Three Dog Night by Elsebeth Egholm Read Free Book Online Page A

station. In any case, TV and newspaper journalists would turn up at some point. They needed to agree a press strategy, but perhaps Anna hadn’t even thought about it.
    His mobile rang as he followed the green diving truck. He could tell from the display it was his mother and felt no desire to reply. When he did so, despite his better judgement, he regretted it immediately.
    â€˜You’ve moved back to GrenÃ¥, and yet we hardly ever see you.’
    He could have told her it was precisely because of reproaches like that he rarely visited them. But he had no time to reply before she moved on: ‘I hope you haven’t missed any of your check-ups?’
    He would rather be investigating the death of a woman and losing himself in a good case than confronting reminders of his own mortality. He gritted his teeth and replied as amicably as he could that he was at work right now and besides he didn’t have his headset on. A man had been found dead at the foot of the cliff and they were searching the marina for a young woman.
    â€˜Poor Nina.’
    â€˜Don’t tell me you know her?’
    His mother tut-tutted down the telephone.
    â€˜You forget this is a small town. She was in the same year as your cousin.’
    â€˜She went to school with Sanne?’
    He didn’t know his cousin very well.
    â€˜Sanne’s been here lots of times with Nina.’
    â€˜We’re on our way to GrenÃ¥. If you’re at home, I’ll stop by in a while, OK?’
    Of course she was at home. Where else would she be? The roles were clearly defined in his parents’ marriage. His father was first officer on the Grenå–Varberg ferry. His mother had always been at home with their two children and, when money was tight, had worked part-time as a dentist’s secretary. They were his parents and he loved them. He also loved living at some distance from them and not having to conform to their expectations of an older son. Not even the events of recent years had caused them to lessen their demands.
    He drove through the town to the residential area in the hills feeling that his life had come full circle and he was now back where it had started, and furthermore that he hadn’t made any progress. He drove past the school where he and his brother Martin used to go; he passed houses where his friends used to live; streets he used to cycle up and down and where he played; fields where he and his friends had played football. Familiar and yet so alien. The prodigal son had returned. In a film this would be the end and the credits would start rolling. In real life things were very different.
    â€˜She’s a pretty girl,’ his mother said, putting the cups on the table. ‘She and Sanne were very close when they were twelve or thirteen. Nice parents. In those days, they lived over in Myntevej.’
    â€˜Do you remember if she had any brothers or sisters?’
    â€˜A younger sister, I think.’
    â€˜Happy New Year, Mum.’
    He raised his coffee cup. She angled her head.
    â€˜Did you have a nice evening? We tried calling you at midnight.’
    â€˜A very nice evening. I was out.’
    He drank his coffee, recalled the taste of bought sex and took another sip to get rid of it.
    â€˜I hope you’re not drinking too much?’
    â€˜No.’
    He had cruised the town with the world’s biggest erection. He hadn’t been drinking but knew that he had to take things to the limit and then collapse, knowing he was still a human being. A man.
    The girl had been standing on a street corner near the harbour with a couple of colleagues, clearly on the game, even in the cold. Though these days you needed a trained eye to tell the difference between the pros and the tarted-up young women going to New Year’s Eve parties in sub-zero temperatures wearing high heels, short Puffa jackets and buttock-short dresses. He had stopped his car and opened the door, and she had jumped in