V
Chapter 64
Emilie Isaksen was driving along Ringvollveien. She was new to this area, she had lived in Hønefoss less than twelve months, and it suddenly struck her that it might have been quicker to take Hadelandsveien and then go up the old Ringvollvei to reach her destination. Emilie Isaksen taught Norwegian and several of her pupils lived around here, a few kilometres outside the town centre. She shifted down to second gear and turned off on to Gjermundboveien.
Emilie Isaksen had known that she wanted to be a teacher from the moment she started sixth-form college. She had found work straight after completing her teacher training, and she had enjoyed her job from day one. Several of the teachers at the school had given her advice when she had first started, and they had meant well. How important it was to look after yourself, not take your work home with you, don’t get too close to the pupils, but that was not the way Emilie did things. And that explained why she was in her car now.
Tobias Iversen.
She had noticed him from the first lesson, a good-looking, gangly boy with alert eyes. But something was wrong. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. He was well liked, so popularity was not the issue. She had not grasped the problem initially, but it had come to her in time. His mother never came to Parents’ Evenings. Neither did his stepfather. They did not reply to letters. They did not answer their phone. She was, quite simply, unable to contact them. And then she had started noticing the bruises. To his face. His hands. She didn’t teach PE, so she had not seen his body, but she suspected that he was bruised all over. She had had a quick word with his PE teacher, but he was the old-fashioned type. Kids fall down and they get hurt. Especially unruly boys in Year Seven – what was she implying? She had tried questioning Tobias tactfully. Was he all right? How were things at home? Tobias had refused to open up, but she had seen it in his eyes. Something wasn’t right. There might be teachers who were prepared to overlook something like this, who didn’t want to get involved, the sanctity of the home, and all that, but Emilie Isaksen was not one of them.
Tobias hadn’t been at school for a week. She had tried calling his home, but there had been no reply. She had asked around, discreetly, and discovered that his younger brother hadn’t been to school either. She had spoken to the school counsellor, without mentioning any names, but asking for guidance. What was the policy? What action should she take? She had been given rather vague messages; no one had wanted to tell her exactly what to do unless she had proof. You had to tread carefully. Emilie Isaksen had heard it all before, but she refused to let herself be put off. What harm could a visit do? She just wanted to drop off some homework. Have a quick chat with his mother. Perhaps arrange a meeting with his parents? There was no reason why that meeting couldn’t take place in Tobias’s home if his mother found it difficult to leave the house. Unorthodox, perhaps, but she had made up her mind that it was worth the risk. She was going to be polite. She wasn’t going to accuse anyone of anything. She was only trying to help. It would be fine. Perhaps they had gone away on holiday without asking the school if they could take the boys out. Perhaps both boys were ill; there had been a spring bug going round the school, both among pupils and teachers. There could be so many reasons.
She drove up the old Ringvollvei until she found the address. ‘Address’ might be an exaggeration: it was a lane which led deeper into the forest. A postbox at the bottom of the road said ‘Iversen & Frank’. She decided to leave her car there and walk the last stretch up to the house. The house was red and small, and surrounded by other, smaller buildings. A long time ago it might have been a nice little cottage; now, it was more of a junkyard. There were several rusting cars sitting about and piles of what she would call rubbish in various places. She walked up to the front door and knocked. There was no reply. She knocked again and heard a noise from the other side. The door opened and a small, filthy face appeared.
‘Hello?’ the little boy said.
‘Hi,’ Emilie said, bending down so as not to tower over him. ‘Are you Torben?’
The little boy nodded. He had jam smeared around his mouth and his hands were grubby.
‘My name is Emilie. I’m Tobias’s teacher – perhaps you’ve heard about me?’
The boy nodded again.
‘He likes you,’ Torben said, scratching his head.
‘That’s nice. I’m looking for Tobias. Is he at home?’
‘No,’ the little boy said.
‘Is your mother or your stepfather at home?’
‘No,’ the little boy said again.
She could hear that he was almost on the verge of tears.
‘So are you at home alone?’
The boy nodded.
‘There’s no more food,’ he said sadly.
‘How long have you been at home alone?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘How many nights has it been? How many times did it get dark?’
The little boy thought about it.
‘Six or seven,’ he said.
Emilie Isaksen could feel herself getting angry, but she decided not to show it.
‘Have you any idea where Tobias might be?’
The little boy nodded.
‘He’s with the Christian girls.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘Up in the woods, by Litjønna. That’s where we hunt bison. I’m really good at it.’
‘I’m sure you are. I bet that’s fun. How do you that’s where he is?’
‘He wrote me a note and left it in our secret hiding place.’
‘You have a secret hiding place?’
The boy smiled faintly.
‘Yes, we’re the only ones who know about it.’
‘How exciting. Please can I see the note?’
‘Yes. Would you like to come in?’
Emilie considered her options. Technically, she wasn’t allowed. She couldn’t enter someone’s home without permission. She glanced around. There was no sign of the adults anywhere. The little boy had been at home alone for almost one week and there was no food in the house. Surely that was reasonable cause.
‘Yes, please.’ Emilie Isaksen smiled and followed the little boy into the house.
Chapter 65
Holger Munch was standing outside his mother’s room at Høvikveien Care Home, struggling to get his thoughts in order. Too much had happened recently, far too much. The threat against Marion. His daughter and granddaughter being forced to hide out in a safe flat. They had found Malin Stoltz. They had lost Malin Stoltz. Mikkelson had called him countless times, and Munch had yet to call him back. He sat down on a chair and stretched his legs. He caught a whiff of something unpleasant and realized to his horror that the smell was coming from him. He had dozed a couple of hours in his office chair and hadn’t had time to change his clothing. He rubbed his face and fought to keep his eyes open. Thank God he could afford for his mother to live in a place like this. They had a doctor on call, so his mother hadn’t even had to leave her room. She was fine. Fortunately, it had turned out not to be as serious as it first seemed.
Fortunately.
Holger Munch found his mobile and called Miriam, but for some reason there was no reply. He shook his head and tried again, only to get the same result. Typical. Stubborn girl. He had promised her to bring them more food, fresh clothes, more toys for Marion, and now he was stuck here. He sent her a text message asking her to call him and put his phone back in the pocket of his duffel coat. The corridor was warm. He found their air stuffy. He ought to take off his jacket, but he really didn’t smell very good. He got up and went to one of the lavatories. Stuck his mouth under the tap and drank some water. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and didn’t like what he saw. He looked dreadful. Malin Stoltz’s flat had been filled with mirrors from floor to ceiling. He had never seen anything like it. Who lived like that? He had struggled to stay in it for five minutes. Malin. Miriam. Marion. Mikkelson. Munch. So many Ms. He tried for a moment to be Mia. Nothing but Ms. Was it significant? He returned to the corridor and sat down again. Nothing but Ms? Nonsense. Perhaps Mikkelson was right after all? Perhaps he should step aside? Let someone else take over. His head was no longer working as it should. He hated to admit it, but she really had them over a barrel. Malin Stoltz. If that was her real name. She had hit them at their most vulnerable point – their private life – rattled them. Rattled him. He was no longer thinking clearly. He couldn’t tell the difference between emotion and reason. He was tempted to go outside for a cigarette but opted for a Fisherman’s Friend instead. Four girls dead and his family in hiding. At least they had a suspect now. And no more girls had disappeared, that was something. It’ll be over soon, he thought, leaning back in the chair. We’ll find her and then it will be over. He wasn’t aware of it, but his eyelids were closing. He realized it only when the door opened and the on-call doctor appeared together with Karen, who had alerted him.