A Conspiracy of Faith by Jussi Adler-Olsen Read Free Book Online Page A

distinct blotches, one before ‘he’ and two after. Are you with me?”
    Assad and Carl considered the mottled stains on the paper. They looked like gray cumulus clouds alongside the touched-up “h” and “e.”
    Then Assad nodded and placed a dot on each of the three blotches.
    Carl took a step to one side. It seemed reasonable enough. Underneath the clearly legible heading
HELP
, the two characters that followed were flanked by visible blurs. Seawater and condensation had played their part. The three blood-written characters had long since dissolved and been absorbed into the pulp. If only they could figure out what they were.
    He stood watching for a moment as Rose bossed Assad around. It was a meticulous business. And where would it lead, when it came down to it? To endless hours of guesswork, that was where. And what for? The message could go back decades. Besides, it was still quite possible that it might all have been just a practical joke. The hand seemed clumsy, as though it belonged to a child. A couple of Cub Scouts, a little nick in the finger, and there you have it. But then again…
    “I’m not sure about this, Rose,” he ventured. “Maybe we should just forget all about it. We’ve enough to be getting on with as it is.”
    He noted with bewilderment the effect of his words. Rose began to quiver, like jelly. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought she was about to burst into laughter. But Carl knew Rose all too well, and for that reason he retreated. Only a step, but enough to avoid the explosive splutter of invective that suddenly showered toward him.
    It meant that Rose was dissatisfied with his meddling. He wasn’t so gormless that he didn’t get the gist.
    He nodded. Like he said, there was plenty else to be getting on with. He knew of at least two folders of important case documents which, positioned correctly, would cover his face nicely while he caught up on his sleep. Rose and Assad could amuse themselves with their little puzzle while he took care of business.
    Rose registered his cowardly retreat. She turned slowly and looked daggers at him.
    “Ingenious idea, though, Rose. Very well done,” he blurted out, but he was cutting no ice.
    “I’ll give you a choice, Carl,” she hissed. Assad, at the top of the ladder, rolled his eyes. “Either you shut your gob, or else I’m off home. And for your information, I might just send my twin sister over instead, and do you know what’ll happen then?”
    Carl shook his head. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know. “Let me guess. She’ll be over here with three kids and four cats, a pair of lodgers, and some shit of a husband. Am I right? Your office’ll be a bit cramped, yeah?”
    She planted her fists firmly on her hips and leaned menacingly toward him. “Whoever filled you with that crap doesn’t know what they’re talking about. Yrsa’s living with me, and she’s got neither cats nor lodgers.” The word “MORON!” lit up in her black-painted eyes.
    He held up his hands in front of him in capitulation.
    The chair in his office beckoned.

    “What’s all that about her twin sister, Assad? Has Rose threatened to send her over before?”
    Assad bounced jauntily up the steps of the rotunda alongside him, but Carl could already feel the lead accumulating in his legs.
    “Don’t take things so personal, Carl. Rose is like sand on a camel’s back. Sometimes it makes the arse itch and sometimes it doesn’t. It’s all a question of how thick-skinned a person is.” He turned his face to Carl and flashed two neat rows of pearly white enamel. If anyone’s arsehole had been armored with hard skin through the years, it was probably his.
    “She has told me about her sister, Yrsa. I remember her name because it sounds like Irma, the supermarket. I don’t think they are very good friends together,” Assad added.
    Yrsa? Is anyone really called that anymore? Carl wondered as they reached the third floor, his heart valves