Death Sentence by Mikkel Birkegaard Read Free Book Online Page B

clue I had been looking for, an explanation from the sender?
    It turned out not to be a note, but a photo.
    A photo of Mona Weis.

7
    THE PICTURE OF Mona Weis was the size of a packet of cigarettes. She was leaning against a white wall, smiling, and her hypnotic blue eyes were aimed straight at the camera. I estimated it must have been taken around the time I knew her. Her hair was the same style and she looked very much like she did two years ago, which would explain why the colours had started to fade. The photo itself was slightly scratched, the corners bent and the back a little soiled as if it had been lying around someone’s drawer for a long time.
    I sat in my hotel room for hours staring at the photo. Slowly I drank my way through the minibar. When I reached the Baileys, I put down the photo and began studying the book itself. I examined the cover. It was brand new, no scratches or marks of any kind. I carefully went through the whole volume, page by page, and checked the text for marks or other signs. You can tell if a book has been read. It doesn’t smell quite the same once its pages have been turned. Everything suggested this copy had never been opened.
    To my regret, I had removed the photo without paying attention to where it had been inserted. Perhaps it was unimportant, but still I was annoyed at my carelessness. It had been in the second half, which was where Kit Hansen was murdered, but that was all I could be sure of.
    None the wiser after examining the book, I looked at the envelope again. I turned it over, I sniffed it, I peered inside it and I poked my fingers right into the corners. There was nothing that revealed anything about the sender. My name was typed on a white label and stuck on the envelope a little askew, as if it had been done in haste or just indifferently.
    Finally I leaned back in the chair and stared at the coffee table. The three objects – the envelope, the book and the photo – lay side by side, like an assembly instruction in reverse order.
    Was Verner playing a joke on me? He had probably discovered the real nature of my relationship with Mona and he was the type who might decide to punish me by pulling a stunt like this. It would have been relatively easy for him to get hold of a photo from Mona’s flat, had he wanted to, but I had no idea how he would have got his hands on the book. I had signed the copy I had given to him. But then again, he had contacts everywhere.
    The thought was tempting, but I couldn’t even convince myself. Verner simply didn’t have the finesse to pull it off. My rejected-boyfriend theory wasn’t very convincing either, and my earlier excitement at explaining the true facts of the case to Verner was replaced by a growing unease.
    I felt nauseous, but not enough to be sick. No matter how hard I tried to relax, my breathing was laboured. My fingers tingled and my legs felt leaden. All I could do was sit there and stare at the three objects in front of me, but no amount of staring at them revealed anything.
    The light faded until I sat in darkness.
    Suddenly I remembered my dinner with Verner. I glanced at my watch. I was meeting him in the restaurant in half an hour. I forced myself to shower and change. The familiar movements helped me relax a little, but my hands were still shaking when I put the photo and the book back in the envelope and brought them with me down to the ground floor.
    Roughly half the restaurant’s twenty tables were occupied. Smaller parties, most of them American couples, from what I could hear. I was the only one sitting alone. Eating on my own has never bothered me and I usually bring my notebook so I don’t get too bored.
    I ordered a whisky, a 12-year-old Bowmore, a double. Verner never made an effort to be on time, so I settled in for a long wait.
    I had met Verner through Line. We happened to be seated next to each other at a golden wedding anniversary in Line’s family. I had dreaded the event, but when I found out the