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A page-turning adaptation of the first season of the original Danish television series The Killing, from the author of the Detective Nic Costa series
Through the dark wood where the dead trees give no shelter Nanna Birk Larsen runs . . . There is a bright monocular eye that follows, like a hunter after a wounded deer. It moves in a slow approaching zigzag, marching through the Pineseskoven wasteland, through the Pentecost Forest. The chill water, the fear, his presence not so far away . . . There is one torchlight on her now, the single blazing eye. And it is here.
Sarah Lund is looking forward to her last day as a detective with the Copenhagen Police department before moving to Sweden. But everything changes when 19-year-old student Nanna Birk Larsen is found raped and brutally murdered in the woods outside the city. Lund's plans to relocate are put on hold as she leads the investigation along with fellow detective Jan Meyer. While Nanna's family struggles to cope with their loss, local politician Troels Hartmann is in the middle of an election campaign to become the new mayor of Copenhagen. When links between City Hall and the murder suddenly come to light, the case takes an entirely different turn. Over the course of 20 days, suspect upon suspect emerges as violence and political intrigue cast their shadows over the hunt for the killer.
broad smile and shook his head. ‘You’re a very unusual police officer.’ ‘No I’m not. How did you meet your wife?’ He thought about his answer. ‘In high school. We were in the same class. We couldn’t stand each other at first. Then we agreed we wouldn’t live together. And under absolutely no circumstances . . .’ He held up his left hand, as if wishing to push something away. ‘. . . would we marry.’ A short burst of laughter. ‘But some things you can’t control. Doesn’t matter how hard you
see you crying, Lotte,’ she said. ‘Either stop it or go.’ Lotte went to the bathroom, dried her eyes. Wondered about the coke in her handbag. Hated herself for even thinking of it. Then she went back and picked at the food, listened to the boys laughing, watched Pernille glued to the TV. At eight thirty she walked downstairs to the garage. Vagn Skærbæk was there, calling round anxiously. He hadn’t located Theis. Had no idea where he might be. ‘Who did you phone?’ ‘As many as I trusted. I
the gilt chain. Unmarked. Not tarnished. ‘This hasn’t been worn for twenty years. If Holck bought it . . .’ Meyer carried on. ‘Jens Holck transferred money personally to Olav’s account. Not just the five thousand he was giving him through City Hall. Blackmail. We found his prints in Store Kongensgade too. We got these in his home.’ Meyer spread out some photos on the table. Lund shuffled her chair closer. Holck with Nanna somewhere in the country. Happy, loving. Holck was smiling. Barely
uniforms. Hefty men heaving around crates, checking clipboards, looking her up and down. ‘We just want to know what he did at the weekend.’ ‘We went to the seaside. With our two boys. Friday to Sunday. Took a cottage. Why?’ Tarpaulins and ropes. Wooden chests and commercial pallets. Lund wondered what she’d meet as a not-quite-cop in Sweden. She’d never really asked herself that question. Bengt wanted to go. She wanted to follow. ‘Maybe he came back to town on business?’ Meyer said. The woman
You don’t know us.’ Vibeke took the half-made dress off the stand, examined the seams. ‘I just want you to be happy. I don’t want you to be lonely in your old age.’ ‘You’re not lonely, are you?’ Vibeke looked thrown by the question. ‘I wasn’t talking about myself.’ ‘I won’t be lonely. I wasn’t lonely before Bengt. Why should I . . .?’ Now there was an expression she did recognize. Summed up in one word: exactly. Lund turned on the TV and watched the news headlines. One story only. Troels