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

was.
    Hartmann listened to the cop.
    ‘You want me to cancel a debate because a pupil’s skipping school?’
    ‘It’s important I talk to everyone,’ Lund insisted.
    ‘Everyone?’
    ‘Everyone I want to talk to.’
    She didn’t move. Didn’t stop looking at him. Nothing else.
    ‘We could put back the debate an hour,’ Hartmann suggested.
    ‘Not for me,’ Bremer cut in. ‘I have appointments. This was your invitation, Troels. If you can’t make it . . .’
    Hartmann took a step towards Sarah Lund and said, ‘How serious is it?’
    ‘I hope nothing’s happened.’
    ‘I asked how serious it was.’
    ‘That’s what I’m trying to find out,’ Lund replied then put her hands on her hips and waited for an answer. ‘So . . .’
    She looked round, checking the rooms.
    ‘That’s agreed then,’ Lund added.
    Bremer took out his phone, checked some messages.
    ‘Call my secretary. I’ll try to fit you in. Oh!’ A sudden flash of geniality. ‘I’ve got good news for your inner-city schools. It seems absenteeism is up by twenty per cent.’ He laughed. ‘We can’t have that, can we? So I’ve allocated funds for extra facilities. More computers. Children love those things. That’ll fix it.’
    Hartmann stared at him, speechless.
    Bremer shrugged.
    ‘I would have told you in there. But now . . . We’ll put out a release straight away. Good news. I trust you’ll welcome it.’
    A long moment of silence.
    ‘You’re happy, I see,’ Bremer said, then, with a wave, walked off.
    Half past three in the afternoon. They were still in the room where the debate was supposed to happen, getting nowhere. Nanna had been to the Halloween party in the school hall the previous Friday, dressed in a black witch’s hat and garish blue wig. No one had seen her since.
    Now it was the teacher’s turn.
    ‘What’s Nanna like?’
    They all called him Rama. He stood out and not just because of his dark, striking Middle Eastern looks. He was one of Troels Hartmann’s role models, part of an initiative to bring immigrant groups more closely into the fabric of the community. An articulate, intelligent, convincing man.
    ‘Nanna’s a clever kid,’ he said. ‘Always full of energy. Always wanting to do something.’
    ‘I saw the photo. She looks older than nineteen.’
    He nodded.
    ‘They all want that, don’t they? Desperate to grow up. Or to feel they have. Nanna’s top of her class in most things. Bright kid. Doesn’t stop her wanting what the rest do.’
    ‘Which is?’
    The teacher looked at her.
    ‘They’re teenagers. Are you serious?’
    ‘What happened at the party?’
    ‘Fancy dress. A band. Ghosts and pumpkins.’
    ‘Does she have a boyfriend?’
    ‘Ask Lisa.’
    ‘I’m asking you.’
    He looked uncomfortable.
    ‘It’s best a teacher stays out of these things.’
    Lund went outside, stopped the first girl she found, sat her down, talked to her until she got an answer.
    Then she went back to the teacher.
    ‘Oliver Schandorff. Is he here?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Did you know Oliver was her boyfriend?’
    ‘I told you. It’s best we keep some distance.’
    She waited.
    ‘I’m their teacher. Not their guardian. Not a parent either.’
    Lund looked at her watch. The interviews had run on for more than three hours and this was all they had. All anyone had. Meyer, out in the woods and fields near the airport with a search team, hadn’t found a thing.
    ‘Shit.’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ the teacher said.
    ‘Not you.’
    Me, she thought. She could surely have got this out of Pernille in a few minutes if she’d tried. Why was it the best questions only came when she had something – people, evidence, crimes – in front of her?
    Two hundred and thirty-five three-storey terraced houses made up the place called Humleby, a tiny estate four streets from Birk Larsen’s home. The colour of slate and gunmetal, they were built in the nineteenth century for workers at the nearby shipyard. Then the Carlsberg brewery