Cover

Maps

Epigraph

The weak man chooses the devil

– the strong man the sea.

Doggerian saying

Prologue

PROLOGUE

A rushing sound in his ears. A torrent draining his arms and legs of strength. Hot blood surging to his head, making his face boil in the cold light from the TV.

It’s a short segment, the image of her face flashes by. Naked, serious. The quick glance into the camera. Just a few seconds, four, maybe five. Then it’s over.

But long enough for him to see.

The smugness, the self-righteousness. The hypocrisy. The big fucking lie. The face of a person who knows her worth. As though she actually imagines she has any.

As though she were something other than a stupid bitch.

The remote hits the wall as his roar fills the room.

Is he the only one who sees it? Is he the only one who sees through the charade? Is it really his fucking responsibility to put things right?

His body is heavy in the armchair, pulling him down, and for a moment, he thinks he just can’t do it. Not again. He should give up, let her get away with it. There are others, there will be others like her, others he won’t be able to sort out. He has done his fair share; it’s someone else’s turn now.

He could let this one get away.

Could.

Could have.

If she hadn’t pushed herself on him, invaded his home through the TV. Yes, maybe he could have let her get away if she hadn’t forced his hand. But she’s asking for it. Begging.

And he’s going to give it to her.

He’s going to turn on his computer, watch the segment again. Stare at that face, again and again, until his strength returns. One last time.

Chapter 1

1

She’s annoyingly beautiful. Tall and dressed all in white, in stark contrast with the group of mostly black-clad people watching her. A beauty of the kind that seems to soar slightly above the crowd. Divinely exalted by her looks, her way of speaking, moving, gesticulating, as well as – in all fairness – the fact that she is also physically elevated about three feet above her onlookers.

Karen studies the woman on the small stage at the other end of the room and curses herself for having agreed to come.

‘Why don’t you swing by the studio,’ Leo had said. ‘We’re going to celebrate finally wrapping up.’

He’d sounded happy, almost out of breath, on the phone this morning. And sure, she hadn’t minded stopping by with the keys to the new locks, since she was heading into town anyway. Not because she was curious, just as a favour.

‘That way, you get to meet her, too,’ Leo had added.

No explanation needed for whom he meant.

*

Now, Karen Eiken Hornby is clutching a set of keys in her jacket pocket and scanning the room at KGB Productions. It doesn’t take her long to find him. Leo Friis is standing right in front of the stage, smiling at something the divinely exalted just said.

It’s only been three weeks, Karen thinks to herself, and yet, something’s different. Three weeks of him not making it home to Langevik. More and more nights spent in the studio. As though just a few weeks has made her forget what he looks like.

He looks tired, she notes. And happy.

Then he spots her and waves before turning his attention back to the stage.

‘I’m going to stop talking now,’ the woman in white says. ‘I just want to tell you one more time that, without all of you, this wouldn’t have been possible. Thank you for helping me rediscover my roots while continuing my journey forward.’

She pauses for effect and looks up at the ceiling while the congregation waits with something akin to reverence. Then she lowers her gaze back down to them and cocks her head with a little smile before finishing her performance.

‘The only constant in life is change. Never forget.’

She raises her glass and is greeted by raised beer bottles and wine glasses.

‘Wow, deep,’ Karen mutters under her breath.

But not quietly enough.

‘What are you muttering about? Not feeling starstruck?’

Without her noticing, Kore Traavad has sidled up to her and now he’s offering her a bottle of beer and a smile.

He looks even more pleased than Leo, if that’s possible, she thinks to herself. Like a cat with a freshly caught herring. Or like one of the co-owners of a music production company that has just wrapped a recording session with an international superstar. A star who, after avoiding the limelight for a decade, has suddenly decided to make a comeback.

She shakes her head.

‘I’m not staying, actually. Just dropped by to give Leo a set of new keys. I had to change the locks back home.’

‘Yes, I heard you were burgled. But nothing was stolen, according to Leo.’

‘What he means is that his guitar wasn’t stolen. But I had some silver heirlooms taken, if that counts.’

*

Nine hundred and sixty marks and fifty shillings it had cost her to change the locks on both houses. The locksmith had made her wait more than six hours before managing to squeeze Langevik into his schedule.

A quick trip to the superstore in Rakne had given someone enough time to break into both the main house and the annex. ‘I can’t have been gone more than an hour, hour and a half tops,’ Karen had grumbled to herself as she crept through the rooms with her eyes peeled and her ears pricked up, all too aware the burglar might still be in the house.

Not likely, true, especially considering the white van she had passed at the turn-off from the main road as she was coming home with a new electric screwdriver, four boxes of assorted screws, and two boxes of red wine. She hadn’t given the van a second thought at the time, just absently noted that she didn’t recognise it.

Once she got back to the house, it had immediately been clear what they had taken – her silver.

There were two circles in the layer of dust on top of the chest of drawers in the living room where the candlesticks from the late eighteenth century had stood. The drawer that had contained the silver cutlery she had inherited from the Breton side of her mother’s family had been ransacked and discarded on the floor.

Other than that, the boys in the van seemed to have made the assessment that Karen Eiken Hornby owned nothing of value. They hadn’t even bothered to steal the relatively new TV she’d bought in the post-Christmas sale. Her collection of decent wines from the Alsace vineyard of which she owned a few measly per cent, was, granted, perhaps not a traditional target for burglars, but the fact that they hadn’t nabbed at least a few bottles indicated that they’d never even ventured down into the basement. Probably – she had consoled herself in a moment of injured pride – they’d been interrupted by something.

Somewhat reassured after making certain her bottles were safe, she’d belatedly realised what the burglars would really have loved to find and rushed over to the annex with her heart in her mouth.

A few minutes later, she had called Leo to tell him his most prized possession was missing. The guitar of guitars, a Martin, built in 1932, may have survived Leo’s time on the streets, but it hadn’t made it through being left in a house with ridiculously pathetic locks, probably made around the same time as the guitar.

Her stomach had been in knots and thoughts of insurance and her liability as Leo’s landlady had raced through her mind while the phone rang. And then the relief that had washed over her when Leo had picked up and said everything was fine, that he’d brought the guitar to the studio, had made her agree to bring him the new keys. The moment the locksmith was done, she’d jumped in the car. Nine hundred and sixty marks and fifty shillings, and a few pounds of family silver poorer.

*

Kore’s voice calls her back to the present.

‘Wow, you’re in a foul mood.’

Karen flashes him a smile and accepts the bottle.

‘Not at all,’ she says and takes a sip. ‘Congratulations, by the way. The final week was hectic, I take it. But you’re done now, right?’

Kore puffs up his cheeks and exhales loudly.

‘The recording session’s done, yeah. Assuming I can fight off everyone’s idiotic ideas about last-minute changes, that is,’ he adds.

Karen takes a closer look at his weary face and opens her mouth to ask what he means but then stops herself. Their work is none of her business and she wants to get out of there.

‘Well, I guess all that’s left to do is to cross our fingers it’s well-received once it’s out,’ she says. ‘Did I hear that’s not until after the summer?’

She knows every step of their plan. First the announcement: Luna is back after ten years of silence. A single this summer and then the rest of the songs and a tour in the autumn. Probably, Leo had said. If everything comes together.

She had only half listened. Luna’s music hadn’t interested her much even back when she was at peak popularity; bubblegum pop and lavish stage shows. Easily dismissed, easily forgotten among countless other, bigger artists. But for some reason, Luna always played well with the critics, and she has developed something of a cult following in the past decade. Probably in no small part because she abruptly quit the business when she was at the height of her fame.

Kore nods.

‘Yes, that’s the plan,’ he replies. ‘Hopefully it’ll blow up.’

I wasn’t interested then, and I’m even less interested now, Karen thinks to herself and looks over at the stage where something Leo has just said is making Luna tilt her head back and laugh.

Karen can’t see her perfect white teeth from where she’s standing. But she knows they’re there.

What the fuck am I doing here anyway?

‘Would you mind giving Leo the keys?’ she says. ‘I’m in a bit of a hurry and he looks busy.’

‘Oh, come on, it’s a party. There may not be a lot of us, but we’re going to have it large. Eirik’s coming, too. Should be here any minute, actually.’

Kore glances down at his watch and then up at the door, as though that might make his boyfriend materialise.

‘No time. I promised Marike I’d stop by the studio to check out something she’s working on.’

‘Come on, stay for a bit at least? If you’re really good, I’ll let you say hi to . . .’

Before he can finish the sentence, they spot Leo coming towards them with the woman in white by his side. Karen can’t help but notice that his hand is on her back, as though he’s guiding her forward.

‘Hi, Karen,’ he says. ‘I figured I should introduce the two of you. This is Karen, my police detective landlady, and this is Luna. I guess she doesn’t need much of an introduction.’

My police detective landlady.

Karen extends her hand, but instead of taking it, Luna puts her own hands together and bows slightly.

‘Namaste.’

Her smile is so charmingly beautiful all Karen can do is stare back mutely and feel herself crumple up as she registers every last detail. The clean, make-up-free face, the golden skin that seems completely devoid of pores. The platinum blonde, closely cropped hair. I would never wear my hair like that, Karen thinks darkly. Not even if I were ten years younger and had a head like bloody Nefertiti.

Then she realises her hand is still hanging in the air and sheepishly retracts it.

‘Eh . . . hi.’

The music from the speakers and the din of the conversations that started up the moment Luna stepped off stage have settled like a thick blanket of sound over the room, drowning out her mumbled syllables.

‘Karen’s an old friend of mine,’ Kore hollers. ‘Well, of Eirik’s, really, originally. They’ve known each other since school.’

Luna seems to take no notice of this information. Instead, she keeps her eyes intently on Karen.

‘It’s lovely to meet you,’ she says, leaning forward. ‘Leo has told me how grateful he is to you for taking him in. He says you practically saved him.’

Karen can feel her face resist as she forces out a smile. Casting about for something to say while her mind obsesses about what a pathetic contrast she makes with the blonde woman standing still as a statue before her. She looks at Luna’s glass of what looks like mineral water and checks an impulse to take another sip of beer from the bottle in her hand.

Oh my God, say something. Don’t just stand there like an idiot.

‘Yes, and I’m grateful, too,’ Luna continues. ‘That you saved him for me, I mean. I would never have been able to set out on this wonderful journey without Leo.’

The way she lightly strokes his arm speaks of closeness. Intimate closeness. His hand is still on her back. Leo and Luna. How ridiculous. Something inside Karen draws itself up and she looks him right in the eye.

‘Oh, so you’re not just a musician anymore, Leo?’ she says. ‘Now you’re a travel guide, too?’

The divine one lets out a laugh. A tinkling, crystal-clear laugh and for a moment, Leo looks confused.

‘Luna meant a journey, like . . .’ He trails off.

‘Yeah, I got it,’ Karen says. ‘It was a joke.’

Luna has cocked her head slightly and is studying her. Thoughtful now.

‘Yes, Leo told me you’re funny,’ she says. ‘And sharp. But perhaps that’s a requirement for a police officer. And a landlady.’

‘Yes, perhaps,’ Karen replies tersely. ‘It was great meeting you, Luna,’ she adds, forcing out yet another smile while she pulls the keys out of her pocket. ‘But I’m afraid I have to be going now.’

Then she turns to Leo.

‘I just wanted to give you these. In case you feel like sleeping at home tonight.’

She regrets the words the second they leave her lips.

Since when is it any of her damn business where Leo Friis spends the night? Or with whom.

Chapter 2

2

It’s unseasonably warm, she tells herself. That’s why I can’t do it. The thermometer had told her twenty-five degrees when, twenty minutes earlier on this Sunday afternoon, she had laced up her running shoes.

From the moment she set off down the gravel road, turning north and continuing along the coastal path, she had struggled. She had been less than a mile into her run when exhaustion hit her full force. She had pushed herself to at least finish it before giving up and collapsing on the smooth cliffs with her back against one of the shrunken pines.

It’s too warm for late April, she grumbles inwardly. At least for Doggerland.

Deflated, she gazes out at the horizon and starts fretting. Methodically. Starts with the greenhouse effect, global warming, and the melting polar ice caps, feeling hopelessness take root as she wipes the sweat from her forehead. Seeks the comfort she has always derived from staring at the sea, whether its leaden waves heave menacingly or, like today, has both the gifts and the sacrifices hidden in its depths covered by glittering sunlight.

But after the most recent alarming reports, the frothing breakers hurling themselves against the cliffs and the gentle combers lapping against the rocky shore seem more like cries for help than a source of succour. It’s over, she thinks. If we don’t do something, we’re doomed.

In an attempt to bring her anxiety under control, she looks down at her dirty trainers and forces it to focus on something actionable. On the washing machine that has started to make strange noises during the spin cycle and the numbers that stared scornfully back at her when she checked her bank balance the night before. And then on the horror that awaits her on Friday morning: the job-related fitness test, the JRFT. The mandatory annual medical assessment, complete with bike and firearms tests. Her eyesight will be checked, her blood alcohol level determined, her blood pressure and complete blood count measured . . . For a moment, she allows herself to relax in the knowledge that her alcohol intake has been moderate lately. At least, by her normal standards. She has even cut back on cigarettes. Practically quit altogether.

Practically.

And she has worked out, done all the exercises the physiotherapist told her she will have to do for the rest of her life to compensate for her knee injury. She has done arms and core, too, and felt the strength return to her muscles.

But she has not gone running. And it’s not muscle strength they’re going to be testing on Friday; she’s going to be forced to sit on a stationary bike with electrodes stuck to her sweaty body.

They can’t put me on desk duty, can they? she wonders. They know why I haven’t been able to do proper cardio since last autumn. First my knee and then snow and slippery roads . . . An image of the stationary bike gathering dust in her basement flashes before her eyes and she quickly thinks about something else. Allows her mind to brush against the thought of the free mammogram the Doggerland Police Authority now offers all its female employees and which she, for the first time, as decided to take up. She’s going to pull her head out of the sand and endure the damn breast press. That barely noticeable tightness she’d felt in her breast in the shower the other week . . . something hard, elusive. Something she hadn’t felt there before.

No point thinking about it right now. Think about the firearms test instead. At least she’s not worried about that.

She lets her anxiety out in small chunks, jumping quickly from one worry to the next so none can fester. The roof that needs to be replaced, the latest poll ahead of the parliamentary election in the autumn, the goddamn mammography, yet another school shooting in the US, yet another terrorist attack in France.

Her reflection in the mirror this morning.

Instead of swiftly working through her morning routine, she’d stood there, toothbrush in hand, staring at the pasty face in front of her. A grimace had revealed that her crow’s feet had deepened since the last time she paid them any attention, and something along her jawline seemed to have given up. And she knows meeting Luna the day before was what had caused the sudden wave of self-doubt. That ethereal, white-clad creature who had everyone wrapped around her finger.

Everyone except a grumpy detective inspector from Langevik.

And then the fight with Leo. Had it even been a fight? He’d followed her out to her car. Tried to talk her into staying. Wondered why she was in such a mood.

‘Why can’t she shake hands like a normal person?’ Karen had snapped.

‘She never does,’ Leo had replied, adding: ‘A lot of singers are concerned about germs. Besides, apparently she converted to Buddhism a few years ago.’

She doesn’t seem particularly concerned about germs when she’s climbing all over you, though, does she? Karen had thought, but thankfully she had kept her mouth shut. Had just watched Leo put the new keys in his pocket and thought that it would probably be a good long while before he had any use for them.

There had been no sign of him in the morning. Or of Sigrid, she thinks to herself and pushes down the worry that has been lurking at in the back of her mind since she realised the door to the second bedroom was ajar and the bed inside it empty. Unmade, granted, but that’s hardly reason to think she slept in it.

Sigrid is an adult, she reminds herself. Both she and Leo have every right in the world to come and go as they please. Two lodgers, that’s all. Two wind-driven souls who knocked on the door to her comfortable existence.

What the hell did I go and let them in for?

*

Twenty minutes later she stops at the bottom of the front steps and grabs hold of the railing. There’s a rushing sound in her ears and a wave of heat rises through her body, reaching boiling point and her face at the same time. As she leans her forehead against the cold iron railing, she hears the sound of the annex door opening. I see, she thinks. So you did come home last night after all.

Then Leo’s voice reaches her.

‘Well, have you called around? Someone has to know where she is. Brynn or Gordon? Billy? He always knows what she’s doing.’

In the silence that follows as Leo listens to the person on the other end, Karen walks up the steps and through the door without looking back. Just as she starts climbing the stairs to the upstairs bathroom, she hears Leo’s voice again.

‘She probably just forgot, I’m sure you’ll hear from her any minute. Or maybe she’ll turn up tomorrow. I’m actually pretty chuffed I don’t have to go into the studio today, I’m bloody hungover, how about you?’

*

‘What was that about?’ Karen says a while later, as she, fresh from the shower and with her face covered with foundation she found at the back of the bathroom cabinet, sits down at the kitchen table.

The foundation smells a bit stale, she muses.

‘Luna,’ Leo replies. ‘We were supposed to record some overdubs today, but Kore can’t get hold of her.’

‘But I thought you were done? Isn’t that what you were celebrating?’

‘We were. But then Luna had this idea last night and we eventually agreed to test it out before she leaves.’

‘So she’s going back home?’ Karen says, making an effort to hide her relief.

Leo tilts his head back and yawns.

‘Yeah, day after tomorrow,’ he says. ‘And she probably can’t come back until the end of next month. But she was supposed to check in with Kore this morning and set a time to meet up in the studio. We only have today and tomorrow.’

‘She’s probably asleep. As hungover as you, perhaps?’

‘Luna? No, she doesn’t drink.’

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