Read Murder of Halland for Free Online Page A

then backed out and turned.
    ‘Didn’t you know?’
    ‘Know what?’ The engine stalled. Inhaling deeply, I turned the key in the ignition. Wipers on. Concentrate.
    ‘Why have you stopped?’ Pernille asked.
    ‘I haven’t stopped.’ I swerved to avoid a cyclist. Concentrate . Leave the gears alone. Down the hill to the main road.
    ‘You’ve got a licence, haven’t you?’ she asked.
    The rain pelted down now.
    ‘Do you have a key to Halland’s room?’ I asked.
    ‘No.’
    ‘But it’s locked?’
    ‘Yes. Sometimes he leaves his laptop there and, well – he locks the door after him.’
    ‘How often is he there?’
    ‘Don’t you know?’
    I didn’t reply.
    ‘He stopped by a fortnight ago and was supposed to come yesterday. I didn’t always know in advance. He’d let himself in.’
    ‘I’ll come and clear it out as soon as I can.’
    ‘It’s more the rent, really…’
    ‘I’ll keep up the payments as long as his things are there. It’ll be a while before I can get into town. I’ll need the address…’
    Pernille took a scrap of paper from her bag, wrote something and then propped the paper up on the dashboard , saying, ‘My number’s there, too.’ Turning away, she gazed out of the side window. My tongue examined the crater that my molar had left.
    ‘What about the birth?’ she asked.
    ‘That’s enough! What is it with you? Can’t women give birth any more without the whole family looking on?’
    She didn’t reply. We had left the town behind us and picked up speed. The road was empty.
    ‘Do you seriously think I’d want to be there in Halland’s place and watch you give birth?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘When’s it due?’
    ‘Two months.’
    ‘Isn’t there someone else you can ask? A girlfriend, perhaps?’ Surely a doe-eyed beauty would have lots of friends. Pernille didn’t reply. Perhaps she was crying; I couldn’t tell. I wondered where to drop her off. Not in front of the station, not with all those buses and taxis. Normally, I listened to the radio while I was driving, but I didn’t dare let go of the wheel. Pernille remained silent. She turned away from me. I pulled up at the bottom of the car park where there were no other cars.
    ‘Goodbye,’ I said. ‘I’ll let you know when I’m ready to clear out the room.’
    Again, Pernille said nothing. Nothing audible, anyway. The rain bucketed down. I watched her in the rear-view mirror as she ran towards the station building. Adorable, I thought to myself. Had I ever been like that? Beyond perfect . Pluperfect. Now she was crossing the road. Maybe she’d be hit by a car! But no car hit her.

11
    Ubi pus, ibi evacua (Where there is pus, evacuate it)
     
    MEDICAL APHORISM
    ‘I took the liberty of putting some coffee on!’ said Funder. He stood in the kitchen as if he belonged there.
    ‘Let me do it properly,’ I said, turning off the kettle. The lighter didn’t work when I tried to turn on the gas.
    ‘Perhaps you need a new flint,’ Funder said.
    ‘Have you got a match?’ He hadn’t, but then the lighter sparked. ‘We’re out of gas, dammit!’
    ‘You’re not allowed to use bottled gas in the kitchen any more.’ The detective opened the cupboard. ‘Have you got a refill?’
    I nodded and gestured in the direction of the garden shed. I had changed the canister myself before and felt I needed to show him my competence. I went out through the utility room and opened the back door. The rain came down in sheets. On my way to the shed, I realized that I had forgotten the empty canister. But I was too embarrassed to turn back. The refill was heavy. I struggled to tip it over and roll it along on its rim. By the time I returned Funder had detached the empty canister. I shookthe rain off me like a dog, just for fun and because I felt awkward. I wanted him to connect the refill for me, but I didn’t have the courage to ask him. Suddenly my wet shoes slipped on the floor. I grabbed Funder’s elbow and he reached for my