The Hanging Girl Read Free Page B

in contact with the police in Rønne,” she said, “and you certainly won’t be glad to hear why.”
    “I see.” He moved the folder from his lap to the table and picked up the pen.
    “An hour ago Police Sergeant Christian Habersaat turned up to his farewell reception at the community hall in Listed. And fifty minutes ago he released the safety on his pistol and shot himself in the head in front of ten shocked witnesses.”
    She nodded tellingly as Carl’s eyebrows shot up. “Yeah, well, that’s what I’d call really bad. Wouldn’t you say, Carl?” she said sharply. “I’ll know more when the police commissioner in Rønne gets back to the station. Turns out he witnessed the whole thing. But until then, I’ll book tickets for the next flight.”
    “Okay, it’s really all very unfortunate. But what are you talking about? Next flight? Are you flying somewhere, Rose?” Carl attempted to look confused, but he knew where all this was leading. It had better be a damn joke.
    “Look, I’m sorry to hear about Haber-what’s-his-name, but if you think I’m getting on a flying sardine can to Bornholm just because of that, you’ve got another thing coming. And besides . . .”
    “If you’re too scared to fly, Carl,” Rose butted in, “you’d better get a move on and book tickets for the ferry from Ystad to Rønne leaving at twelve thirty, while I talk with the police commissioner. It’s your fault that we need to respond, after all, so you’d better do it yourself. Isn’t that what you’re always saying to me? I’ll go and tell Assad that he can stop splashing around with paint in the other room and get himself ready.”
    Carl rubbed his eyes.
    Was he really awake?
    *   *   *
    Neither the drive from the police station to Ystad through the southern spring landscape of Skåne nor the hour-and-a-half boat trip to Bornholm could subdue Rose’s indignation.
    Carl had been looking at his face in the rearview mirror. If he didn’t watch out, he’d soon look like his granddad, with vacant eyes and lifeless skin.
    He adjusted the mirror only to replace the view with a clear look at Rose’s angry face. “Why didn’t you talk with him, Carl?” came the constant refrain from the back in the worst imaginable tone of reproach. If there had been a taxi driver’s compartment window between them, he’d have slammed it shut.
    And now, in the restaurant onboard the large catamaran ferry, the cold from the Siberian winds that sailed in over the foam-topped waves, and which Assad stared at worryingly, was nothing compared to the cold emanating from Rose. She’d definitely got herself stuck in a mood of which there was no getting out.
    “I don’t know what they call it, Carl. But in less tolerant societies what you did to Habersaat could easily be considered neglect of duty . . .”
    Carl tried to ignore her. Rose was Rose, after all. But with her final trump, ”. . . or even worse, manslaughter,” the bomb exploded anyway.
    “That’s enough now, goddamnit, Rose!” he shouted, slamming his fist on the table, causing all the glasses and bottles to bang together.
    It wasn’t the angry look Rose flashed at him that stopped him in his tracks, but Assad’s nod over toward the guests in the cafeteria, who were staring at them, openmouthed, with their pastries wobbling on their cake forks.
    “They’re actors!” Assad apologized to the other customers with a cheeky smile. “Just practicing a play at the moment, but they won’t spoil the ending, I promise.”
    Some of the guests were obviously speculating where the hell it was they’d seen those actors before.
    Carl leaned in over to Rose and tried to lower his tone. She was all right when it came down to it. I mean, hadn’t she been there for him and Assad on numerous occasions over the years? He certainly wouldn’t forget all she’d done for him when he was close to burning himself out in the Marco case three years ago. No, you just had to