The Killing 2 by David Hewson Read Free Book Online Page B

way.’
    Poulsen’s pale face was going red with fury and fear.
    ‘All that crap’s done with, Raben. Buried. If people come asking questions . . .’
    ‘What questions?’
    ‘Best you didn’t know.’ His shrill voice rose. ‘Guard!’
    ‘Myg . . .’
    ‘Guard! Get me out of here!’
    Raben took hold of him again. The little man wriggled out of his strong grip.
    ‘I can get you a job,’ Poulsen yelled at him. ‘That’s it. But you start opening your mouth and the whole deal’s off. You don’t drag me down with you again.
Not going to happen . . .’
    The door was open. The guard was there, swinging his stick. Raben let go, watched Myg Poulsen hurry out of the room.
    He knew something. So did Raben once. The truth was still there. He understood that. It rumbled round the back of his head like an angry dumb monster lost in the dark.
    Her mother’s flat in Østerbro was full of memories, few of them pleasant. Not now. Mark was there, tall and handsome, happier than he’d ever been with her.
She’d not been a bad mother. Just failed to be an actively good one. So he’d settled with her ex-husband, got more money spent on him than she could ever have afforded on her present
salary. And he’d hate Gedser, with good reason.
    Fourteen candles on the cake. Vibeke, her mother, happy too, with what looked like a new boyfriend in tow. Lots of relatives with names she struggled to remember. They sang Happy Birthday,
watched as Mark bent down to blow out the candles on his cake.
    He was kind enough to wear the blue Netto sweatshirt she’d bought him, put it on the moment it was out of the terrible wrapping. A nasty, cheap thing and one size too small.
    The boyfriend was called Bjørn. He was a rotund, balding cheerful figure, mid-sixties she guessed, happily recording every second of the party on a video camera. When the candles were out
Vibeke clapped her hands and they all fell silent on command.
    ‘Since you’re here,’ she declared in a ringing, happy tone, ‘Bjørn and I have an announcement.’
    Her mother was blushing. Lund wondered when she’d witnessed this before.
    ‘This darling man has been foolish enough to propose to me,’ Vibeke said, beaming like a schoolgirl. ‘What could I say?’
    ‘Only yes,’ Bjørn answered with a grin.
    ‘So I did. I won’t wear white. There’s going to be no fuss. There. That’s it.’
    She hesitated, then added, ‘On Saturday.
This
Saturday. You’ll all get invitations. Who said old people couldn’t be impulsive?’
    There was an astonished silence then a ragged burst of applause. Lund found herself giggling, hand over her mouth.
    Mark came over.
    She stroked his chest, laughed at the ridiculously tight sweatshirt.
    ‘I’m sorry. You grow so quickly.’
    ‘Don’t worry.’ His voice was deep and calm. She could scarcely believe he was the same troubled kid who’d lived with her here for a while during the Birk Larsen case.
‘It’s nice you’re back. When do you have to leave?’
    ‘In a minute.’
    ‘Gran said you were here for a job interview. You might come and live in Copenhagen again.’
    ‘No. How are things?’
    ‘Fine.’
    There was disappointment on his face. She was back with the twelve-year-old Mark for a moment. Once again she’d failed him.
    He took her by the arms, kissed her once on the cheek, said something sweet and terribly grown-up and understanding.
    Vibeke was crying out fresh orders to eat more cake.
    Lund’s eyes strayed to the floor. There was something there. A scrap of cellophane next to the wrapping paper ripped off the gifts.
    Same size as the unidentified, half-torn piece they’d found in Anne Dragsholm’s house.
    Ruth Hedeby had hated it when Lund told her they all had to look harder. But really that was what the job amounted to. Looking. Never turning away, however hard that might be.
    Lund bent down and retrieved the cellophane from the floor. On the table above was a plastic case by Bjørn’s busy video