The Killing - 01 - The Killing Read Online Free PDF

everyone we can spare on this.’ The old man didn’t even ask a question, just listened. ‘Tell them we’re looking for nineteen-year-old Nanna Birk Larsen. Missing since Friday. Send someone here for the photos.’
    ‘And you?’
    ‘We’re going to her school.’
    Hartmann and Rie Skovgaard had an empty classroom to prepare. She went through the numbers about the education allocation again. He paced round nervously. Finally she closed the laptop, came and checked his clothes. No tie, blue shirt. He looked good. But still she fiddled with his collar, came close enough so he had to hold her.
    Hartmann’s hands slipped round her back. He pulled Skovgaard to him, kissed her. A sudden passion. Unexpected. She wanted to laugh. He wanted more.
    ‘Move in with me,’ he said and pushed her against the desk. She fell on it, giggling, wrapped her long legs round him.
    ‘Aren’t you too busy?’
    ‘Not for you.’
    ‘After the election.’
    His face changed. The politician returned.
    ‘Why the big secret?’
    ‘Because I’ve got a job to do, Troels. And so have you. We want no complications.’ Her voice fell a tone. Smart eyes flashing. ‘And we don’t want Morten jealous.’
    ‘Morten’s the most experienced political aide we have. He knows what he’s doing.’
    ‘So I don’t?’
    ‘I didn’t say that. I don’t want to talk about Morten . . .’
    Her hands were on his jacket again.
    ‘Let’s deal with this when you’ve won, shall we?’
    Hartmann was reaching for her again.
    The door opened. Rektor Koch was there. She looked embarrassed.
    ‘The Lord Mayor’s arrived,’ she said. A confidential smile. ‘If you’re ready.’
    Hartmann buttoned his jacket and walked out into the corridor.
    Poul Bremer was beaming beneath a poster of a half-naked pop singer. Skovgaard left them alone and went to check out the room.
    ‘I hope the Centre Party likes your ideas, Troels. A lot of them are good. Very like your father’s.’
    ‘Is that so?’
    ‘They have his vigorous energy. His optimism.’
    ‘Conviction,’ Hartmann said. ‘They came from what he believed. Not what he thought might win a few votes.’
    Bremer nodded at that.
    ‘It’s a shame he was never quite good enough to see them through.’
    ‘I’ll think of him. When I’ve got your job.’
    ‘I believe you will. One day.’ Bremer pulled out a handkerchief and cleaned his spectacles. ‘You’re more robust than he was. Your father was always . . . How should I put it?’ The glasses went back on, those icy eyes looked him up and down. ‘Fragile. Like porcelain.’
    Bremer held up his right hand. A big fist. A fighter’s, in spite of all outward appearances.
    ‘He was always going to snap.’
    The click of his strong fingers was so loud it seemed to echo off the peeling walls.
    ‘If I hadn’t broken him he’d have broken himself. Believe me. It was a kindness in a way. It’s best not to allow one’s delusions to linger too long.’
    ‘Let’s get to this debate,’ Hartmann said. ‘It’s time . . .’
    When they turned to go Rektor Koch was walking towards them. She looked worried. With her was a woman in a blue cagoule, an odd black and white patterned sweater visible beneath it, hair swept back from her face like a teenager too busy to think about boyfriends.
    A woman who thought nothing of her own appearance. Which was odd since she was striking and attractive.
    Now she was looking straight ahead, at them, nowhere else. She had very large and staring eyes.
    Somehow Hartmann wasn’t surprised when she pulled out a police ID card. It read: Vicekriminalkommissær Sarah Lund.
    Bremer had retreated to the back of the corridor the moment he saw the cop approaching.
    ‘You have to cancel the debate,’ Lund said.
    ‘Why?’
    ‘There’s a missing girl. I need to talk to people here. People in her class. Teachers. I need . . .’
    Rektor Koch was ushering them into a side room, out of the corridor. Bremer stayed where he