The Hanging Girl

by Jussi Adler-Olsen

  “What does it mean, what he just did?” whispered Carl.

  “He’s proposed to her.”

  “Look at his shoulders,” said Assad.

  Carl squinted his eyes. The tattoos on his bare shoulders weren’t big but they were big enough. On one shoulder there was a tattoo of a sun, and on the other the word RIVER. The story was coming together now.

  The woman on the podium turned to face the assembly, who began to rock back and forth in small rhythmic movements while chanting in unison. “Horus, Horus, Horus,” they chanted endlessly, and almost just as irritatingly as when a flock of orange-clad Hare Krishna followers went down the Strøget pedestrian area in Copenhagen chanting at full volume.

  A whole spectrum of feelings came over the woman’s face while she stood there, shivering, accepting the disciples’ praise. Ever so slowly, her smile grew wider and wider and her expression more and more open. She had obviously been taken aback with the fulfillment of that one thing she desired most in the world.

  And then she looked up and saw Carl and Assad.

  From ecstatic happiness her eyes changed through all the alarming phases of expression that Carl had seen time after time in difficult circumstances in his professional life. Like when an accused, certain of being pronounced innocent, is handed a severe custodial sentence. Like when someone receives the worst imaginable news. Or when someone who loves passionately suddenly realizes their love isn’t reciprocated.

  The mere sight of the two men on the balcony caused the pain to tear right through her. All the pleasure and bliss she’d just received was taken from her in an instant.

  Carl frowned. He interpreted the situation as an explicit signal that the woman down there saw them as the enemy, that she knew who they were, what they represented, and why they’d come.

  But how could she know? And was she really so involved in what happened back then that she knew the possible consequences if Atu, alias Frank, was found guilty?

  They had heard of a woman who’d followed Atu for many years. Now Carl was fairly certain that it was her and that she knew what had happened.

  * * *

  After ten minutes they were led out because now the time had come when Atu concentrated on a special chosen few from the assembly. The end of his performance had been a display of demagogy, just like that used by politicians when they needed to convince people that their understanding of the world was so much better than others’. This seductive aspect of Atu was seemingly given with good intent, but you never knew what it could develop into. History had provided so many horrible examples of how it could go really wrong if a person like that was willing to do anything to uphold their point of view.

  But it made sense that he appeared this way. Maybe Alberte had been someone who got in the way of his project. Had she suddenly become an obstacle that needed to be removed?

  It was always about finding the motive. If only he knew that, their attack could be much more direct and effective.

  In any case, Carl had now formed an opinion about what kind of person Atu was, and that it could very well be him they’d come to stop because of an unforgivable deed in the distant past.

  * * *

  “If you’ll wait here, Pirjo will come and see to you.” Nisiqtu nodded. “Yes, she’s the one Atu just proposed to.”

  She showed them to an office with several doors and a handsome view out over both the water and the courtyard. A sun worship business certainly wasn’t a bad line to be in, not if you compared this view with the one Carl had down in the cellar of Police Headquarters.

  “I don’t feel comfortable with that Pirjo,” said Assad spontaneously when they were alone.

  “What do you mean?”

  “She looks like the sort who can run rings around people and cause harm, didn’t you feel it?”

  “Maybe not quite that.”

  “I’ve seen strong women in my time who’ve caused worlds to collapse, Carl. I just want you to know.”

  They both stood up when the woman they were talking about entered the room. She’d removed the cape, just like the state of ethereal, stoic calm and sublimity she’d just been in.

  She shook their hands, addressing them in a Swedish that almost made Assad dizzy.

  “May we offer our congratulations,” said Carl.

  She thanked them and asked them to take a seat.

  “To what do we owe the honor of this visit? Nisiqtu from reception tells me you’re policemen from Copenhagen,” she said.

  Carl thought that the bitch had known that right from the start. Nothing about this woman could soften his impression of her after the look she’d given him.

  “We’ve come to talk with Atu.”

  “About what, I wonder? Atu is a very solitary person, living most of his life here at the center, so what could he have to talk about with the police?”

  “I’m afraid that’s a matter between Atu and us, if you don’t mind.”

  “As you saw earlier, he’s a very open person and as such is also very vulnerable. We can’t have him coming to any unnecessary harm. It would impact the whole spirit of the center.”

  “Did you also live at Ølene on Bornholm?” asked Assad directly. Definitely not according to the plan.

  She looked at him as if he’d splashed water on her. Irritated and intimidated.

  “Listen here, I don’t know what your business is. If you want me to answer questions, then I should also have the right to ask some.”

  Carl threw his hands out to the side. She could try. The cat was out of the bag now anyway.

  “I’d like to see your ID.”

  They showed them to her.

  “What are you investigating that concerns Atu?”

  “An accident on Bornholm.”

  “An accident?” She looked skeptically at Carl. “You don’t investigate accidents. You investigate acts of crime. So what’s your business?”

  “Sometimes you have to investigate accidents in order to rule out crime. I suppose that’s what we’re doing now.”

  “I think you’re too far from home to be running around after something insignificant. So what type of accident are we talking about?”

  Carl scratched his chin. This was a strange development. Was it really possible that she actually didn’t know anything? Had he so misjudged the way she’d looked?

  He tried to gauge Assad’s mood. He also seemed unsure just now.

  “We’re investigating a hit-and-run case where the victim was a person who we believe that Atu, or rather Frank Brennan, as he was known then, was acquainted with.”

  “Acquainted with? In what way?”

  Her chest was heaving now, so she was tense. Did she think they wouldn’t notice?

  “It isn’t pleasant to have to say it today of all days, when he’s declared his desire to share his life with you, but it was a romantic relationship, we can say that much, can’t we, Assad?”

  Curly nodded. Like a cat keeping an eye on the mouse about to pop its head out of its hole, he watched this woman’s movements down to the smallest element. Carl was certain that afterward he’d be able to recall the whole course of events and every last detail of her behavior.

  Carl decided to try the charm offensive. “Believe us, we’ve come here to . . . what was the name on the sign? Yes, Ebabbar. What does that mean, by the way?”

  She was ice-cold. “House of the Rising Sun.”

  Of course it was so pretentious. Carl nodded and continued with a subdued smile. ”. . . here to Ebabbar after a rather long search for Atu. I have to stress that we’ve only been looking for him as a matter of routine. We’ve got a lot of other leads to follow in this case, but the temptation to take a trip to this beautiful place was honestly just too great,” he said.

  Carl thought that the temptation to kick her out was just as strong, so they could
be left in peace and quiet to wait for Atu alone. The questioning that lay in front of them would hopefully be quick, successful, and result in Atu’s arrest, which would be guaranteed to leave the woman here angry. Like a lioness, she would protect her mate, so they just needed to get her out of the way first.

  “You need to understand that our work has many aspects. You could say that we’re experts in distinguishing between secrets and what just remains unsaid. Because those things don’t necessarily need to be the same thing, do they?”

  She smiled drolly at them. Carl didn’t like it. He felt as if she’d seen right through him.

  “So what are we searching for, the secret or the unsaid?” she asked. “Can you also differentiate here?”

  “Yes, we think so, but we need more information. So I’d like to ask if we can have a little look around Atu’s rooms while we’re waiting,” Assad threw in.

  Where on earth was he going with this?

  “No, of course you can’t. Not even I have that sort of access without his express authority and consent.”

  “No, I thought as much,” said Assad. “Incidentally, are you often visited by the Swedish authorities out here?”

  She frowned. “I don’t really follow where you’re going with that sort of idiotic and irrelevant question.”

  “Right, but I can tell you that maybe Atu is hiding something from you and the Swedish authorities, something you can’t even imagine, precisely because he is as he is. It could be so many things: tax evasion, abusing the women at the center, being in possession of stolen goods. You never know what goes on in a place like this before you’ve checked, do you?”

  Something was going on behind the look she was throwing them, and he couldn’t work out where it might lead. Normally, a person would flare up at such an outrageous attack like the one Assad was carrying out just now, regardless of whether or not they were guilty. But she just sat there and observed them, as if they were worth less than the dirt on her shoe. She appeared completely indifferent.

  “Just a moment,” she said and got up, opened the door out to the corridor, and disappeared.

  “What are you up to, Assad? You’re right off with that tactic,” whispered Carl.

  “I don’t think so. I’m trying to stress her out. She’s as cold as ice. I’m thinking that if she’s like that, Atu probably is, too. So we’ll be driving home in an hour without a step to stand on, and what then?” he whispered back. “You’ve said it before, Carl. We don’t have anything to go on. No concrete evidence or witnesses. We need to stress her out and probably Atu, too, if he even . . .”

  Carl only registered the shadow when he saw it swing a heavy rubber mallet toward Assad’s head.

  He was about to jump, but didn’t make it before the next swing hit him.

  He momentarily managed to catch a glimpse of her bending over him to pick something up.

  When she lifted the small wooden figure, which he’d had in his pocket, up to her face, everything went black.

  49

  Pirjo was shaking all over.

  She knew it was the most stupid thing she’d ever done. She’d overreacted and painted herself into a corner. Yet she still couldn’t reproach herself.

  Behind the door to the room with the electrical control system lay two unconscious men who’d just spoiled the most precious moment in her life. Ever. Two blasphemers who’d trespassed on holy ground at a moment that would shape her future life. Maybe the one extreme attracted the other. All her life she’d dreamt of a future like this, and now that it was within reach she wouldn’t let them get in the way.

  But what should she do? They weren’t just anybody. Not vulnerable or naive women who could suddenly disappear. They were policemen in the middle of an investigation, which she knew neither the extent of nor who’d been involved. This was information she simply needed to get hold of before she could assess the danger and how she should react going forward.

  One thing was certain: They had to be stopped. The question was how.

  She noticed dark red blotches spreading treacherously on her forearms, and how they began to itch.

  It was the mixture of adrenaline and frustration; she knew it all too well.

  In an hour Atu would be finished with his coaching and come in to her, expecting embraces and ill-concealed happiness.

  In an hour.

  Pirjo’s head was full of what she had to find out and what she had to do: She had to force them to tell her what was lying in wait after them; how many she should expect and who they were; what they knew and how many people they’d told; and she needed to make it look like an accident—an accident that might well make you wonder, but not doubt.

  She looked at the door leading to the control room. Now and again she felt stomach cramps, and the men were big and strong, so how could she neutralize them with such a disparity in strength. In better circumstances, the most logical thing to do would be to kill them with a tool that was heavier than a rubber mallet. The wrench lying on the floor in there, for example. But a blow like that would be deeper, and subsequently analyzed as having been inflicted by a third party, so that wouldn’t do.

  “If only they hadn’t been so insistent,” she snarled in frustration. They’d gone at her too hard. It wasn’t how these things were supposed to happen. She’d expected questions and answers that she’d have been able to shoot down with ease. There were so very many ways you could get around that sort of thing, especially when the case was so old, but not when they were so aggressive.

  Actually, she felt certain that the dark one would have taken it to extremes that a civilized police force couldn’t stomach. And she was equally certain that the two men would’ve softened up Atu in a confrontation. If they’d been successful in that, the whole truth would’ve come out and everything would’ve been lost on this otherwise miraculous day.

  She looked at the wooden figure that’d fallen out of the Danish policeman’s pocket, and frowned. Someone or other had carved a wooden figure many years ago of the man who’d just proposed to her. The likeness was uncanny.

  Pirjo wondered how these policemen had come to be in possession of it, and why one of them had it in his pocket. Was that their tactic? To slam the figure down on the table in front of Atu, like a bolt from the blue, in the hope that it would shock him and knock him off-balance?

  She imagined the type of questions they’d ask. Do you deny that the figure is carved in your likeness? Do you deny all knowledge of someone who has seen you so clearly and at such close quarters?

  They’d try to soften him up with that figure, and it might work.

  Pirjo had no doubt who the artist was. It was that bitch Alberte who used to plague Atu. It was her special form of voodoo doll, intended to bewitch him and keep him trapped in a net of stipulations and demands from which he couldn’t escape.

  Yes, she was certain that this was her doing, so it was good they’d managed to break the curse and get rid of her. There was no knowing what might have happened otherwise.

  And the more she thought back to the time when it had happened, the more she hated the people that had brought back the memory of Alberte.

  She clenched the figure in her hand and was about to slam it on the floor, but looked closer at the finely carved face and the beautiful mouth. It was almost like bringing back Frank as a young man, and that moved her. So simple and straightforward everything had been back then.

  And yet so complicated that everything had gone wrong.

  All because of Alberte.

  She put the figure to her cheek, moved it a little, and kissed the lips in memory of lost days of innocence.

  Then she heard a noise from the corridor behind her and put the figure down on the table. It was one of the two men out there, moaning.

  In the following seconds she made some radical decisions and acted accordingly. When she stood in the cont
rol room she saw that both men were still lying spread out on the floor, and that the immigrant was trying to lift his head a little. She’d need to deal with him first.

  She rolled the cylinder with non-insulated cable forward, pulled the man’s shirtsleeves down to the heels of his hands, and wound the cable around his arms at least ten times so they were tightly bound together. She then pulled him up to the bench and tied him securely. First around his ankles, then his thighs around the bench, and after that she bound his body tightly to a pair of old butcher’s hooks on the wall. When she was finished with him, she did exactly the same with the other man. He wasn’t much heavier than the immigrant, despite the difference in size, but he was completely limp, so it wasn’t easy, not least because Pirjo was feeling sick. So she stood for a moment and recovered herself until her stomach didn’t feel so strange.

  Then she tied their bodies together with the cable and took a step back to scrutinize her work.

  She went over the scenario in her head, wondering if she’d done anything wrong or overlooked any details.

  It might be possible to trace the men via their cell phone signal, but the cells had probably been confiscated and turned off in reception. And then there was the car she’d seen pass by. It was probably parked some distance down the road, but it couldn’t stay there; it was too close.

  She fished out the car keys from the pocket of the larger of the two men, checking again to see if everything was as it should be. They were securely bound together, and nobody came in this room except her. The electrician wasn’t expected back for a few days, so that gave her enough time. Next, there was Nisiqtu, who’d welcomed them, but then hadn’t it been Pirjo herself who’d given her the name “the appreciated”?

  Yes, she’d definitely believe Pirjo when she claimed that the men had caused the accident themselves.

  Now the immigrant was seriously starting to come round, so there was no time to waste. She judged the distance up to the junction box and cut two pieces of cable in lengths of three meters, winding one around the base of the immigrant’s thumb and the other around the policeman’s left ankle.