She said, “Now see what you’ve done.”
“What have I done?”
He tightened his grip and sounded small.
“Nothing. You don’t understand.”
She picked a direction at random and took a few blind steps before she stopped short again. The boy pressed up against her.
“Have we gone astray?”
“Idiot.”
“It was light at Mother’s.”
“In a little while it’ll be light here too.”
“What does it mean, astray?”
She didn’t answer him, and tried to convince herself that there was nothing to be afraid of, that the school grounds weren’t particularly large, that they should just keep going.
“We aren’t allowed to go off with strangers. No matter what, we can’t go off with strangers. Isn’t that right?”
She could hear that he was on the verge of tears and she pulled him along behind her in a series of uncertain steps, until she suddenly saw a slight glow diagonally in front of her and steered toward it.
Shortly afterward they were in the corridor in front of the gymnasium. The girl was sitting on a bench, reading, and her brother came running with a ball in his arms.
“Do you want to play ball with me? You’re so good at it.”
“Have you hung your clothes up properly and set your bag down in its place?”
He nodded, wide-eyed, the embodiment of sincerity.
“Come on, go and do it.”
He lumbered off without objection, but was soon back and repeated his desire to play.
“I have something I have to read first. You start and I’ll be there in a bit.”
He glanced skeptically at her book. It was thick.
“Promise you’ll come soon?”
“As soon as I’ve finished this chapter. Go in and play on your own. It won’t be long.”
He ran into the gym and soon she heard the sounds of a bouncing ball. She kept reading. From time to time she closed her eyes and imagined she was a part of the story.
The boy interrupted her.
“There isn’t room to play,” he called out.
“Why not?”
“Because some men are hanging up in here.”
“So go around them.”
Suddenly he was in front of her. She hadn’t heard him approach.
“I don’t like the men.”
The girl sniffed the air a couple of times.
“Have you farted?”
“No, but I don’t like the dead men. They’ve been cut up.”
She got up angrily and walked over to the doorway to the gymnasium, her brother at her heels.
Five people were hanging from the ceiling, each suspended by a single rope. They were naked and facing toward her.
“Aren’t they gross?”
“Yes,” she said and closed the door.
She put her arm around the boy.
“Can we play ball now?”
“No, we can’t. We have to find an adult.”
CHAPTER 2
Detective Inspector Konrad Simonsen was enjoying a vacation. He was sitting in a room with a view in the top story of a summer house and was busy having his fourth smoke of the morning and a cup of coffee. He stared out through the oversize windows at a couple of drifting stratus clouds, not thinking of anything in particular.
The athletic young woman who appeared—just back from her morning run—had removed her socks and shoes so he did not hear her steps as she entered the room, and he gave a start when she spoke. Moreover, he was used to being alone.
“For heaven’s sake, Dad. The least you could do is crack a window.”
Her outburst was directed at the cigarette smoke that hung heavy in the air; she opened the french doors all the way so that a fresh sea breeze rushed through the room and tossed her blond curls around, until she decided that the worst of the smell was gone and latched the doors. Then she flopped into one of the armchairs across from him without showing any concern for the fact that she thereby crushed the newspaper tucked into her sweatpants.
He said, “Good morning, have you been all the way to Blokhus? That must have been quite a run.”
“Morning—it’s almost afternoon, sleepyhead. Yes, I’ve been down to Blokhus, and it’s actually not that far.”
He pointed to the newspaper.
“Is that for me?”
She answered with irony, but without an edge, “And thank you, my lovely daughter, for making me coffee.”
“And thank you, my sweet Anna Mia, for making me coffee.”
She took out the newspaper, but then her gaze fell on the ashtray and her steely expression told him what was coming. With a gesture of accusation she pointed to the shutters and her Bornholm dialect grew stronger.
“Four cigarettes before breakfast!”
“You know, I’m on break right now, so it’s a bit different than usual.”
He could have saved himself the lie.
“You smoke far too much, you drink too much, your diet is terrible, and to call you overweight would be an act of kindness.”
He defended himself halfheartedly: “I almost never smoke at work and only moderately in the evenings so surely I can relax occasionally.”