The Hanging Girl (38 page)

Every time the incident was mentioned, an uncontrollable electric pulse pounded through his body. It had caused a couple of meltdowns—Mona had called them mental breakdowns and untreated post-traumatic stress, but Carl didn’t give a shit what they called them. As long as he could avoid them.

But now he and Hardy would have to talk about it again, and this time with a new agenda. It was necessary, but he didn’t look forward to it.

His cell rang. He was just about to switch it off when Vigga’s name popped up on the display.

Carl filled his cheeks with air and slowly blew out before he turned on the speakerphone.

She was going at full throttle from the very first word. Unfortunately, he had no idea what she was talking about.

“I went to see Mom yesterday, and the staff said you haven’t been there for a long time. I just think that’s really unfair.”

He only knew one phrase that was worse than “I just think that’s really unfair,” and that was “that really bugs me,” so she was well on her way to cornering him.

He couldn’t be bothered with it.

“Apparently, I have to remind you about our agreement, Carl,” she continued nagging.

“No, thanks, that won’t be necessary, Vigga.”

“Oh, it
won’t
? Well, then let me tell you that . . .”

“I’m parked just outside the nursing home.”

He looked up the freeway in front of him. The exit to Bagsværd was just ahead, damned lucky for him.

“That’s not true, Carl. I’ll call and ask them.”

“Suit yourself, my conscience is clear. I’ve even brought chocolates. Of course I’m sticking to our agreement. I’ve just been on Bornholm for some time. I’m sorry I haven’t mentioned it.”

“Chocolates?”

“Yes, Anthon Berg filled chocolates. The best in the world.”

At least he could buy those in the SuperBest supermarket.

“You surprise me, Carl.”

Time to change the subject.

“Is Gargamel being nice to you?” he asked. “It’s been a while since I saw Jesper, so I never hear any gossip about you and your little shopkeeper.”

“He’s not little, Carl, and his name is Gurkamal. And no, it’s not okay, and I don’t want to talk about it with you, not now anyway. And if you’re stupid enough to expect anything from Jesper, I can inform you that
I
never hear from him either.”

“He’s got a girlfriend. That makes us of secondary importance.”

“Yes!” Her voice sounded thick, so he’d have to stop there. He didn’t want to get involved in her life.

“I’m on my way through the door to Bakkegården, Vigga. Have a nice time with Garga . . . Gurkamal. Everything will be all right.” He was turning off the freeway. “I’ll say hello to your mom for you. Bye.”

He felt good for a few seconds. He’d managed the balancing act, managed to neutralize Vigga. But while he was buying chocolates before setting course for the nursing home, he was once again overpowered by the feeling that things could’ve been different. That the past was weighing down on him, squeezing the air out of him. On the whole, it wasn’t very pleasant.

*   *   *

Carl’s ex-mother-in-law looked the same, except now only half of her otherwise raven black hair remained black. Perhaps the staff had given up coloring it, or perhaps she’d finally realized she wasn’t thirty and a treat for the opposite sex.

“Who are you?” she asked, when he sat in front of her.

So it had come to that. Dementia had permanently damaged her brain.

“Carl. I’m your former son-in-law, Karla.”

“I can see that, you idiot. But why are you camouflaged like that? You’re not usually that flabby.”

That was also the second time that day he’d heard that. But when a half-blind, crazy, ancient fishwife observed it, there must be some truth to it. Damn it!

“What’ve you brought for me?” she asked blatantly, her hand stretched out. You’d have thought she was a ticket lady at some big venue.

“Chocolate,” he said, pulling the box from the plastic bag.

She looked at it skeptically. “Ugh, economy-size. I would never buy that, even if they offered it for free.”

He wondered to himself why he bothered coming, but he knew the answer. If he didn’t live up to the obligations under the contract he’d signed, he’d have to pay compensation to Vigga. A big compensation.

“Anthon Berg, of course,” he added, slightly offended, which brought her greedy hands up to speed, and ten seconds later she was already in full swing.

After the third piece, she put the box down on the table between them, which Carl took as an invitation, so he took one. And when the box remained, he went for another piece, marzipan and dark chocolate, but quickly retracted his hand when she gave him a hard rap over the fingers.

“There’s no prize for emptying the box,” she said. “What else have you got for me?”

Thank goodness he didn’t come here very often.

He searched through his jacket pocket, where there was usually something at least remotely shiny. A coin or perhaps a bottle opener. What he wouldn’t do to make his demented mother-in-law put in a few good words for him.

The wooden figure Bjarke had carved was at the bottom of his pocket—he must remember to put it on the shelf with the other items from Habersaat’s house—but next to it was something he couldn’t decipher.

He pulled it out, recognizing it as the pendulum from Simon Fisher’s holistic garden center. It could’ve been shinier, but it ought to do the trick.

“Here, Karla, a pendulum. It’s a magical little instrument that . . .”

“Know it. Good with spirits and that sort, but what would I want with that? I speak with the dead without that kind of nonsense. I do that every day. Last night, for instance, I spoke with Winston Churchill, and you know what? He was very, very charming. Much sweeter than you’d have thought.”

“Er, that’s nice, but this pendulum can do something else. For example, it can tell you what’ll happen in the future. You can ask anything you want, and the pendulum will answer. You need to hold it like this, and then ask your question. It just takes a bit of practice.”

She seemed skeptical, so he demonstrated by asking the pendulum if the weather would be fine tomorrow. As expected, the darn thing wasn’t cooperative, so he had to help it along.

“There you see, it’s moving around in a nice circle, so the weather will be nice. Now you try, Karla. What would you like to ask?”

She took it reluctantly and let it hover above her hand.

“Will we get cabbage rolls next week?” she asked after a minute’s deliberation.

To his annoyance, although it was to be expected, nothing happened.

“It doesn’t work. What a piece of junk you’ve given me, Carl. I’ll make sure to tell Vigga.”

“No, Karla, try another question. I don’t think you can ask things to do with food. Ask if Vigga will visit you tomorrow, for example.”

She looked at him as if he were off his rocker. Why in heaven’s name would she ask that?

For a moment she stared into space, her eyes milky from cataracts, and then she smiled.

“I’ll ask if that new nursing assistant wants to shag me black and blue.”

That seemed to set the pendulum on fire.

Could she be cheating?

*   *   *

Hardy was sitting in twilight when Carl let himself in.

There was a note on the kitchen counter from Morten.

He’s in a bad mood,
it said.
Have tried to get some booze in him, but he’s gone into his shell. Have you been fighting?

Carl sighed. “I’m here, Hardy,” he said, and held the note in front of his face. “Does that mean you’re not having a drink with me?”

Hardy shook his head, looking away.

“Spit it out, Hardy.” Better to get it over with straightaway.

His voice sounded unused. “I don’t get you. Now you’ve got the chance to crack that case open, Carl, and you’re not taking it. Why? Don’t you know it means everything to me?”

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.

“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 that’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.