Free The Considerate Killer by Agnete Friis, Lene Kaaberbøl Page A

thing in the world for her to simply refuse to speak with him. He had no professional role whatsoever in her investigation, folder or no folder.
    â€œAny news about the car?” he asked mildly.
    Her shoulders relaxed a bit—she didn’t like being in conflict with him, he noted. Good. He might be able to use that later.
    â€œIt was found in the parking lot behind a shopping center this morning. He had set fire to it, but the night watchman saw the flames and was able to put out the fire with a foam extinguisher before it burned altogether.” She sighed. “We probably shouldn’t count on finding too many DNA traces there, though.”
    â€œAny witnesses?”
    She shook her head.
    â€œIt’s on the outskirts of town and quite deserted after closing hours. Not a soul except the watchman and his German shepherd. But he thought he heard a car drive off—he described the sound of the engine as ‘sports car–like.’”
    â€œThat doesn’t give you much to work with,” Søren growled.
    â€œNo. I really hope your girlfriend recovers enough to give us a lead.”
    Søren nodded slowly.
    â€œSo do I,” he said.
    Nina considered the lunch tray with an acute lack of enthusiasm. According to the menu that had been circulated, it was “oriental veal casserole with mashed potatoes and a symphony of seasonal vegetables,” but she didn’t think there was anything remotely orchestral about the spoonful of defrosted supermarket greens.
    â€œWould you like some?” she asked her mother.
    â€œNo, thank you.” Hanne Borg rummaged around in her bag and handed a cell phone to her. It was Nina’s own Nokia. “Here. Daniela dropped by with it yesterday.”
    Daniela was one of the secretaries at the clinic. She lived not far from the house on Cherry Lane.
    â€œThank you.” Nina put it in the night table drawer. Then she set aside to barely sampled lunch tray.
    â€œAre you allowed to get out of bed?” her mother asked.
    â€œYes. As of today. They’d like me to move around a little now, in fact. The risk of thrombosis and all that.”
    â€œWhy don’t we go into the lounge and have a cup of coffee instead? I brought you one of my old robes.”
    There wasn’t a soul in the lounge—most people were in their rooms, having their lunch. On the corner table stood that damned vulgar bouquet, spreading its cloying soap-like scent. Nina decisively turned her back on it, liberated a thermos from the rolling cart, and sat down by the large window facing the park. It was a grey, blustery day, but the Japanese maples flamed bright yellow and scarlet against the darker backdrop of the evergreen hedges, giving Nina a violent attack of indoor claustrophobia. She looked with envy at the lucky visitor seated on one of the lime-green benches across from the main entrance. A greenish-brown parka with a fur-lined hood made it impossible to determine whether it was a man or a woman, at least from up here. Was it already so cold that you needed polar equipment?
    Nina poured coffee into two white institutional cups.
    â€œIt says ‘patients only,’” her mother pointed out and with a flip of her finger indicated the Dymo strip that adorned both the thermos and its lid.
    â€œYou’re a patient too,” said Nina.
    Her mother gave a small snort.
    â€œYes, I suppose I am.”
    â€œWhat did they say?” Her mother had come straight from a checkup in oncology.
    â€œThat I’m well enough to receive the next dose of poison.”
    â€œGood.”
    â€œYes, I suppose so. All things considered.”
    Silence descended between them, heavy and brooding. Nina freely admitted that she was no expert in small talk, but her mother was usually better at it.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” she finally asked.
    Her mother raised her head. The wig looked so much like her own hair that it was only the unnaturally