he didn’t notice any twitching.
‘I can feel you in one small spot, Carl. Take the shears and prick me, but not too fast. I’ll tell you when you hit it.’
Poor man. Paralysed from the neck down. Just a touch of feeling in one shoulder was all that was left. Everything else was just the hope of a person in despair.
But Carl did as Hardy asked. Quite systematically, from his elbow down and then up and all the way round. When he neared the back of Hardy’s armpit, he gasped.
‘There, Carl. Use your pen to mark it.’
He did. A friend was a friend, after all.
‘Do it again. Try to trick me. I’ll tell you when you hit the mark. I’m closing my eyes.’
When Carl reached the spot again, Hardy grinned, or perhaps it was a grimace. ‘There!’ he cried. It was goddam unbelievable. Enough to give you the shivers.
‘Don’t tell the nurse, Carl.’
Carl wrinkled his brow. ‘Huh? Why not, Hardy? This is wonderful news. Maybe there’s a glimmer of hope in spite of everything. Then they’ll have something to work from.’
‘I’m going to try to enlarge the spot. I want my one arm back, do you hear?’ Only then did Hardy look at his old colleague for the first time. ‘And what I use the arm for isn’t anyone’s business, got it?’
Carl nodded. Whatever improved Hardy’s mood was fine with him. The dream he had of picking up the shears by himself and stabbing himself in the throat was apparently all he’d been living for.
The question was whether or not that little sensitive spot on Hardy’s arm had been there the whole time. But it was better to let it lie. In Hardy’s case, it hardly made any difference.
Carl adjusted Hardy’s shirt and pulled the blanket up to his chin. ‘Do you still see that lady psychologist, Hardy?’ Carl imagined Mona Ibsen’s delectable body. A vision that was balm for his soul.
‘Yes.’
‘And? What do you talk about?’ he asked, hoping his name would be wedged somewhere in the response.
‘She keeps poking around in the shooting episode out in Amager, though I don’t know what good it’ll do. Butwhenever she visits, that damn nail-gun case is what interests her most.’
‘Yes, I suppose it is.’
‘You know what, Carl?’
‘What?’
‘She’s got me thinking, in spite of myself. I mean, what’s the fucking use? And yet, the question lingers.’
‘Which question, Hardy?’
He looked directly into Carl’s eyes. In the same way they would cross-examine a suspect. Not accusatory, and not the opposite – just unsettling.
‘You and I and Anker were out at the shed at least ten days after the man was murdered, right?’
‘Right.’
‘The culprits had oceans of time to remove any traces. Oceans. Then why didn’t they? Why did they wait? They could have set the fucking house on fire. Taken the body and burned the place down.’
‘Yes, it does make you wonder. I do, too.’
‘But why did they come back to the house right when we were there?’
‘Yes, that also makes you wonder.’
‘Wonder? Do you know what, Carl? I don’t wonder so much. Not any more.’ He tried to clear his throat, but didn’t succeed.
‘Maybe Anker could have said more if he were still alive,’ Hardy continued.
‘What do you mean?’ Carl hadn’t thought of Anker in weeks. Only eight months had passed since their best colleague had been shot before their eyes in that rotten house, yet he had already floated out of Carl’s consciousness.It made him wonder how long he would be remembered if the same happened to him.
‘Someone was waiting for us at the house, Carl. What happened there doesn’t make sense any other way. I mean, it wasn’t a typical investigation. One of us was involved, and it wasn’t me. Was it you, Carl?’
9
Ditlev stuck his head out the passenger window and signalled the drivers of the six four-wheel-drives parked in front of the yellow-washed facade of Tranekær Inn to follow him.
The sun was wavering on the horizon as they reached the
‘I can feel you in one small spot, Carl. Take the shears and prick me, but not too fast. I’ll tell you when you hit it.’
Poor man. Paralysed from the neck down. Just a touch of feeling in one shoulder was all that was left. Everything else was just the hope of a person in despair.
But Carl did as Hardy asked. Quite systematically, from his elbow down and then up and all the way round. When he neared the back of Hardy’s armpit, he gasped.
‘There, Carl. Use your pen to mark it.’
He did. A friend was a friend, after all.
‘Do it again. Try to trick me. I’ll tell you when you hit the mark. I’m closing my eyes.’
When Carl reached the spot again, Hardy grinned, or perhaps it was a grimace. ‘There!’ he cried. It was goddam unbelievable. Enough to give you the shivers.
‘Don’t tell the nurse, Carl.’
Carl wrinkled his brow. ‘Huh? Why not, Hardy? This is wonderful news. Maybe there’s a glimmer of hope in spite of everything. Then they’ll have something to work from.’
‘I’m going to try to enlarge the spot. I want my one arm back, do you hear?’ Only then did Hardy look at his old colleague for the first time. ‘And what I use the arm for isn’t anyone’s business, got it?’
Carl nodded. Whatever improved Hardy’s mood was fine with him. The dream he had of picking up the shears by himself and stabbing himself in the throat was apparently all he’d been living for.
The question was whether or not that little sensitive spot on Hardy’s arm had been there the whole time. But it was better to let it lie. In Hardy’s case, it hardly made any difference.
Carl adjusted Hardy’s shirt and pulled the blanket up to his chin. ‘Do you still see that lady psychologist, Hardy?’ Carl imagined Mona Ibsen’s delectable body. A vision that was balm for his soul.
‘Yes.’
‘And? What do you talk about?’ he asked, hoping his name would be wedged somewhere in the response.
‘She keeps poking around in the shooting episode out in Amager, though I don’t know what good it’ll do. Butwhenever she visits, that damn nail-gun case is what interests her most.’
‘Yes, I suppose it is.’
‘You know what, Carl?’
‘What?’
‘She’s got me thinking, in spite of myself. I mean, what’s the fucking use? And yet, the question lingers.’
‘Which question, Hardy?’
He looked directly into Carl’s eyes. In the same way they would cross-examine a suspect. Not accusatory, and not the opposite – just unsettling.
‘You and I and Anker were out at the shed at least ten days after the man was murdered, right?’
‘Right.’
‘The culprits had oceans of time to remove any traces. Oceans. Then why didn’t they? Why did they wait? They could have set the fucking house on fire. Taken the body and burned the place down.’
‘Yes, it does make you wonder. I do, too.’
‘But why did they come back to the house right when we were there?’
‘Yes, that also makes you wonder.’
‘Wonder? Do you know what, Carl? I don’t wonder so much. Not any more.’ He tried to clear his throat, but didn’t succeed.
‘Maybe Anker could have said more if he were still alive,’ Hardy continued.
‘What do you mean?’ Carl hadn’t thought of Anker in weeks. Only eight months had passed since their best colleague had been shot before their eyes in that rotten house, yet he had already floated out of Carl’s consciousness.It made him wonder how long he would be remembered if the same happened to him.
‘Someone was waiting for us at the house, Carl. What happened there doesn’t make sense any other way. I mean, it wasn’t a typical investigation. One of us was involved, and it wasn’t me. Was it you, Carl?’
9
Ditlev stuck his head out the passenger window and signalled the drivers of the six four-wheel-drives parked in front of the yellow-washed facade of Tranekær Inn to follow him.
The sun was wavering on the horizon as they reached the
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