Read Online The Marco Effect: A Department Q Novel by Jussi Adler-Olsen - Free Book Online
Authors: Jussi Adler-Olsen
Ads: Link
to others. People never slept that heavily in Denmark. They often lounged in front of their TV screens until the early hours, and in the darkness ears had a habit of growing far too big.
He prodded the ground with a bare foot. Perhaps there was something useful to be found in the grave with this dead man. He needed to check, so he picked up a stick from the undergrowth and began to hollow out the soil around the shoulders of the corpse, continuing until the torso was completely exposed.
Despite the darkness and the dirt, the face was quite clear to him, cheekbones high and chiseled, the nose long and straight. And the reddest hair Marco had seen in all his life. The age was impossible to assess, for the skin of the face had almost liquefied. He sensed that, had it not been so dark, the sight would have been as appalling as the smell.
There was nothing for him here, he decided, his eyes resting in a moment’s distress on the tightened, decaying hand that seemed almost to be trying to grab and hold on to life itself. To this man also, Zola had brought calamity.
And then it was that Marco discovered the chain catch protruding from underneath the corpse’s withered thumb. A tiny, round fastener with a lever. How many times had he opened one just like it as he stole the necklace off some innocent individual’s neck?
He took hold and pulled until the bones gave way and the chain slipped from the hand. As easy as anything.
The trinket was heavy and foreign in appearance. Marco had neverseen one like it. An intricate lattice of threads, with a few pieces of horn and small wooden masks dangling from it. It wasn’t appealing, but it was unusual.
Unusual, perhaps, but hardly a piece that could be traded for money.
Just something African.
4
Spring 2011
“What the hell’s going on?” Carl wanted to know, as Tomas Laursen, the stocky former forensics officer and current manager of Copenhagen police headquarters’ under-dimensioned cafeteria stuck his head out of the kitchen area. “What are all these horrible paper flags for? Is it my homecoming from Rotterdam you’re celebrating? I was gone only a day.”
Had it not been for the fact that he’d had to pick up that fantastic ring for Mona and because the jeweler’s was so close to police HQ, not to mention his dying for a cup of coffee, he would have gone straight home from the airport.
Now he was feeling he should have done so anyway.
He stared around the room, shaking his head. What kind of shit was this? Had he walked in on some kid’s birthday party, or had one of his colleagues got himself hitched for the third or fourth time in the vain hope that he was finally safe?
Laursen smiled. “Hi, Carl. No, I’m afraid not. It’s because Lars Bjørn has come back. Lis has been putting up decorations, and Marcus has called the department in for coffee and a bite in half an hour.”
Carl frowned. Lars Bjørn? Back from where? He hadn’t even noticed the homicide department’s deputy commissioner had been away.
“Uhh,
back
, you say? What, been to Legoland, has he?”
Laursen dumped a plate containing something green in front of the officer at Carl’s side. It didn’t look good. Carl felt sure his colleague was going to regret it.
“You haven’t heard, then? Strange. Anyway, he’s just got back fromKabul.” Laursen laughed. “If you can avoid it, I’d say you were best off not letting on you didn’t know. He’s been away for two months, Carl.”
Carl glanced to his side. Was this poverty of common knowledge what was causing the hand of the man next to him to shake as he lifted his fork to his mouth? But who was the real laughingstock at the moment? Carl or Lars Bjørn, who apparently hadn’t been missed?
Two whole months, according to Tomas. Gasp.
“Kabul, you say? A pretty dangerous neck of the woods. What the fuck’s he been doing there?” It was hard to imagine a boarding-school wuss like Bjørn kitted out in battle dress. “Did they
He prodded the ground with a bare foot. Perhaps there was something useful to be found in the grave with this dead man. He needed to check, so he picked up a stick from the undergrowth and began to hollow out the soil around the shoulders of the corpse, continuing until the torso was completely exposed.
Despite the darkness and the dirt, the face was quite clear to him, cheekbones high and chiseled, the nose long and straight. And the reddest hair Marco had seen in all his life. The age was impossible to assess, for the skin of the face had almost liquefied. He sensed that, had it not been so dark, the sight would have been as appalling as the smell.
There was nothing for him here, he decided, his eyes resting in a moment’s distress on the tightened, decaying hand that seemed almost to be trying to grab and hold on to life itself. To this man also, Zola had brought calamity.
And then it was that Marco discovered the chain catch protruding from underneath the corpse’s withered thumb. A tiny, round fastener with a lever. How many times had he opened one just like it as he stole the necklace off some innocent individual’s neck?
He took hold and pulled until the bones gave way and the chain slipped from the hand. As easy as anything.
The trinket was heavy and foreign in appearance. Marco had neverseen one like it. An intricate lattice of threads, with a few pieces of horn and small wooden masks dangling from it. It wasn’t appealing, but it was unusual.
Unusual, perhaps, but hardly a piece that could be traded for money.
Just something African.
4
Spring 2011
“What the hell’s going on?” Carl wanted to know, as Tomas Laursen, the stocky former forensics officer and current manager of Copenhagen police headquarters’ under-dimensioned cafeteria stuck his head out of the kitchen area. “What are all these horrible paper flags for? Is it my homecoming from Rotterdam you’re celebrating? I was gone only a day.”
Had it not been for the fact that he’d had to pick up that fantastic ring for Mona and because the jeweler’s was so close to police HQ, not to mention his dying for a cup of coffee, he would have gone straight home from the airport.
Now he was feeling he should have done so anyway.
He stared around the room, shaking his head. What kind of shit was this? Had he walked in on some kid’s birthday party, or had one of his colleagues got himself hitched for the third or fourth time in the vain hope that he was finally safe?
Laursen smiled. “Hi, Carl. No, I’m afraid not. It’s because Lars Bjørn has come back. Lis has been putting up decorations, and Marcus has called the department in for coffee and a bite in half an hour.”
Carl frowned. Lars Bjørn? Back from where? He hadn’t even noticed the homicide department’s deputy commissioner had been away.
“Uhh,
back
, you say? What, been to Legoland, has he?”
Laursen dumped a plate containing something green in front of the officer at Carl’s side. It didn’t look good. Carl felt sure his colleague was going to regret it.
“You haven’t heard, then? Strange. Anyway, he’s just got back fromKabul.” Laursen laughed. “If you can avoid it, I’d say you were best off not letting on you didn’t know. He’s been away for two months, Carl.”
Carl glanced to his side. Was this poverty of common knowledge what was causing the hand of the man next to him to shake as he lifted his fork to his mouth? But who was the real laughingstock at the moment? Carl or Lars Bjørn, who apparently hadn’t been missed?
Two whole months, according to Tomas. Gasp.
“Kabul, you say? A pretty dangerous neck of the woods. What the fuck’s he been doing there?” It was hard to imagine a boarding-school wuss like Bjørn kitted out in battle dress. “Did they
Similar Books
