Free The Hanging: A Thriller by Lotte Hammer, Søren Hammer Page B

all at once it stopped and she was left staring vacantly into space.
    Simonsen was tense but remained silent even when one minute followed another and she stood there without sharing what she had seen. The first move had to be hers. Her response turned out to be as disappointing as it was surprising. That it was also a lie, was something he had no power over. The shadow world could not be consulted.
    “Unfortunately I’m not getting anything else, and I would like to go home.”

 
    CHAPTER 12
     
    The face was fleshy and pale with tiny beady eyes, and the thin girlish mouth looked painted on. The gaze was directed downward and the features crumpled into wrinkles as many people have the habit of doing when difficult decisions need to be made. A sour fish-face.
    The head filled two-thirds of the frame, and the headrest, decorated with the Danish flag, made up the rest.
    For a brief second nothing happened, then the face broke into a grin while an eager tongue tip flicked out a couple of times and moistened the red lips.
    Something was said, whereafter the video sequence froze and caught the man in an unflattering grimace.
    Anni Staal—reporter at the Dagbladet, whom Simonsen preferred to see banned from the country—was disgusted. The flag and the man made her feel unclean even though she did not know who he was or hear what he was talking about. She halfheartedly looked around for her headset and realized that as usual someone had taken it. At which point she gave up. The message accompanying the video had been anonymous. The sender was only noted as “Chelsea,” which she didn’t know what to make of. Anonymous messages were nothing new. She received several every day, so she shouldn’t really be wasting more time on a single one.
    The telephone rang. She grabbed the receiver and smiled when she recognized the well-known voice. After a short while she said, “I certainly remember Kasper Planck and that will be a sensation, so you’ll get two thousand if we have a feature on him tomorrow.”
    She gave a time and a place and added, “All right, we’ll say twenty-five hundred, but tell me something while I have you on the line. Arne Pedersen—you know, Konrad Simonsen’s right hand—there’s a rumor that he has gambling debts. Do you know anything about that?”
    Again she listened, though not for as long this time, then she said, “I know, I know. With regard to Kasper Planck, do you think that I can get a comment from either Simonsen or Planck himself?”
    While she listened to her answer, she deleted the e-mail and read the next one. She received two new messages before she wrapped up the call.
    “I think I’ve got the right little Lolita-Anita for the job. The girl has such high morals she should be studying to become a minister rather than journalist, so she meets both of your criteria. And for God’s sake, call me back soon.”
    She hung up and called out into the editorial cubicle area, “Anita!”

 
    CHAPTER 13
     
    There was nothing charming about the Pathology Institute in Copenhagen but through the years there had been many times when Simonsen had felt a certain relief upon entering the place. Perhaps it was the ubiquitous smell of rodalon that stung the palate and nostrils, but that nonetheless did not manage to conceal the heavy odors, or else it was the strange mix of hypermodern machines and gray-white organs in holding jars from an earlier era that appealed to him. The institute was a locked world where only a few insiders belonged, and he was not one of them.
    Arthur Elvang went through the preliminary autopsy results. The board was soon covered and in a little while he would wipe it clean for the fourth time. Simonsen glanced at Arne Pedersen and Pauline Berg, who were sitting at his side and were following the professor’s discourse with great concentration, in contrast to the head of Criminal Forensics, on his other side, who was sleeping. His name was Kurt Melsing and he was