw aside the blanket and got up.
‘I think I’m ready to go to bed now.’
‘That sounds good, Marion. Would you like me to walk you upstairs?’
‘I’m not a baby any more.’ Marion yawned. ‘I know perfectly well where it is.’
Miriam smiled.
‘Clever girl. Give your mum a good-night hug then.’
The little girl bent down and gave her mother a long hug.
‘Remember that my room must be pink with a princess bed. “Move that bus!”’
‘I’ll let them know.’ Miriam smiled again and gave her daughter a kiss on the cheek.
‘Night night.’
‘Night night.’
Her daughter skipped across the floor in her nightdress, and up the stairs. Miriam got up from the sofa and went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. She heard her mobile beep and ran back to check who it was.
Sorry, Miriam, but we have to move you again tonight. Something has happened, will explain later. Am sending someone to fetch you now. OK? M.
Damn, now? Marion had only just gone back to bed. Oh, well. Her daughter was still light enough to be carried. Something had happened. What could it be? She replied:
OKJ‹
She went out into the hallway and found the suitcase. She hadn’t packed much. A few changes of clothing for both of them. Toiletries. The bare essentials. It took only ten minutes to pack everything. She took the mug of tea with her from the kitchen and sat down on the sofa again. She wondered where they were going this time. The first flat had been small, no television, just one room, something which had driven her a little crazy, claustrophobic. This one was much bigger and furnished luxuriously. She believed it was used for visiting VIPs who didn’t want to be seen. Very anonymous. Perfect for keeping nosy journalists at bay. Like her. Was that why she had dropped out of journalism college? Because being a journalist wasn’t good enough? Because she would rather do something more useful? Help people? No, that wasn’t it. There was nothing wrong with being a journalist; she didn’t know where that idea had come from. There were different kinds of journalists, just as there were different kinds of teachers and police officers. Some journalists wrote about celebrities. Others uncovered injustices. That was the kind of journalist Miriam had wanted to be. To fight for something. Use her brains to enlighten people, rather than dull their minds with lists of who was best dressed and what celebrities ate for Christmas.
She had just finished her tea when the doorbell rang. Miriam jumped up and pressed the intercom.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi, are you ready?’
‘I’m ready. Just come up.’
She pressed the buzzer and put on her shoes. Went to the suitcase in the hallway and put on her jacket. She hoped that Marion wouldn’t wake up during the car journey. She would be crotchety and perhaps wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep again.
There was a soft knock on the door. No door bell. What a considerate police officer, Miriam thought, aware that a child is asleep here. She went to open the door. There was someone outside. Wearing a kind of mask. And a wig. She had no time to react. The figure pressed a cloth into her face. She heard the words:
‘Night night.’
And she was out cold
Chapter 62
Mia Krüger was sitting at a table by the window in Kaffebrenneriet, trying to force herself to wake up. She had passed out on the bed in her hotel bedroom, having set the alarm first, as she felt too guilty to allow herself more than a few hours’ sleep, but her body disagreed; it wanted nothing more than to go back to bed, crawl under the duvet, carry on dreaming.
She strangled a yawn and called Kim Kolsø.
‘Yes? Kim speaking.’
‘Did we get anything from the care-home staff?’
‘No.’ He sighed. ‘No one knew her very well. Malin Stoltz would appear to have kept herself mostly to herself.’
‘Are you still up there?’
‘No, we’re coming back to town now. We need to contact any members of staff who weren’t at work today. See if we can get anything from them.’
‘Keep me informed, will you?’
‘Will do.’
Mia strangled another yawn and went up to order another coffee. It was the only way she could jumpstart herself. Coffee. And plenty of it. To get her head in gear again. Her body going. She had dreamt about a maze of mirrors and been unable to find her way out; she had felt utterly confused and trapped, and the feeling still weighed her down. She ordered a double espresso and was about to carry it back to her seat by the window when she noticed two women absorbed in an intimate, but rather loud, conversation at a table close to the counter.
She could not avoid overhearing what they were talking about.
‘So we tried everything, but it didn’t work,’ one of them said.
‘Oh, I’m sorry. Was it you or your husband who couldn’t have them?’ the other one said.
‘They never found out,’ the first woman said.
‘How awful for you,’ the second woman said.
‘Yes, if it hadn’t been for the support group, I would never have got over it. As for him, well, he just refused to talk about it,’ the first woman said.
‘Have you thought about adoption?’ the second woman said.
‘I really want to, but he, well, I don’t think that he does. I can’t make him talk about that either.’
‘How stupid. Surely helping a child with no parents benefits everyone? It’s a win-win.’
‘Yes, that’s exactly what I said, but he…’
‘I’m sorry,’ Mia said, walking up to them. ‘I don’t mean to intrude, but I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation.’
The two women stared at her.
‘A support group?’ Mia asked. ‘What kind of support group were you talking about?’
The first woman looked a little offended, but she replied nevertheless.
‘A support group for women who can’t have children. Why do you want to know?’
‘I have a friend…’ Mia began, but changed her mind. ‘I… I can’t have children, sadly.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ the first woman said, her attitude changing. she was no longer offended: Mia was a fellow club member; they were playing for the same team.
‘Was that here in Oslo?’ Mia continued.
‘Yes, in Bøler,’ the woman nodded.
‘Are there many of them around?’ Mia wanted to know.
‘Yes, they’re everywhere. Where do you live?’
‘Thank you so much,’ Mia said. ‘I’ll look for one.’
‘You’re welcome,’ the woman said. ‘Have you thought about adoption?’
‘I’m thinking about it,’ Mia said, picking up her coffee from the counter. ‘Thank you so much.’
‘We need to stick together.’ The woman winked at her.
‘Yes, we do.’
Mia winked back at her and carefully carried her coffee back to her table, just as her mobile rang.
‘Yes? Mia speaking.’
‘It’s Ludvig. Are you busy?’
‘No.’
‘I’ve got something. On the church.’
‘What is it?’
‘We investigated them some years ago. Hvelven Care Centre in Hønefoss made a complaint.’
‘Go on?’
‘Looks like the church has done this before. Persuaded old people to leave them their money.’
‘In Hønefoss?’
‘Yes, three cases. None of them went to court; they were resolved through mediation.’
A care home in Hønefoss. The care home in Høvik. There had to be a link.