The Hanging Girl (43 page)

They were undoubtedly the two policemen Simon Fisher had warned her about, she just knew it.

You just wait, she thought.

No matter what or how.

They just had to be stopped as quickly as possible.

It had been overcast
all morning over Skåne and Blekinge, and the police in Sweden had already been informed about their business, so in that respect everything was in good order. Carl and Assad hadn’t said much to each other, the heavy clouds being as evident inside as outside.

Carl was thinking mostly about Mona, but also about whether or not the time was right to find a different job. Would it even be possible at his age if he didn’t want to end up as a security guard escorting half-drunk boys out of shopping malls?

“What are you thinking about, Assad?” he finally said after three hundred kilometers and with the bridge to Öland in sight.

“Are you actually aware why there are camels in the desert and no giraffes?” asked Assad.

“It’s probably got something to do with food, hasn’t it?”

He sighed. “No, Carl. You’re thinking too straightforward. You should try thinking more diagonally for a change. It might work out better.”

God almighty! Was he going to be subjected to a lecture on brain geometry now?

“The answer is simple. If there were giraffes in the desert they’d die of sorrow.”

“Aha! And why’s that?”

“Because they’re so tall, they’d know that there was just endless sand as far as the eye could see. Fortunately for the camel, it doesn’t know this, so it trudges on assuming that an oasis is just around the corner.”

Carl nodded. “I understand. You feel like a giraffe in the desert, right?”

“Yes, a bit. Just right now.”

*   *   *

The Nature Absorption Academy was situated beautifully with the sea just behind and with a number of architecturally well-designed buildings that sparkled with order and plenty. Between these clusters of houses with glass domes, close to the water’s edge, you could see an open space and the center of a timber circle, which apart from the size in every way resembled those they’d seen in pictures from Bornholm.

A group of men close to the highway were finishing their work of erecting the framework for some outhouses, as Carl and Assad quietly sauntered past.

“Let’s park down the road, Assad. It looks a bit too sectarian for my liking with all those people in white. So if they aren’t inclined to welcome our arrival we can make a quick getaway.”

“What’s the plan?”

“I think we need to start by treating Frank Brennan just like any other witness. He knew Alberte right up until her death, and we’ll ask him to elaborate on that. We need to see how he reacts when we present him with more direct accusations that he might have been involved in her accident. So we’ll see if he falls in the trap. Until then, we won’t give too much away about the case.”

“And if he doesn’t fall in the trap?”

“Well, then we won’t be coming home anytime soon.”

Assad nodded in agreement. They just had to keep their wits about them.

An extended stay on one remote island would have to do, they were agreed on that.

*   *   *

In the reception, a woman sitting behind a desk covered with a white cloth asked them in Swedish that was both easily understandable
and clear if they’d be so kind as to turn off their cells and leave them with her.

“Here at the center, the residents need to be able to shut out the outside world, if that’s what they need. We’ll look after your cells in the meantime,” she said. She wasn’t someone to be questioned.

They stated their business, saying that they were from the Danish police and would like to talk to Atu Abanshamash Dumuzi concerning an old accident. No indication that it was anything other than a routine case.

“Excellent. But our dumuzi is taking the communal assembly at present. In the meantime, we have a small anteroom for our guests, so you’re more than welcome to participate, but with the understanding that you’ll remain silent. So, if you’d like to come with me,” the woman said.

“Yes, we would. But I’d thought dumuzi was a name,” said Carl.

She smiled. It wasn’t the first time that question had come up.

“We all have one or more names derived from the Sumerian language. For example, my name is Nisiqtu, ‘the appreciated,’ and which I’m infinitely proud of and grateful for. And so Atu Abanshamash Dumuzi is the Sumerian for what our Atu stands for. Atu means ‘guardian.’ Aban means ‘stone.’ Shamash means ‘sun’ or ‘celestial body.’ Dumu means ‘son of,’ and zi means ‘spirit,’ ‘life,’ or ‘lifespirit.’ So the name in full stands for ‘Guardian of the sunstone, lifespirit’s son.’” She smiled again as if she had given them words of wisdom that could bestow upon them lasting power, lifting their souls up toward the infinite.

“What a load of bull,” Carl whispered to Assad as the woman led them into a small gallery from where they could observe between thirty and forty expectant and white-clad people sitting on the floor like snowflakes on a tarmac.

Everyone remained silent and reverent for a few minutes, and then a woman entered, preparing them for who was about to enter, saying, “Ati me peta babka.”

“It means: Guardian, open your gate for me,” whispered the woman.

Carl smiled to Assad but he was totally gone. Carl followed his eyes to a door that slowly opened and from where a man entered, dressed in yellow with colorful ornamentation.

Carl felt a shiver run through him.

The man was tall with dark eyebrows, light-colored skin, long ash-blond hair, and a dimple in his chin.

Assad and Carl looked at one another.

Despite the passage of time, there was absolutely no doubt. This was definitely the man they were looking for.

A collective hush went through the assembly when he spread out his arms toward them and began to rock back and forth while chanting “Abanshamash, Abanshamash, Abanshamash” for several minutes, first alone and then—after a nod from the woman leading the séance—all together.

Carl looked at her with an odd sensation in his body when, as if she had a sixth sense, she unexpectedly caught his eye. Her eyes, intelligent but intense and cold, sent an icy shiver down his spine.

“Who’s she?” he whispered to the woman taking care of them.

“That’s Pirjo Abanshamash Dumuzi, Atu’s right hand, our mother. She’s carrying his child.”

Carl nodded. “And she’s been with Atu for many years?” he asked.

Nisiqtu nodded and held up a shushing finger in front of her lips.

Carl nudged Assad on the shoulder and pointed. He’d also seen her.

Almost the entire séance now took the form of a monologue in English. Atu gave the people his directions for how to live life in symbiosis with nature, and how they should renounce all dogmas and beliefs, surrendering themselves instead to the universe and the life-giving sun.

Then he turned to the woman who had begun the proceedings.

“Today, I have listened to Zini, spirit of the wind, through whom I have learned the name of our child.”

“When is she due?” Carl whispered to the woman.

She showed him three fingers. In August, so she was six months in.

“If it is a girl, we will call her Amaterasu,” he said, while the people folded their hands toward the ceiling.

“Beautifully thought,” whispered Nisiqtu. “Amaterasu is goddess of the sun in the Shinto religion. The full name is Amaterasu-Omikami, ‘the great god of August who shines in heaven.’”

The woman appeared to be totally elated now. “It’s exciting to know what he’ll call the baby if it’s a boy.”

Carl nodded. Probably not Frank.

“And if you favor us with a son, Pirjo, he shall be called Amelnaru. The singer, who will sing the message out across the whole world.”

He motioned her to come up and join him on the podium, and when she stood with her head bowed before him, he passed her two small stones he had in his hands.

“From today forth, I beseech you, Pirjo Abanshamash Dumuzi, to take my place as the guardian of the sunstones from Knarhøj that can guide in even the brightest of light, and the sunstone amulet from Rispebjerg that binds us together with our ancestors and their faith.”

Then he took off his cloak, leaving him bare-chested, and placed it over her shoulders.

The woman next to Carl covered her mouth. This gesture obviously moved her and everyone else in the assembly.

“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?”