Read The Killing 2 for Free Online Page A

heavy police torch and they walked across the spongy long grass of the old firing range towards the three bronzed stumps rising from the soil against the ramp behind.
    Brix seemed oddly silent.
    ‘Anne Dragsholm was entitled to half her husband’s money and half the firm they owned,’ Strange said.
    ‘What’s her connection to this place?’ Lund asked.
    Brix broke his silence.
    ‘We can’t see one. It’s pretty clear he broke open a wooden door on the gardeners’ entrance and dragged her through there. Why . . .’
    Lund opened the forensic file again, got Strange to shine his beam on it.
    A woman of forty or so, in a bloody blue dressing gown, slumped dead on the ground, strapped to the centre stake. In a sacred place like this it was a kind of blasphemy.
    ‘The husband’s no idiot,’ Strange said, pointing at the body in the photos. ‘We think this is a diversion. He’s making it look like the work of a lunatic. What else
. . . ?’
    Lund walked off, not listening, threaded her way through the stakes, backwards and forwards. Brix followed, gloved finger to his cheek.
    ‘What are you thinking?’ Brix asked.
    She peered at him, wondered at the odd look in his eye.
    ‘I think this is a mistake. I’m wasting your time. You know what you’re doing. Why ask me?’
    ‘Because I thought you might have an opinion.’
    ‘No,’ she said, handing him the file. ‘I don’t.’
    ‘Sleep on it. Let’s talk tomorrow.’
    ‘I don’t have any ideas.’
    ‘Maybe they’ll come.’
    ‘They won’t.’
    ‘Call me if they do. If not, that’s fine too. As things stand I’ve got to release the husband tomorrow. We don’t have enough to charge him.’
    ‘Right.’
    Lund checked her watch.
    ‘I need to see my mother,’ she said. ‘Can one of you drop me in Østerbro? It’s not far.’
    Brix nodded.
    ‘All right. But I want you to meet someone first.’
    From the moment he saw Erling Krabbe and Birgitte Agger sit down around the conference table, Thomas Buch knew his first meeting as Minister of Justice would not be easy.
    The dragons across the street, on the spire of the Børsen, were like this. Entwined with one another, yet in constant conflict, teeth bared.
    Krabbe was a tall, skinny ascetic man who looked as if he spent too much time in the gym. His grandfather had been a famous partisan during the Second World War and was lucky to survive, not
make his mark on the wall at Mindelunden. Krabbe now headed the nationalists of the People’s Party, compared on occasion by the left to the Nazis themselves. Unfairly, Buch felt. They were
against immigration, suspicious of foreign culture. Inflexible, often caustic in their language. But because of this they never prospered greatly. What little power they possessed came from the
necessities of coalition politics. Government in the Folketinget was never entirely in the hands of one party. Concessions were needed for any difficult legislation.
    Birgitte Agger was no minority party leader seeking crumbs from the table. Fifty-two years old, a career politician who’d clawed her way to the leadership of the Progressives, she was the
soft left’s principal hope, an elegant, carefully manicured chameleon who could flick from policy to policy in tune with the popular sentiment. The polls had her neck and neck with Grue
Eriksen. She saw herself as Prime Minister in waiting. Any negotiations over the anti-terror bill were, Buch knew full well, only to be carried out in the context of her greater ambitions.
    He thought again of the writhing dragons beyond the window.
    The government was trapped between Krabbe and Agger that moment, one accusing Grue Eriksen of weakness, the other of an attack on long-established civil rights. The details of the bill –
tighter border controls, more money for the security services, longer detention without charge for terrorist suspects – were the battleground for these two, each seeking victory through a
surrender on the part of