Read The Killing - 01 - The Killing for Free Online Page B

beneath the coral-coloured petals of the artichoke lamps, Hartmann listened to Morten Weber’s answers. Poul Bremer wouldn’t return to the school for another debate. Running the city was more important than begging for votes.
    ‘Doesn’t that suit him?’ Hartmann said.
    Rie Skovgaard placed a cup of coffee on his desk.
    ‘Bremer’s office announced the new allocation of funds while we were at the school. He was ready to come out with it whatever happened.’
    ‘He knew about the twenty per cent. How’s that possible, Morten?’ Hartmann asked.
    Weber seemed thrown by the question.
    ‘Why ask me? Maybe he did his own survey. Makes sense. Promising money for education always wins you Brownie points.’
    ‘And he got the same results? He knew.’
    Weber shrugged.
    ‘You shouldn’t have cancelled,’ Skovgaard said.
    Hartmann’s mobile rang.
    ‘A young girl’s missing. I had no choice.’
    ‘It’s Therese,’ said the voice on the line.
    Hartmann glanced at Rie Skovgaard.
    ‘This isn’t a good time. I’ll ring you back.’
    ‘Don’t hang up, Troels. You’re not too busy for this. We have to meet.’
    ‘That wouldn’t be a good idea.’
    ‘Someone’s trying to dig up dirt on you.’
    Hartmann took a deep breath.
    ‘Who?’
    ‘A reporter rang me. I don’t want to talk about this over the phone.’
    ‘We’ve got a fundraiser here at five. Get here then. I can come out for a while.’
    ‘Five it is.’
    ‘Therese . . .’
    ‘Take care, Troels.’
    Weber and Skovgaard were watching him.
    ‘Something we need to hear?’ Skovgaard asked.
    Theis Birk Larsen went to the student house in Nørrebro where Lisa Rasmussen lived with Oliver Schandorff and some other kids from the school, pretending they were grown-ups, screwing around, drinking, smoking dope, acting the fool.
    Lisa was outside wheeling away her bike. He took hold of the handlebars.
    ‘Where’s Nanna?’
    The girl was dressed like a teenage tart, the way they all did, Nanna if he let her. She wouldn’t look him in the eye.
    ‘I told them. I don’t know.’
    His big fist didn’t move.
    ‘Where’s that bastard Schandorff?’
    Still staring at the wall.
    ‘Not here. Not since Friday.’
    He bent down and put his whiskery face in hers.
    ‘Where is he?’
    Finally she met his eyes. She looked as if she’d been crying.
    ‘He said his parents were away for the weekend. He was staying there I think. After the Halloween party . . .’
    Birk Larsen didn’t wait to hear more.
    On the way he called Pernille.
    ‘I just talked to Lisa,’ he said. ‘I’m going to get her.’
    He could hear the relief in her single brief sigh.
    ‘It’s that rich punk again. His parents went away. He’s probably . . .’
    He didn’t want to say it, think it.
    ‘You’re sure she’s there? Lisa said so?’
    The evening traffic was heavy. The house was out on one of the new developments, south, near the airport.
    ‘I’m sure. Don’t worry.’
    She was crying. He could see her tears. He wished he could touch them, brush them away with his fat, rough fingers. Pernille was beautiful and precious. Like Nanna, Emil and Anton. They all deserved better than he’d given them and soon they’d get it.
    ‘Won’t be long, sweetheart. I promise.’
    When Lund was back among the bare dark trees Buchard called.
    ‘The helicopter. Three forensic units. I hope you’ve found something?’
    ‘A grave.’
    ‘You left me out of the loop.’
    ‘I tried. You were in a meeting.’
    ‘I was at your leaving party. People don’t say goodbye over breakfast . . .’
    ‘Hang on a minute.’
    Meyer was walking towards her through the wood. In his arms was a plastic forensic sheet. Something beneath. A body.
    ‘Have you found something?’ Buchard demanded.
    Meyer put the sheet on the ground, opened it and showed her a dead fox. Stiff and dry, caked with earth. It had a cub scout kerchief around its neck along with the wire noose that had strangled it.
    ‘We can put out