The Hanging Girl

by Jussi Adler-Olsen

  Carl grabbed the wheelchair joystick, and turned the chair so they were face-to-face. “It’s Terje Ploug’s case, Hardy. It has been opened, you saw that yourself.”

  “I think your priorities are strange, Carl, and I don’t like it. Why should a case about a girl who was killed by a car almost twenty years ago prevent you from working a bit on our case? Is it because you’re scared of what might come to light?” He raised his eyes to meet Carl’s. “Are you scared of the consequences, Carl, is that it? I saw you on TV, you didn’t give a damn. You could hardly be bothered to look at the pistol we were shot down with. Why, Carl?”

  “It might sound a bit harsh, Hardy, but you’re physically paralyzed, and I’m mentally paralyzed. I just can’t cope with that case. Not now, at any rate.”

  Hardy looked away.

  They sat like that for a couple of minutes until Carl gave up trying to get anywhere with Hardy—or with himself for that matter. It just wasn’t one of those days.

  He got up and sighed. Maybe Hardy was right. Maybe he should leave the Alberte case to Assad and Rose, and join Terje Ploug’s team, if they’d have him.

  He poured himself a drink in the kitchen, and hung his jacket over the back of a chair. When he sat down, something was poking him in the back. He reached back to fish the object out of the pocket.

  It was the small wooden figure he’d found on Habersaat’s coffee table. The wooden figure that, according to Uncle Sam, Bjarke had carved.

  The more he looked at it, the more he realized that it probably wasn’t a coincidence that it’d been there on the table.

  In fact, the more he turned it, and looked at it up close, the more convinced he became that the figure had a lot of features in common with the man they were trying to find.

  This Frank, who some people called the Scot.

  43

  “Thanks! Thanks, Simon, it was nice of you to let me know. But no, I’ve got no idea why the police want to talk to Atu or why it’s so important that they’re calling for witnesses on TV. Are you completely sure it was him you saw in the photo?” She held a hand against her chest but could hardly breathe.

  “Yes, Pirjo. The policeman who also came here to the garden center put it right up to the camera. In fact, I recognized Atu and the VW Kombi.”

  The car. Oh God, that too!

  “He gave quite a good description of Atu. Has he still got that light stain on his front tooth?”

  “No, he had that removed years ago.”

  “Anyway, now you’re warned. I hope it’s nothing serious. I can assure you they won’t get anything out of me. I owe you that.”

  “Thanks, Simon.”

  She slowly put the receiver back. So, they were on their tail, but how far had they come? Could they be here any minute, knocking on the door?

  Pirjo told herself to get a grip, she had nothing to fear. How much could the cops really have?

  She went over it in her mind. What could they prove? After all, there was nothing to prove, and that was it. Maybe they knew that the girl had had an affair with Frank, but so what? That wasn’t illegal. They’d stayed at Ølene for a couple of months, and then they’d left. There was no connection there.

  Pirjo looked over at Atu’s door. Should she tell him, or was it better not to? If she wanted them to be in this together, now was probably the time.

  She shook her head. Why confront him with it? Why disturb his peace now that everything was working out so well? They’d never talked about it, so why now? If he was able to manage his own business, Pirjo could manage hers, too.

  The child growing inside her was what mattered most. The child that would be born to greatness and adoration. Nothing must stand in its way, neither the police nor Shirley. Once the police arrived, things might soon be said that would raise suspicion.

  She looked out of the window. Right now, the area was quiet, the hour of meditation still under way. But in ten minutes, everyone would gather in the assembly hall to receive Atu’s weekly briefing. She’d speak to the assembly about Malena, Valentina, and Shirley. She’d give them the same explanation about Malena as she’d given Valentina, and she’d make them all express how pleased they were that she was safe and well. After that, she’d bring them greetings from Valentina, telling them that she was in Copenhagen Airport, and that the day after, she’d be pulling the strings in their office in Barcelona. She’d say that the office had suddenly been unstaffed, and that they’d decided to give her the opportunity if she was willing to leave straightaway.

  She’d tell them that there would be many tasks like that in the future as the teachings of nature absorption gained currency. She’d tell them that Atu’s tenets were being translated into Italian as she spoke, and that they’d probably be opening an office in Assisi or Ancona, because that was close to Croatia, which was one of their potential target countries.

  * * *

  The assembled disciples were smiling, and the atmosphere was good.

  With the sun shining outside, Pirjo stuck out her pregnant belly while she spoke to the disciples. Tomatoes had been harvested in the greenhouse, and Atu’s lesson had been absolutely wonderful. The impetus for his teachings to reach the rest of the world was everyone’s success, confirming that their life choice had been timely and right.

  Pirjo smiled at Atu, who was listening silently on his podium. They hadn’t discussed Valentina’s task, the Italian translation, or the location of a possible new recruiting office by the Adriatic Sea, but that wasn’t necessary. Pirjo was the entrepreneur, and he was the spirit hovering above it all. He seemed pleased with what he’d just heard.

  “We’ve been given an opportunity to bring peace to the world with our teachings,” he often said. “All religions will merge into one, and humanity will concentrate on working for one another, at one with nature and its whims and blessings.”

  The sooner she sent disciples out into the world, the more consolidated Atu’s position would become, and that would also benefit her and the child, which was kicking a bit too eagerly inside her as she was speaking.

  “I also bring greetings from Shirley,” she said quietly, seeking a few faces of people she’d seen in Shirley’s company.

  “Shirley left us yesterday when I made it clear that unfortunately we can’t accept her as a permanent member of our family.”

  There was a stir among the listeners. Maybe they were more puzzled than was good. Maybe they wanted to ask questions, but she wouldn’t give them the chance.

  “Shirley is a wonderful, warm, and unique person, and we’ll miss her a lot. Yesterday, I asked her a series of questions, and presented her with a number of possible future tasks that would allow us to make up our minds about her future here. To my great surprise, it became clear during the interview that Shirley had a very specific plan. She’d developed an intense desire to take over functions that some of you are in charge of, believing herself to be more capable of performing them. During the interview, she turned out very surprisingly to be an exponent for ambition and selfishness, which doesn’t harmonize with our ethos here. So I gave her the opportunity to go through a period of purification, which she rejected while also becoming increasingly angry. Maybe some of you heard her shouting in my office about it. At one point, I was about to call for help because she got so carried away that she threatened to hit me, but I managed to calm her down, convincing her to immediately pack her belongings and go home. I paid back part of her course fee; otherwise I don’t think the situation would have been resolved so easily.”

  She looked out over the assembly, who all seemed appropriately shocked.

  “I really wanted her to say good-bye to those of you she meditated with in a nice and orderly fashion, and in the spirit of the Nature Absorption Academy, but she was far too uncompromising and just wanted to leave. She didn’t even want a ride to the mainland, that’s how angry she was. Well, apparently t
hat’s how she felt.”

  “We should appreciate Pirjo’s dedication,” sounded a voice from behind her. It was Atu, now standing. “And we should appreciate her courage.”

  He stepped over to her, and put his hand on her waist. “We have a lot to thank you for, Pirjo,” he said, and turned to face the group. “If anyone has any questions about Shirley’s choice and new path, let’s hear them.”

  But nobody said anything.

  * * *

  For some time, Pirjo stood in front of the new timber circle, watching the men working, with all her senses alert. The distance from here down to the house where Shirley was locked up for the second day was several hundred meters. She told herself again that it was remote enough. In order for any sound to escape through the walls of the house and reach the timber circle, Shirley would need at least a foghorn. And as long as these men stayed near their work site, there’d never be any risk. But one of them had just left in the direction of the house to relieve himself, and if he did it, others might do it, too.

  In other words, a silly coincidence could end up resulting in a keen ear hearing a desperate voice screaming for help, and she couldn’t allow that. According to her estimate, it would be at least four to five days before Shirley was so fatigued that the shouts would no longer have any considerable effect. And at least twenty days before she died. That was a long time. Far too long, she knew that now.

  She clapped her hands, and the workmen’s flexed muscles relaxed. They all looked at her.

  “I have a new project for you, which means that you’ll have to suspend work on this for a week. We’re going over to the other side of the center, because it’s my plan that we should all have bikes, so we can send people out to do missionary work on the island. There’ll be great advantages to creating a closer connection with the local inhabitants, and I’ve already ordered the bikes. The materials will be delivered early in the morning, and then we’ll start building bike sheds.” She looked at them questioningly. “What do you say? Does that sound okay?”

  She sent them a big smile, which helped.

  With one hand on her stomach, she walked slowly through the long grass toward the house where Shirley would die. She’d considered speeding up the process by poisoning her. She’d also considered the possibility of knocking her unconscious, and then slitting her wrists. But then what if the body was found by some freak accident before she managed to get rid of it? Or what if Shirley had left incriminating messages somewhere in the house where Pirjo would overlook them? There was always a risk, and that was her main concern.

  Shirley’s weight was another worry. Even if she starved to death, she’d definitely still be a large woman, and Pirjo would have to drag the body a considerable distance to hide it properly. How would she manage in her state, and when could she do it so that no one would notice?

  The plan was that Shirley would never be found alive, and that Pirjo couldn’t be connected with her death. That was why her initial thought had been to wait until Shirley starved to death, and then kick the door in and put the key in Shirley’s hand, so it would look like she’d committed suicide by not eating and drinking.

  The only problem was that it took such a long time. That was why she went down to the house again. Not to kill Shirley, but to turn off the water.

  As far as she remembered, there was a water main behind the house, and if she turned that off, it would have two positive long-term effects. First, it would mean a quicker death for Shirley. Second, it would give Pirjo better odds if she opted for plan B.

  Without water, Shirley wouldn’t be able to put out or douse the fire if the house was suddenly burning, and maybe that was the best way to end things. A few drops of surgical spirit and a match when everyone else was away from the center. Only a question of timing.

  Neither the police nor people at the academy would find any leads pointing to her.

  All to protect what they had built.

  44

  Tuesday, May 13th, 2014

  “What on earth happened to you, Gordon? Did you have an accident on your bike?”

  Gordon automatically held a hand to his battered face. It looked like a complete massacre, a veritable orgy of colors. If his right eyelid swelled up any more, they’d be in danger of an explosion.

  “No!” His good eye looked apologetically at Carl. “I’ve been in a fight,” he said, not sounding proud.

  “You?” Carl inspected his skinny upper arms, hunched back, and hollow chest. One punch to the guy’s stomach and that fight would be over. “How in the world did that happen?”

  “It began when the other guy hit back.”

  Carl tried to smile at the old joke. Was the man being serious?

  “The fact of the matter is that yesterday after work, I walked past Byens Bodega in Niels Brocks Gade. There were a lot of Danish flags outside, and a couple of our colleagues were hanging out around the tables, so I asked if it was anyone’s birthday.”

  “Fairly harmless, you could say.”

  “Yes, but only until they began to slag you off and make fun of Department Q. They said you were a prick, and that your conduct on TV was a disgrace for HQ, and that they could understand why you didn’t want to talk about the nail-gun case, considering what a coward you’d been seven years ago.”

  Bull’s-eye.

  “What did you do then?” sounded Rose’s voice from the door. She had her arms crossed. Her entire attitude was too relaxed, so you could only assume she’d had it off with some guy last night or had something else up her sleeve.

  “Well, then I punched the man in the nose, what else could I do? It was goddamn my department and my boss he was talking about.”

  “I’ll be . . .” Carl looked at Rose. She also had a cheeky smile on her face.

  Gordon had entered the world of men.

  * * *

  As predicted, Rose had something up her sleeve: four sketches made by Alberte’s rather talented hand, as she put it.

  “I’ve also received a copy of the list of all the drawings that should have been part of the folk school exhibition that was cancelled due to Alberte’s death. The students gave their works numbers and names. You’ll find Alberte’s numbered twenty-three to twenty-six.”

  Carl skimmed the page. There were a lot of drawings with titles like Rocks on the East Coast, Sunshine on Gudhjem, and Mist in Almindingen.

  “Okay,” said Carl, stressing the second syllable, when he read the titles of Alberte’s drawings. He could understand why Rose was squinting.

  “Pretty erotic titles, if you ask me,” he said, picturing her parents. It must’ve come as a shock for them.

  “They’re erotic drawings, too,” said Rose, placing the pile in front of him.

  The one on top, titled Gentle Touch of Skin, showed a close-up of a tip of a tongue just touching a nipple.

  “I think it’s a man’s nipple,” said Rose, pointing out a few curly hairs around it.

  “Well, well. That’s not an entirely innocent situation for a young, Jewish virgin of nineteen.” He picked up the next drawing. “And neither is the next one, I’ll say.” It was another close-up. Two pairs of lips slightly parted, kissing with spit trickling from the corners. The title was Surrender.

  “There’s no doubt she was in a phase when she was being stimulated by something or other,” he said, pulling out a third drawing. This time, the motif was a nude woman looking intensely at the viewer with a sketchbook in one hand and a pencil in the other.

  “Could that be Alberte looking at herself in the mirror?” he suggested. It was extremely detailed, enough to take his breath away.

  “If that had been hung up as part of the exhibition, she would’ve been lynched by all the other women at the school,” he continued. He could really understand why Kristoffer Dalby, the groundskeeper, and all the others had followed her so attentively.

&nbs
p; “Well, who’s to say that wasn’t what happened?” said Rose.

  Carl gauged her expression. You never quite knew when she was being serious.

  “The last drawing is the one that’s going to stick in your mind,” she said, pulling it out.

  Carl held his breath, and it wasn’t because it was almost identical to the drawing of the nude Alberte in front of the mirror, but because this time a man’s face had been drawn behind her. By far the most detailed image they’d seen of Frank.

  Carl turned to look at the photocopy on the wall. Finally they had a close-up of that face.

  “The drawing is called Future, Carl. Notice Alberte’s face.”

  It was true, there was a difference. The face looked gentler than in the drawing before, but the situation was also different.

  “I wonder if she drew the first ones before she met this Frank.”

  Rose nodded. “Yes. Here, in the fourth drawing, her expression looks kind of satisfied, and the one who has satisfied her is her chosen one, standing behind her. She seems strangely settled for someone that young.”

  “Exactly. As if she’s already prepared to commit to the man.”

  “Of course, we have to take into account the possibility that she could’ve drawn his face from memory, so we can’t be a hundred percent sure what he really looked like,” she said.

  “Very possible. It could also be that she drew herself in front of the mirror, adding him as a life drawing. In principle, she could’ve done that on any of their dates. In which case, I assume it looks like him.”

  They both looked at the photo of Alberte on Carl’s notice board. The resemblance between photo and drawings left no doubt she was talented.

  “No matter what, I think we have a really good image of that man,” concluded Rose. “I just don’t understand why he allowed her to do it. Do you think he knew it was going to be part of the exhibition?”

  Carl shrugged. “There’s still the possibility he never saw it.”