The Hanging Girl (10 page)

“Carl, we’ll never manage to get that little section clearer than Habersaat did. Never. Not even if we tried for a hundred years.”

He was right. Everything taken into consideration, Habersaat had done what he could.

“CI B14G27 it’s got here under the photo. And BCCR/BCCEC down in the corner. And look what’s written above the black car on the photo next to it: THA 20. And the other two underneath: WIKN 27, WIKN 28. Don’t you think they refer some way or other to the cars, Carl? Do you know anything about classic cars apart from that old sardine tin you drive us around in?”

Carl shook his head. “The only make of car I know with Ci is Citroën. But the others, THA and WIKN, I don’t recognize.”

“We’ll look them up,” said Assad.

Rose didn’t manage to protest before Curly jumped in and pushed the computer chair, with her in it, away from the screen.

“We’ll explain in a second,” Carl said, while Assad typed
Citroën B14G27
in the search box.

No match. What now?

“You two aren’t the brightest bunch, are you?” said Rose, somewhat peeved as she glanced quickly over at the photo page. “They’re old cars, right? Very old in fact. From the twenties even, I’d guess. More specifically 1920, 1927, and 1928, as I read it.”

Carl raised his eyebrows. How embarrassing that it hadn’t occurred to him.

“Okay. Try and write
Citroën B14G 1927
instead, Assad.”

Rose was right. A second after Assad had typed it, a whole series
popped up on the screen of polished examples of what the motor industry and the art of the conveyor belt could produce in the inter-war years. Beautiful, beautiful cars in all colors.

“Fantastic. What car makes do we know, then, with TH or WIKN or WI KN? Check it out, Assad.”

“Just let me,” said Rose, pushing the computer chair into Assad’s hip with a thud.

After a minute of typing, she produced pictures of a Thulin A 1920 and two Willys-Knights from 1927 and 1928.

Assad looked like someone who was about to open his presents. “Here we go, then, Carl, now we’ll find out,” he said when Rose typed all the car models in one and the same Google search.

“Hidehi,” shouted Assad with a huge smile.

A meager three hits came up with this complicated search, and the top hit was definitely the right one: a link to a photo series from the Bornholm Classic Car Rally 1997 and a website for the Bornholm Classic Car Enthusiasts’ Club.

And with that, any doubt about what BCCR/BCCEC stood for was laid to rest.

Assad was jumping up and down with excitement. An odd sight when you took his general condition and age into account.

“Yeah, yeah, Assad. Now there’s just the job of finding out where the photo was taken, who gave the photo page to Habersaat, who the man in the photo is—if anyone even knows—and then finding out if he’s actually guilty, and where he is, and how Habersaat . . .”

All of which put a stop to Assad’s jumping.

“Give it a rest, Carl,” said Rose. “I’ll check if Habersaat’s printer works and, if it does, print out everything I can find on that club, okay? Then we’ll take it from there.”

Carl pulled out his cell, noticing again that the battery was almost dead. He typed Police Superintendent Birkedal’s number.

“Carl Mørck here. I just have two things to say,” he said briefly when the call was answered. “We’re taking all Habersaat’s research with us over to Police Headquarters, is that okay?”

“Well, I think those inheriting his estate will be glad. But why?”

“We’ve become curious—someone has to be. And the other thing is . . .”

“If there’s something more specific in relation to the case, Carl,” interrupted Birkedal, “you’ll need to talk directly with the man responsible from that time. He’s a good guy, so go easy on him, all right? He’s actually one of the good guys, works hard, does a good job. I’ll transfer you. His name’s Jonas Ravnå.”

“Just one more thing. Did you find anything at Bjarke Habersaat’s place that we should know about? Motives for the suicide or anything like that?”

“No, nothing. His computer was just chockablock with pornographic photos of a homosexual nature and old games.”

“You’ll send it over to us when you’re finished, right?”

“You asked for it. I’ll transfer you to Ravnå.”

A worn voice came from the receiver, and it didn’t sound any less tired when Carl told him what he was calling about.

“Believe it or not, I really did want to help Christian Habersaat,” he said. “The problem was that we just didn’t get anywhere, and at the same time, there were all the other cases since then. It’s almost twenty years ago after all, don’t forget that.”

Carl nodded. He knew the game better than anyone. If there was just one thing in life you could be sure of, it was that criminals didn’t suddenly stop committing crime.

“Habersaat harbored a suspicion about a man in a VW Kombi who he traced in a photo album from 1997. Do you have any idea who might’ve given it to him, and has he ever told you about his suspicion?”

“Christian and I didn’t discuss the case over the last five to six years. Actually, I banned him from bringing it up unless he had groundbreaking new evidence; otherwise he should just get on with his work in the uniform division. So I suppose it points to it not being something groundbreaking, and that it’s something he discovered more recently.”

“What about you? Did you ever come across anything conclusive in the case? How do you view it today?”

“I have my theories.”

“And they are?”

“If it was an accident, the driver of the vehicle could’ve been under the influence of alcohol or drugs, as there were no skid marks. If it wasn’t an accident, but premeditated murder, we’re totally lacking a motive. She wasn’t pregnant and she was well liked, so why murder her? It could’ve been spontaneous. Maybe even carried out by a random sick person who had a sudden impulse to kill another human being. But again, there must have been a reason for Alberte to cycle out there so early in the morning, and we don’t know the answer to that with any certainty. Was she supposed to meet someone, and if so, why there exactly? I assume it
was
there that she had a meeting and had gotten off the bike to wait. She’d left it a little way from where she was standing; otherwise she would’ve been cut up by the parts of the bike. And we found absolutely no tissue residue on it. So I think she arrived a bit too early and walked around a little while waiting. Maybe for the person who killed her.”

“Any theory about who she was waiting for? Was it the man in the car?”

“Yes, that’s just it. We know she had a boyfriend, as detailed in my report. We know that he was staying on the island, but whether he disappeared before or after the accident, I don’t know.”

“Do you have his name and a place of residence on the island?”

“He probably lived in an interim camp located on a farm by Ølene, but we don’t have a name. The farmer who was renting out his land didn’t write a contract; he just got his five thousand kroner in cash for the rental period. Yes, he even declared the income to the taxman.”

“Probably, you said. How did you find out about him? This isn’t mentioned in the report.”

“I honestly don’t remember. I expect it was something Habersaat had discovered. He was sniffing about twenty-four hours a day.”

“Hmm. What period did the rental payment cover?”

“Six months in 1997. June to November.”

“Do we have a description of the tenant?”

“Yes. He was in his twenties, maybe even a bit older than
midtwenties. Handsome, long dark hair, hippie clothes. Military jacket with sewn-on labels.
Nuclear Power? No Thanks
and that sort of thing.”

“And?”

“Yes, that was it.”

“Not bloody much. And you’re sure that the landlord told you everything he had?”

“I sincerely hope so because the man died three years ago.”

Carl shook his head and ended the conversation. No case should ever be allowed to drag on so long.

“I have a little detail to tell you, Carl, but there’s no guarantee it’ll please you,” said Rose. Then why on earth did she flash him that demonic smile?

“I’ve booked two more nights at the hotel.”

“That’s fine. And what’s the problem?”

“Oh, there’s no problem apart from the fact that both your bedroom and Assad’s have been allocated to other people.”

“Okay, then we’ll just change hotels, right?” Assad said cautiously, beating Carl to it.

Rose looked at them as if they were a couple of spoiled teenagers. There wouldn’t be any other hotel.

“Then we’ll just be transferring over to a couple of other rooms?” Assad continued.

“Exactly. There weren’t any single rooms left, but I managed to book a double room for you instead. With double bed and double duvet, the whole caboodle. That’ll be cozy, won’t it?”

October 2013

The woman with the
suitcase and a far too waspish waist stood in the square in front of the large yellow building, leaning up against one of the flagpoles like a gracious sculpture. Lording over it with her glistening brown skin, she appeared to mock all the genes that had survived the fight with the darkness up here in the far north. Mocking the twenty years during which Pirjo had dedicated her life to Atu and his world, believing she’d win his heart in the end. This woman was far too beautiful and graceful, far too athletic, intimidatingly different and exotic.

Pirjo sat for a moment astride her scooter wondering if she should turn around. But rationally it just wouldn’t do. Now that the girl had come so far, wild horses couldn’t stop her from finding the way herself, so Pirjo trembled inside.

But before she went to extremes, which she now realized might be necessary, she simply had to try other methods first.

“Hello,” she said as naturally and perkily as possible, crossing the square. “I’m Pirjo, the one you’ve been writing with. I see you’ve come over here anyway. It’s actually a real shame because as I already warned you, you’ve come in vain.”

Pirjo gave her a sympathetic smile. That tended to work.

“But as you’re here, and probably due to a misunderstanding and bad communication on our part, we’ve decided that we’d like to pay for your return journey to London. Then you can possibly come another . . .”

“Hello, Pirjo, nice to see you,” the woman interrupted her, unaffected. “Yes, I’m Wanda Phinn.” She offered her hand with an innocent smile, as
if she hadn’t heard a word of what Pirjo had said, but Pirjo knew better. She could see it in the woman’s eyes and from her smile. This woman with the seductive cheekbones wouldn’t be satisfied before she stood before Atu.

“Fair enough, Wanda, but we’ve actually arranged a return ticket for you, didn’t you hear?”

“Yes, and thanks a lot for the sentiment. But I’ve come to meet Atu Abanshamash Dumuzi and I can’t go back before I’ve done that. I understand that there aren’t any course places available, but I have to see him.”

Pirjo nodded. “I understand, but I’m sorry. Atu isn’t at the course center just now.”

For a brief moment the woman looked disappointed, but then seemingly managed to compose herself. “Okay! Then I’ll just wait. I know there’s a hotel called Frimurare Hotellet only two minutes from here. I checked from home that there were rooms available, so it’s no problem if I have to wait a couple of days. I can just go down to the hotel now and you can call when he’s back. You’ve got my cell number in the e-mail.”

When a predator attacks, it’s normally after a prolonged state of deep concentration and patient waiting. The snake that lies quietly as if dead, the predator that waits flat on the ground, the falcon before it suddenly dives. In the same way, this woman appeared incredibly determined, with eyes that seemed too relaxed and focused. The awareness that her arrival would meet with resistance literally radiated from her. That she was well aware of what she was up against and that she knew the weaknesses in the system. Like she knew the full extent of Atu’s susceptibility, knew what a weak position Pirjo had in the game, and when she should strike.

But that’s where she was mistaken, because while Pirjo might not be feeling on top just now, she was a long way from feeling weak or vulnerable. She’d just been in doubt about what measures to take, but not anymore. She’d resorted to drastic decisions in similar situations in the past, successfully and without regret.

After all, this woman had thrown the dice herself, not her, and she’d soon regret it.

“Frimurare Hotellet?” she said. “Okay, but it would be a shame if you had to use your hard-earned cash on a hotel, so we’ll just have to see if we can’t arrange a short audience before you go back. Atu is probably down on the south end of the island or out on the moor in the middle of the island, what we call Stora Alvaret. He often goes there to meditate and get into his soul. He isn’t keen on being disturbed, but seeing as you’re so insistent we’ll just have to try.”

Pirjo smiled the best that she could. Apparently the woman bought it.

“But, Wanda, I’ll say it now so you aren’t disappointed; that will have to be all, and then I’ll drive you back to the station afterward. Your return flight from Copenhagen doesn’t take off until tomorrow afternoon, so we’ve got plenty of time.”

The woman nodded toward the scooter with its flimsy luggage rack, helmets, and foldable spade. “What about my suitcase?” she asked. “There isn’t room for that, too?”

“No, you’re right. We’ll put it in a locker. We’re going to be back in an hour or two anyway.”

The young woman nodded. It was very obvious that when it came to it she thought they’d both be involved in that decision. No doubt she thought that the suitcase would be brought to where she wanted it to be when the time came.

“Have you ridden on a scooter before, Wanda?”

“We don’t do anything else where I come from,” she answered.

“Good. You’ll need to hitch your skirt up and then just hold tight onto my jacket. I don’t really like people holding me around my waist.”

*   *   *

Pirjo collected herself and turned up the charm. The most important thing was that Wanda Phinn didn’t suspect anything untoward but enjoyed the journey, surroundings, and beautiful landscape, secure in the knowledge that the first stage of her conquest of Atu Abanshamash’s undivided attention was going smoothly.

“Öland is a fantastic place, you know. When you come over here
another time, I’ll give you a better tour, but I can show you some of the attractions on the island while we drive,” shouted Pirjo.

Behind her, Wanda sat with a light grip on Pirjo’s jacket, staring out across the sea and over toward the promised island. On both sides of the Öland Bridge the waves whipped the sea up into foam. The breeze from the mainland had changed direction, with the wind now coming from due east and somewhat cooler than might have been desired.

Pirjo thought that when they reached the windmills up on the ridge, she’d find somewhere to shake her off, resulting in a hard and unexpected fall that would likely kill her outright. If not, she’d just have to help the process along.

“There are loads of windmills out here on the island,” she shouted. “No families wanted to share them, so they split the parcels of land up and each built their own. The only problem was that they also split the parcels up within families, and at one point the parcels became too small to be able to live off. In the end people had to leave the island if they didn’t want to starve to death.” She felt that Wanda was nodding behind her but that she was probably totally uninterested in Öland’s past, which suited Pirjo. It meant she could concentrate on getting this done right and using the side wind to her advantage.

Despite the time of day and year, there were a good number of cars on the road. It was probably due to a group of artists on the highway down toward Vickleby and Kastlösa coordinating their openings, exhibitions, and receptions, which meant a large group of art enthusiasts from the mainland were currently on a sort of Öland tour of the world of glass and painting. It was only a little south of these towns that the traffic petered out, but so did the opportunities.

Pirjo was unsure what to do about Wanda’s questions. They’d passed a couple of signs pointing toward Alvaret and Wanda asked again and again why they weren’t turning.

“Not yet,” she shouted back. “Atu sometimes prefers the areas a little farther south. There are more ancient monuments to excavate there.”

“So that’s what you use the spade for,” she shouted back.

Pirjo nodded and looked ahead. Perhaps Gettlinge was the answer. The cliff was definitely steep there. And even though she couldn’t drive right up to it and push Wanda down into the deep directly from the seat of the scooter, it was the best place to do it given the options.

Pirjo felt the excitement intensify, but she wasn’t really nervous. If it had been the first time she’d had to do away with a rival it would probably have been different, but it wasn’t.

“We’ll stop at Gettlinge because that’s one of Atu’s favorite places. It’s not dead certain that he’s here today but at least you’ll have seen it.”

Wanda smiled when she stood down and made some flattering comments about how thoughtful Pirjo was and that it looked wonderful.

“No, I’m afraid I can’t see him anywhere. What a shame,” Pirjo said, gazing out around the landscape. “But look around before we drive on. This is a very special place,” she continued, spreading her arms out over a strange and protected landscape of stone that formed the outline of a ship.

“Impressive,” Wanda said, nodding. “Like a sort of Stonehenge, but much smaller, right? And there’s one of those old mills, too. Is this a place where Vikings are buried?” she asked.

Pirjo nodded and looked about. The landscape was barren and flat and, more importantly, deserted. The bleak moorland of Stora Alvaret was behind her on the other side of the highway, and was just as desolate.

Over on this side and behind the graveyard was the cliff. There were more trees and bushes on the slope than she remembered, but that could be advantageous. She wouldn’t need to move the body straightaway since it would be lost in the wilderness. And if the body was found at some point, who would connect the find with a woman called Wanda Phinn? Not to mention connect the discovery to Pirjo.

She came to the conviction that all in all it was the perfect place, while she checked that there were no cars driving on the highway between the moorland and the graveyard.

“Come over here a minute, Wanda,” she shouted, trying to control her voice so it didn’t sound false. “You can see how the island was formed from here, and why the inhabitants disappeared.”

She pointed out over the cultivated fields far below them in the
lowlands, and farther westward toward the settlements along the shores of the Kalmar Strait on both sides of the glistening waves.

“Over there on the other side of the sound you can see Kalmar, where you’ve just come from,” she babbled. “The farmers lived up here in the highlands for a few decades in the last century, dividing and portioning off their land endlessly, like I told you before.”

She pulled Wanda forward toward the edge and turned her around, her pulse racing. “Look at the landscape on the other side of the highway. That’s Stora Alvaret, where Atu might be just now. It was fertile pasture less than a hundred years ago, but the peasants were too brutal in their use of it and the cows grazed it all away.”

She grabbed Wanda’s arm.

“Is it understandable that a people couldn’t find a way to help one another to feed themselves in such a fertile place?”

Wanda shook her head. She appeared to be totally calm and relaxed, so it had to be now while the highway was still deserted.

“In my opinion, you could rightly call Öland the island of egotism, considering a significant number of the inhabitants had to leave in the end to avoid dying of hunger, all because they couldn’t work together,” she ended, pulling Wanda’s arm vigorously while knocking her hip at full force toward her lower back.

The result was initially just as planned. Wanda’s upper body dipped backward while she flailed about with her free arm. Then she took a step backward without being able to find her footing, the idea being that she would fall the second after. Fall and fall and tumble among the vegetation, stumps, and large rocks. A bad fall that could easily mean death. And if it didn’t result in that, there was always the spade to finish things off with.

And Wanda did fall, but against all calculations not alone. In the exact second when she lost her balance she instinctively grabbed Pirjo’s waist with her free arm.

The result was unavoidable. They both fell down the slope, intertwined like a ball. Suddenly there were two pairs of legs hitting the tree trunks.

As the limbs of two bodies take up more space than those of just one, the fall was stopped before the cliff slope became really steep, leaving them suddenly lying entangled together on the slope among twigs and rotting leaves, staring into each other’s wide-open eyes.

“Are you trying to kill me!” hissed Wanda Phinn, throwing an arm up, securing her hand in between low-hanging branches and exposed roots.

Pirjo was in shock. Not only from being knocked about after the failed murder attempt, but over the whole situation. Wanda must be aware now that something really wasn’t as it should be and so would be on guard.

How would she be able to stop her from seeing Atu? How to prevent the woman from voicing her misgivings to the one person who really mustn’t know anything about this?

“I have epilepsy,” improvised Pirjo, falteringly and with her face turned to the ground, while she tried to induce shaking all over her body. “I’m terribly sorry. It was a small attack. I normally feel them coming in advance, but not this time. I’m so terribly sorry, Wanda. It could have ended so badly.”

She tried to bring forth tears but couldn’t. Instead, she managed to force a bit of spit, letting it drool out of the side of her mouth.

“Come on,” said Wanda without any sign of compassion.

She hauled them both up to their feet, while Pirjo thought so hard it hurt.

At the far end of the square, there was a shed with old-fashioned toilets. A seat and a hole in the ground, just like their ancestors had done. Pirjo had been there several times before and could recite by heart the rhyme that some idiot had written on the wall in faltering handwriting.

If you’ve sat there coiling one

leave some paper when you’re done

other people after you

need to wipe their asses too

More than once she’d thought that the worst fate for someone must be to be blocked down a toilet hole to end your days choking on other people’s excrement.

Was that a possibility? Could she get Wanda over there and knock her out?

Pirjo felt only too clearly that her thoughts were going in circles. The situation had become crazy and her defenses were falling.