The Hanging Girl Read Online Free

avoid picking at her quirks too much, because that was how she worked best. When it came down to it, she could be a little unstable from time to time, but if you wanted to help her calm down, the best thing to do was take the knocks or things would only get worse.
    He took a deep breath. “Listen here, Rose. Don’t think I’m not sorry about what’s happened. But might I remind you that what happened to Habersaat was his own choice and doing. He could’ve just called back or, alternatively, answered the phone when you called him. If he’d warned us in an e-mail or letter about what he was going to do, then thingswould’ve looked different today. Wouldn’t you agree, little Miss Holier-than-thou?”
    He smiled conciliatorily, but something about the way Rose looked told him he should have dropped the last sentence.
    Thank God, Assad managed to avert anything developing further.
    “Rose, I get your point. But Habersaat committed suicide and we can’t do anything about that now.” He froze suddenly, gagging a couple of times, looking drearily out over the top of the waves.
    “So shouldn’t we just try to find out why he did it?” he continued a little feebly. “Isn’t that why we’re heading to Bornholm on this weird boat?”
    Rose nodded with the faintest of smiles. It was acting at its best.
    Carl leaned back in his seat again and nodded gratefully to Assad, whose color had changed in a split second from his usual Middle Eastern glow to green. Poor guy! But what could you expect from someone who could develop seasickness on an inflatable raft in a swimming pool?
    “I’m really not so keen on sailing,” he said in a worryingly quiet voice.
    “There are sick bags in the restroom,” Rose said dryly, pulling her travel guide to Bornholm from her pocket.
    Assad shook his head. “No, no, I’m fine. I’ll be okay. I’ve made my mind up.”
    Never a dull moment with that pair.
    *   *   *
    The Bornholm Police represented Denmark’s undisputedly smallest police district with its own police commissioner and a force of around sixty. On the entire island, there was only one police station left, which in addition to being manned round the clock was also responsible for those police matters concerning not only the forty-five thousand islanders, but also the six hundred thousand tourists who visited every year. A micro universe of almost six hundred square kilometers of arable farmland, cliffs, and rocks, and an endless number of large and especially small attractions, which the local tourist organizations each attempted topublicize as the most unique. The biggest round church, the smallest, the best preserved, the oldest, the tallest. All communities with any self-respect had exactly what it was that made the island worth visiting.
    The broad-shouldered policeman down in reception asked them to wait a moment. Apparently there had been a vehicle with an excessive load on the ferry they’d travelled on, so there were a few things that needed to be attended to.
    Well, of course such an atrocious crime should take precedence over everything else, thought Carl with a mocking smile when one of them got up to point to the door they should use.
    The police commissioner received them in his best clothes in the assembly room on the first floor, with a spread of pastries and a mass of coffee cups. There was no doubt here about rank or authority, or that their presence, despite the seriousness of the situation, puzzled the local boss.
    “You’ve come a long way from home,” he said, presumably meaning
too
far.
    “Yes, our colleague Christian Habersaat unfortunately committed suicide. An unusually gruesome parting,” he continued, still seeming somewhat in shock. Carl had seen it before. Police who’d taken the academic route, just like all the other Danish police commissioners, and who as a result hadn’t gotten their hands too dirty, were exactly the sort of people on the force who were least likely to feel