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

you something just before we go?” he said. “Why didn’t you go up to your son yourself and tell him about his dad, June? Did you really hate your husband so much that you never asked yourself if your son felt the same way? Did you think he wouldn’t care if his dad was dead or alive? I’d like to know.”
    Rose beat Carl to it in firmly grabbing Assad’s arm. What on earth did he think he was up to?
    Empathy wasn’t normally one of his weaker points.
    Trembling, June looked down at the floor, as if everything in her wanted to grab Assad’s throat and squeeze.
    “Why do you want to know that, you ugly ape?” she said with a muffled voice. “What’s that got to do with you? Was it your life that bastard Christian took from you? Take a look around, would you? Do you think this was what I said yes to when that once handsome man kneeled in front of me on the grass out in Almindingen forest?”
    Assad held his chin in his hand. Maybe to keep his mouth shut after her degrading tirade, maybe to show her that he was prepared to take the next round if it could help the case.
    “Are you going to answer or what?” spat out from her hateful face.
    Assad pulled free of Rose’s grip and stepped forward. Unusually for him, his voice was slightly shaky.
    “I’ve seen worse houses than this, June. And I’ve seen people who’d sacrifice their arm or leg for your ugly dilapidated roof over their heads and your bloody awful junk food in the fridge. I have, and I’ve known people who’d kill for your dress and the half pack of smokes lying there. But no, now that you ask: I don’t think it was what you dreamt of. But aren’t dreams something you have to fight for? As I see it, it isn’t onlyChristian Habersaat’s fault that you’re sitting here and your son is lying in the morgue. Something doesn’t add up in this story. For example, why did your son write
Sorry, Dad
in his little suicide note? Why doesn’t he say sorry to you instead?”
    This time it was Carl who grabbed Assad’s sleeve. “What the hell’s gotten into you, Assad? Come on, we’re going.”
    June raised her arm toward them as she hoisted herself up from where she was lying. It wasn’t just that the information about the suicide note shocked her, but they could see that she also refused to believe it. That it was absurd. That it belonged to another world than hers.
    “It isn’t true what you’re saying, you evil liar,” she said with clenched fists. “It isn’t true.”
    Rose nodded affirmatively that it was, as Carl pulled Assad out with him.
    When the group had reached the van on the other side of the road, Carl and Rose turned quizzically toward Assad.
    “Is there something going on inside you that you ought to tell us about, Assad?” Carl asked. “This must be striking a chord or why on earth would you pull a stunt like that in there? What good did it do?”
    “Clown!” was Rose’s only comment. Surprisingly concise.
    A thud came from behind as June banged the gate wide open.
    “Now I’ll answer you, you little shit!” she shouted as she crossed the road.
    “Bjarke had nothing to say sorry to me for, just so you know,” she spat out at Assad.
    She turned to Carl and Rose. The tears streamed from her but the face was stone-cold. “We had a good life without Christian. How should I know why Bjarke would write that? He’s just a bit complicated.” She stopped, realizing her slip of the tongue. “Was complicated,” she corrected herself, her lips beginning to tremble.
    Then she grabbed Rose’s arm. “Do you know the story about Alberte?”
    Rose nodded.
    She looked surprised and let go of her grip. “Well, good. Then there’s no more to say.” She dried her eyes on the back of her sleeve. “Myhusband was obsessed with her. Ever since the day he found her body, he no longer existed in our world. He became loathsome, spiteful, and creepy. He disgusted me. Have you heard what you came for now?”
    She turned to Assad.