Gabriel jumped when he heard his name spoken. He looked up and saw that everyone had turned to him.
‘Hi, hi, Gabriel,’ some of them said.
‘Hello, everyone,’ Gabriel replied, sounding a little nervous.
He had the feeling of being back at school again. That soon he would have to stand up, say something, but fortunately he was not made to. He had no idea what database they were talking about. Munch looked at him and winked.
‘A project I didn’t have time to tell you about, but we’ll do it later, OK?’
‘OK.’ Gabriel nodded and was relieved when Mia Krüger started talking again.
‘I don’t know how many of you have seen this.’
She pressed a key on the laptop.
‘But we discovered a number on the nail of the left little finger when we examined Pauline. It’s the number one. As you can see…’
Another photograph on the screen.
‘Johanne had exactly the same, but the number two, in the form of two lines on her left ring finger.’
‘Damn!’ Ludvig exclaimed spontaneously. He was the older man with the round glasses.
‘Yes, exactly.’ Mia nodded and looked at him.
‘What the hell?’ Curry said.
‘There will be others,’ Anette said.
The room fell silent.
‘We have cause to fear that Pauline and Johanne were only the beginning. That there will be others, unfortunately.’
Munch had taken over again.
‘So we pay special attention to any missing-persons cases. Girls aged six years, even if they have only been gone for thirty minutes, we turn up like gangbusters, do you understand?’
Everyone nodded.
‘Now I feel the need for a cigarette, so we’ll break for ten minutes and meet back here again.’
Munch produced a packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and went outside on to the smoking terrace, closely followed by Mia. Gabriel didn’t quite know what to do with himself. Seeing the photographs of the two girls had been overwhelming enough in itself. And they were saying there would be more? He breathed deeply from his stomach a couple of times to lower his pulse and went out into the corridor to fetch himself a cup of coffee.
Chapter 20
Lukas was sitting in his usual place in the chapel, on the slightly raised chair close to the wall with a good view of the pulpit and the congregation. Pastor Simon had gone up in front of the altar but had yet to start speaking. It looked as if he was thinking about something important. Lukas and the rest of the congregation sat very still; you could have heard a pin drop in the large, white room. Everyone waited with bated breath to hear what Pastor Simon had to say. The white-haired pastor was known for taking his time before preaching; it was about making contact with the Lord, opening the lines between God, himself and the congregation, clearing the room of anything that might obstruct the celestial dialogue. The whole service was beautiful, angelic, almost meditative, Lukas thought as he sat very calmly with his hands folded in his lap.
Lukas loved listening to Pastor Simon. He had first heard him by chance twelve years ago at a campsite in Sørlandet. His foster parents had sent him on holiday with their neighbours: they either could not afford to take him with them or did not want to go on holiday with him themselves. Lukas could not remember where they had been going – to the Mediterranean, something like that – it no longer mattered. Lukas had been fifteen years old and had initially felt very uncomfortable at the campsite; everyone else there had been very old compared to him. It wasn’t the first time he had felt like an outsider, he had felt that way his whole life. He had been moved in and out of foster care ever since social services had removed him from the place that was supposed to be his home, and he had never settled down. Not at school, either. No difficulties with the subjects – the problem was the other pupils. And the teachers. Or maybe, people in general. Lukas gazed in admiration at Pastor Simon, who was still standing, with his eyes closed and both palms facing the sky. Lukas could feel the heat. The glowing heat and the soft, bright light that filled his body and made him feel safe. He remembered the first time he had had this feeling, at that campsite in Sørlandet twelve years ago. Not to begin with; he had felt like a fish out of water, as if everyone around him had a secret which excluded him. The insecurity and the restlessness had affected him badly and, as always when this happened, the voices in his head started telling him to do things, things he could not say out loud. But then, as if God himself had lit up the path for him, he had found his way to one of the smaller tents on the outskirts of the campsite. A beam of light directed him to the white tent, and a whisperer encouraged him to go there, one of the voices which was not so loud, not like the shouters, he hated them, but it was not one of them, it was a nice whisperer, calling softly in this foreign language. Sequere via ad caelum. The kind voice in his ear and the compelling light drew him closer. Sequere via ad caelum, follow the path to heaven. Not long afterwards, he found himself standing inside the tent, mesmerized by the voices, the warmth and the light. And there, on a podium in the centre, was Pastor Simon, his eyes shining, his voice powerful and, ever since that day, Lukas had been saved.
Lukas looked across the congregation, which was still waiting silently for the pastor’s sermon to begin. He recognized every face. Most had been members of the Church for years, but none as long as Lukas. He had not returned to his foster parents that summer, and no one had seemed to mind. Twelve years later, he had risen up the ranks and, though he had yet to turn twenty-seven, he was now Pastor Simon’s right-hand man. His second-in-command. He helped Pastor Simon with all his activities, be they private or Church related. As far as Lukas was concerned, working for Pastor Simon was his mission in life. There was nothing he would not do for him. Life was nothing compared to Pastor Simon and, if it came to it one day, he would gladly die for him. Death was no longer death, not for Pastor Simon’s followers, it was just another step nearer to Heaven. Lukas suppressed a small smile as the warmth and the beautiful light filled him again.
He had not heard the voices in his head for a while now. From time to time, sure, but not loud and not often, not like when he was younger, when the voices, especially the shouters, had told him to do things he knew he should not do. Even though he tried to resist, it had been futile; deep down, he knew that the shouters would never give up. He had to obey them. Get it over with. Hope for the best. It had occurred to Lukas that the whisperers and the shouters were like God and the devil. Pastor Simon had explained to him once how one could not exist without the other. That these two poles of the universe and eternity were inseparable. That you should not be scared, because the path of light would always guide you. Succumbing to the devil’s commands from time to time was not mortal sin, it constituted proof of God’s existence, that sometimes God spoke in the devil’s voice to test you, it was a trial. Even so, Lukas was pleased that the voices, especially the shouters, did not visit him so often now.
Deo sic per diabolum.
The path to God is through the devil.
Lukas was well aware that this was not the official position of their church. It would not be well received by the amateurs. You had to be one of the initiated in order to understand. But the amateurs were only there to be used, like the people now sitting in front of him in reverent silence. The initiated were the people who mattered. Those who had understood what Pastor Simon really meant about the path towards the light. And Lukas was one of them.