The Hanging: A Thriller Read Free

too far gone in his game of chess.
    “Is your cell phone turned on?”
    “No. The agreement was that the outside world should be excluded, I think you will recall. Why do you ask?”
    He got up with a last long look at a game in the book, then stared out the windows and let his gaze wander along the horizon. The undulating-dune landscape unfolded before him like irregular windswept hills, a shining white where the sun hit them, inky gray and dark on the other side, some invaded by rugosa rose, others anchored by wild rye. In the distance he could see the North Sea with its glittering white-crested waves and above that a flock of wild geese flying south along the coastline. Suddenly he became aware of Anna Mia’s arm around him, and her head heavy against his back. A feeling of shyness and awe overcame him, as if her youthfulness was something sacred. But he remained as he was and after a few seconds of eternity she said softly, “They’re coming to pick you up, Dad.”
    Only then did he see it. A disturbingly foreign body slowly snaking its way up along the twisty dune road: a police car.

 
    CHAPTER 3
     
    Some four hours later, Simonsen found himself at Langbæk School in Bagsværd, staring out at the rain that was falling, bleak and silent. A canine unit was working in the bushes behind the playground. The police officer directed the dog with hand signals and shouted commands, occasionally bringing it back to be petted and praised. A young woman with a plastic bag wrapped around her head as a makeshift scarf walked up to the officer and for a while she watched the officer’s gestures before a gust of wind splattered the window with water and greatly reduced the visibility. He turned his gaze back to the corridor. The colors on the wall were bare and dirty, alternating between various shades of yellow. The linoleum floor was pockmarked and looked like an obstacle course. Somewhat-successful artistic creations hung scattered about. The nearest one employed a preponderance of wire and very dusty soda cans.
    He made a gesture of futility. “Dammit, Countess.”
    The words were intended for the woman behind him, who was talking on a cell phone, and they were said without anger, simply to point out the absurdity of having been transported across the country like an express delivery, only to end up standing around staring out into the dreary October weather. Without knowing much about the investigation, he was expected to take charge, and yet he hadn’t the faintest idea where he should go next.
    The woman reacted to his outburst, placing one hand over the phone.
    “Hello, Simon, sorry about your vacation, but at least you got a couple of days. I hope Anna Mia wasn’t too upset. Arne will be here in one second, he’ll brief you.” She smiled and returned to her call before he was able to answer. He returned her smile without really wanting to, and thought to himself that she had fine teeth. He let his stomach relax and looked out the window again, where the view was still depressing. The Countess’s conversation went on and on, which he took as a discomfiting sign that the homicide unit would be in excellent shape to continue without its current chief when the day came.
    And yet, perhaps not. Simonsen had been half following the conversation—which he pressumed was with one of the forensic specialists—and suddenly he was struck with the thought that something wasn’t right. A slightly elevated tone of voice and questions in which there was a certain discrepancy between the level of detail and the time gave her away. When she launched into a question almost identical to one she had already asked, he grabbed her by the arm in which she held the phone and pulled gently. She hung up without saying goodbye.
    “When did you last have something to eat?”
    “I don’t know; a while ago. What time is it?”
    He was very familiar with this condition and also knew that it was temporary. From time to time, all