The Hanging Girl Read Online Free PDF Page B

eyes. “All three of us will sit down together now, quietly and calmly, and read all this material you’ve brought for us, and that’s probably going to take an hour or two. And when we’re done with that we’ll probably want to ask a bit more about this and that in Habersaat’s investigation, and life and death.”
    A hint of a smile creased Birkedal’s stoical mask. It was clear that as far as he was concerned they could do just as they pleased, so long as he wasn’t involved.
    “Do you think we’ll find something that you should have found long ago? Something that might shed some light on the mystery of the girl in the tree?” Carl said stubbornly.
    “I don’t know but I certainly hope so. The essence, I suppose, is that as far as Habersaat was concerned, Alberte’s death wasn’t just negligent manslaughter and a case of hit-and-run. It was murder,” he said. “And Habersaat tried with all his might not only to substantiate that theory but to find the perpetrator. I don’t know what he had to go on but there are no doubt other officers that can tell you more, not to mention Habersaat’s ex-wife.”
    A plastic case was slid across the table. “I have to get back to the station now but take a look at this DVD. Then you’ll know roughly what you need to know about his death,” he said. “It was filmed by one of Habersaat’s friends invited to the reception. His name is Villy, but over here we call him Uncle Sam. I assume you have your own PCs with you so you can play it on one of them. Enjoy, if that’s the right word.” And then he stood up suddenly.
    Carl noticed how Rose’s eyes were glued to his well-toned backside as he left. Hardly a look his wife would have appreciated.
    *   *   *
    So radically had Habersaat’s wife put the past behind her that she discarded not only the man’s name but also everything else imaginable that could bring forth memories of him, a fact she didn’t try to hide when Carl attempted to get a telephone conversation going with her.
    “And if you think that just because the man is dead now that I have the least desire to dredge up his and our mutual problems for anyone, you’re mistaken. Christian didn’t choose his family during some difficult years when I—and especially his son—really needed his attention, and now all his bad choices have ended with a cowardly suicide. You’ll have to go elsewhere if you want to hear about his life’s biggest passion; you won’t hear it from me.”
    Carl looked at Rose and Assad, who both gesticulated to him to stay firm. Yeah, what else?
    “Do you mean that he was in love with the Alberte case or perhaps even the victim?”
    “You cops never let up, do you? I’ve told you to leave me in peace, so good-bye.” There was the sound of the receiver being put down and that was that.
    “She knew the speakerphone was on, Carl,” said Assad. “We should have gone out to her, like I suggested.”
    Carl shrugged his shoulders. Maybe he was right, but it was late and the way he saw it, there were two types of witnesses to be avoided unless absolutely necessary: those who said too much and those who kept their mouths shut.
    Rose looked in her notebook. “Here’s the address for Habersaat’s son, Bjarke. He’s renting a room at the northern end of Rønne, so we can be there in ten minutes. Shall we get going, then?”
    The decision was made. Rose was already standing.

4
    The house on Sandflugtsvej was situated back from the road with a French balcony and the feeling of the good life emanating from it. Everything had been arranged down to the last detail, from the door knocker to the brass nameplate and well-mowed lawns. This was a place where you drove in newly washed VW Polos, French cars, or, for lack of something better, SUVs. All status symbols of the first degree in provincial Denmark.
    There was only one name on the door, Nelly Rasmussen.
    “Yes, Bjarke Habersaat certainly does live here,” she said with a