Read Online The Killing - 01 - The Killing by David Hewson - Free Book Online Page A

one but me.’
    Skovgaard stood up, arms waving.
    ‘There’s an election going on. We can’t afford to wait.’
    Lund turned to Hartmann.
    ‘The information we just gave you was confidential. If you choose to make it public and jeopardize a murder inquiry that’s your choice. You can live with the consequences. And there will be consequences, Hartmann. That I promise.’
    Weber coughed. Skovgaard went quiet. Meyer looked pleased.
    ‘Rie,’ Hartmann said. ‘I think we can wait a while. Provided . . .’
    The briefest, pleading smile.
    ‘Provided what?’ Meyer asked.
    ‘Provided you tell us when you decide to go public. So we can work together. Make sure everything’s right.’
    He folded his arms. The shirt was the blue of the campaign poster above his head. Everything here was coordinated. Planned.
    Lund took out her personal card, crossed out her name, wrote Meyer’s there instead.
    ‘Tomorrow morning ring Jan Meyer on this number,’ she said. ‘He’ll update you.’
    ‘You’re not on the case?’ Hartmann asked.
    ‘No,’ Lund said. ‘He is.’
    Weber left with the cops. Skovgaard stayed with him, still smarting.
    ‘What the hell is this, Troels?’
    ‘Search me.’
    ‘If we agree to hide things the press could crucify us. They love the words cover-up. It gives them a hard-on.’
    ‘We’re not covering up. We’re doing what the police asked us.’
    ‘They won’t care.’
    Hartmann put on his jacket, thinking, looked at her.
    ‘She didn’t leave us much choice. They’d crucify us for screwing up a murder inquiry too. Lund knew that. It’s nothing to do with us. Forget about it.’
    Sharp eyes wide open, mouth agape.
    ‘A girl’s found dead in one of our cars? It’s nothing to do with us?’
    ‘Nothing. If you want something to worry about, take a look round this place.’
    He pointed to the main office beyond the door. Eight, ten full-time staff working there during the day.
    ‘Meaning what?’
    ‘Meaning are we secure? The computers? Emails? Our reports?’
    A caustic look.
    ‘You’re not getting paranoid about Bremer, are you?’
    ‘How did he come up with that trick about the school funding? How did he know about the twenty per cent?’
    Hartmann thought about the conversation with Bremer, what the mayor said about his late father.
    ‘That cunning old bastard’s up to something.’
    She came to him with his coat, helped him on with it, zipped it up against the cold night.
    ‘Such as?’
    Hartmann told her a little about why Therese Kruse came to see him. About the reporter asking questions. He left out the personal details.
    ‘Some of that had to come from in here. Had to.’
    She wasn’t happy.
    ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
    ‘I’m telling you now.’
    He walked into the big office. Desks and computers. Filing cabinets, voicemail. All the private details of the campaign lived inside this room, deep in the heart of the Rådhus, locked securely every night.
    ‘Go home,’ she said. ‘I’ll take a look around.’
    Hartmann came over, took her shoulders, kissed her tenderly.
    ‘I could help.’
    ‘Go home,’ she repeated. ‘You’ve got to cut the deal with Kirsten Eller first thing. I want you wide awake for that.’
    He looked out of the window into the square.
    ‘They said she was nineteen. Just a kid.’
    ‘It’s not our fault, is it?’
    Troels Hartmann stared at the blue hotel sign and the yellow lights in the square.
    ‘No,’ he said. ‘It isn’t.’
    ‘Why did you say we’d find him?’ Lund asked.
    They were in her unmarked car, Meyer at the wheel.
    ‘You won’t pull a trick like that on me again,’ he said. ‘In front of those clowns. Of all the people . . .’
    His anger was so open and puerile it was almost amusing.
    ‘I won’t need to. I’ll be gone. Why did you say that? To the father.’
    ‘Because we will.’ A pause. ‘I will.’
    ‘You don’t make promises,’ she threw at him. ‘Read the book. Page one.’
    ‘I’ve got my own