The Hanging Girl

by Jussi Adler-Olsen

  “Out of it all?”

  “Yes, she’d cut one of her wrists with a pair of scissors. She also claimed to be Vicky, our other sister. She said she’d been hypnotized to believe she was Rose, but that she didn’t want to be her because she was a bad girl. That the hypnosis had gone too deep. She said he told her that he couldn’t help her because she was a cup that was already full.”

  “That’s awful.” Carl looked at Assad, who was standing shaking his head.

  This couldn’t be true.

  “She’s been admitted to Nordvang Hospital, so you shouldn’t expect her anytime soon, if she ever comes back.”

  It was Assad’s idea that they should drive down to Aakirkeby and order flowers for Rose and have them sent by Floragram. Then they could buy a bunch to put by Alberte’s tree at the same time.

  “You are aware that we can take the same route to the tree that June Habersaat took?” said Assad, when they were finished in town.

  “Yes, I’m well aware of that,” answered Carl. “But this time we won’t drive quite like last time, okay? I don’t think this car is up for it either.”

  Assad sent him a grateful smile.

  * * *

  They stood for a long time watching the branches and the tree and the small bunch of flowers at the bottom of the trunk. The first time they’d stood in front of this tree, the leaves had barely come out. Now they were already dark green.

  “I hope that her parents can finally find some peace,” said Carl.

  Assad didn’t comment. He probably doubted it.

  They bowed their heads for a moment out of respect for the far too beautiful and naive young woman who never had the life she dreamt of. And then they drove off.

  They were speaking about Rose and what they could do for her, when the folk high school suddenly appeared on their right-hand side.

  “Stop the car, Carl,” said Assad when they reached it.

  He jumped out, crossing the road toward the boulder with the school name engraved on it.

  “Are you going to give me a hand?” he shouted after he’d pushed a couple of stones aside that surrounded the base of the boulder.

  Carl only just reached him when Assad rolled a dark stone to one side, which was covering a small hole.

  “Here it is!” he said triumphantly. “This is where they exchanged messages, Carl. Where June Habersaat left the false note.”

  Carl nodded and bent down. It was seventeen years ago, and yet the little hole was still there. He scratched down in the earth in the hole. It was strange to think.

  Then the tip of his finger touched something smooth. Was it plastic or just a small stone? He took his pen from his breast pocket and poked it down in the earth, jostling the object free. It was a small clear plastic pocket of the type often used for stamps or recipes. The plastic was totally opaque after so many years in the ground. Strange that it hadn’t been covered more.

  “There’s something inside,” said Assad.

  He was right. Carl opened it carefully, pulling out a small piece of folded paper. It was in reasonable condition, although the paper had yellowed and become damp.

  Carl unfolded the piece of paper and held it so they could both read it.

  Dear Alberte, it began.

  Forget what I said yesterday. I really want to see you again when you get back to Zealand from the school. My number at the commune is 439032**

  It was no longer possible to read the last two numbers. But the writing underneath was clear enough:

  Until next time. I love you boundlessly.

  Frank

  Assad and Carl looked at each other. Frank must have left the message on the same morning Alberte had cycled out to meet her terrible fate.

  Assad held his bad hand while Carl put his hand to his neck.

  If only he’d left his declaration of love a few minutes before, none of this would ever have happened.

  Carl sighed, but felt a little pat on his shoulder.

  He looked into a pair of bright brown eyes, framed by smile lines.

  At least they were together in sharing this awful knowledge.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thanks to my wife and soul mate, Hanne, for endless encouragement during the long process of writing the Department Q project. Thanks to Henning Kure for pre-editing, research into sun cults, and bright ideas. Thanks to Elisabeth Ahlefeldt-Laurvig for research and resourcefulness. Also thanks to Eddie Kiran, Hanne Petersen, Micha Shmalstieg, and Karlo Andersen for alert and competent reading, and in particular to my editor Anne C. Andersen for our amazing partnership.

  Thanks to Lene Juul and Charlotte Weiss at Politikens Forlag for great patience. Thanks to Helle Skov Wacher for informing readers with ongoing information. Thanks for lodging during the writing process to Gitte and Peter Q. Rannes, and to the Danish Centre for Writers and Translators at Hald. Thanks to Søren Pilmark for a great stay on Bornholm. Thanks to Elisabeth Ahlefeldt-Laurvig for my own and Henning Kure’s think tank stay at Tempelkrogen.

  Thanks to Police Superintendent Leif Christensen for police-related corrections. Thanks to Carl Mørck’s colleagues at the police station in Rønne for a wonderful welcome and briefing on the police work on Bornholm: Police Commissioner Peter Møller Nielsen, District Attorney Martin Gravesen, Detective Jan Kragbæk, and Police Chief Inspector Morten Brandborg, as well as the competent people on duty.

  Thanks to Svend Aage Knudsen in Østerlars Round Church. Thanks to the people at Bornholm Folk High School for the warm welcome, tour, and excellent meatballs: Accountant Marianne Koefoed, Groundskeeper Jørgen Kofoed, Kitchen Manager Karen Prætorius, and the former rector couple, Bente and Karsten Thorborg, for a pleasant and productive afternoon.

  Thanks to Karen Nørregaard and Anette Elleby from Listedhuset for the inspiring talk and tour. Thanks to Poul Jörgensen, Kastlösa Glashytta in Mörbylånga, for heavy rock guitar playing and initiating me in the mysteries of Öland and Alvaret.

  Thanks to Johan Daniel “Dan” Schmidt for producing perfect clones of my old PC and making my IT life sweeter. Thanks to Nene Larsen for lightning-quick courier service to Barcelona. Thanks to my PR lady in Germany, Beatrice Habersaat, for letting me use her surname. Thanks to Peter Michael Poulsen, skipper on the guide ship Sam for “swapping names.” Thanks to Kes Adler Olsen for the introduction to the Zeitgeist video. Thanks to Benny Thøgersen and Lina Pillora for making my writing environment in Sweden even more fantastic. Thanks to Arne and Annette Merrild and Olaf Slott-Pedersen for encouragement in Barcelona. Also thanks to Olaf Slott-Pedersen for sharing his experience with hypnosis.

  Thanks to Cathrine Boysen for sharing her indomitable spirit with me. We can all learn a lot from her.

  JUSSI ADLER-OLSEN is Denmark’s #1 crime writer and a New York Times bestseller with his Department Q series. His books have sold more than fifteen million copies around the world and have won many prestigious crime-writing awards, including the Glass Key Award, also won by Henning Mankell, Jo Nesbø, Stieg Larsson, and Peter Høeg.

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