The Hanging Girl by Jussi Adler-Olsen Read Free Book Online Page A

she fainted.

6
    Wednesday, April 30th, 2014
    They stood for a moment or two and took in the whitewashed ramshackle of a house, very probably one of the most unkempt on the centrally located Jernbanegade in Aakirkeby.
    Just as in many Danish market towns, streets like this were good examples of how one hundred years ago the workers had clawed their way up to own their own brick houses and small plots of land. A street like this was the daily bread in the past for stonemasons and carpenters, but it was apparent that it was a long time since they’d had much to do here. In a place otherwise called Flower Town in summer and Christmas Town in winter, there was neither much of a flower paradise nor a Christmas atmosphere to be found here on the worn-down backdrop of Jernbanegade.
    Through the crack in the door, Habersaat’s ex-wife could smell, much like a sniffer dog, the police badge in Carl’s pocket the very second she nudged it open.
    “Move your foot,” she snarled at Assad, when he tried to push the door open. “You’ve got no business here.”
    “Mrs. Habersaat, we . . .” attempted Carl.
    “Can’t you read? It says ‘Kofoed’ on the door.” She pointed demonstratively down to the nameplate and pushed the door once again. “There is no Habersaat here anymore.”
    “Mrs. . . . Kofoed,” said Rose quietly. “We’re here with bad news about Bjarke.”
    The subsequent five seconds were intolerably long. First her wavering look from one of the three petrified faces and on to the others. Then thesecond that reality kicked in to all the nerve systems and blocked them, followed by the realization that what was left unsaid was already too much, until finally a spark died in her eyes and her legs gave way from under her.
    Her unconsciousness didn’t last long but long enough that she had lost all sense of time and didn’t know why she lay stretched out on her sofa in the utmost of spartanly decorated living rooms. She was obviously still in the state of shock that had caused her to collapse.
    They looked around the living room. There wasn’t much to write home about. Unopened bills in the fruit bowl, piles of dusty Danish easy-listening CDs, furniture from discount stores, ugly ashtrays and vases in peeling ceramic. They let her lie there for a short while to come around, her stony eyes directed at the ceiling, while they went out to the kitchen where abnormally ugly tiles from the seventies sucked the light out of the room many Danes called the heart of the home. Even Carl could see that that description by no stretch of the imagination matched the owner’s ramshackle chaos of a room.
    “We can’t be hard on her, not in her state,” Rose whispered. “If we go gently, we can always come back tomorrow.”
    They both noticed that Assad didn’t seem to agree. “Come in here,” June shouted with a weak voice.
    “You started this, Carl, so I think it should be you who says it to her. And tell it like it is, okay?” said Rose.
    He was just about to point his finger at her but felt Assad’s hand on his arm. Then he walked in to the woman and looked her straight in the eye.
    “We’re here to inform you that your son is dead, June. But that’s not all, unfortunately. I’m sorry to have to tell you that he took his own life. At approximately four o’clock, according to the medical officer.”
    She sucked in her cheeks and sat a moment as though looking at herself in a mirror and trying to pull back the years from its merciless image of reality.
    “Four o’clock?” she whispered, stroking her arm up and down. “OhGod, that was just after I called and told him about his dad.” She tried to swallow a couple of times, held her throat, and then said no more.
    When they’d sat with her for half an hour, Carl nodded to Rose. She could let go of the woman’s hand now so that they could get going.
    They had only just made it through the living room before Assad started.
    “Would you mind if I asked