The Killing 3 by David Hewson

after five. You don’t expect them to give me the details, do you?’
    ‘I want to know the minute this is done.’
    Nebel came round and took the seat next to him. Blue suit. Blonde hair tight behind her neck. Make-up perfect. She looked just like she had on the TV.
    ‘A word of advice,’ she said in a low voice so no one else could hear. ‘Be careful with Rosa Lebech. She has her own agenda . . .’
    ‘We all do. Has Birgit Eggert got to you too?’
    ‘Rosa’s got nothing to gain by coming out for you right now. If I was her I wouldn’t.’ She gazed at him, made sure he was looking, briefly touched the sleeve of his
shirt. ‘However I felt about you.’
    Hartmann had wondered about Nebel a few times. She was attractive. Had a nervous hunger that made him think. Her marriage had fallen to pieces under the strain of government work. There’d
been moments, late at night, when it so nearly happened. But she was staff. Like Rie Skovgaard when Hartmann was fighting to become mayor. And that hadn’t worked out well at all. Office
affairs were close, difficult to untangle. And Karen Nebel wasn’t the type who’d take the inevitable gentle rejection easily. That last thought had finally stopped him. But only
just.
    ‘Why does she need another meeting?’ Nebel asked.
    The long, empty beach was approaching.
    ‘Best I find out,’ Hartmann said.
    A couple of minutes later he was walking with Rosa Lebech, both wrapped up against the biting wind. In summer it was hard to find a space here. The hard November meant they were quite alone.
    ‘If we keep meeting like this I need to buy one of those camper vans,’ Hartmann said. ‘Gas cooker and a pull-down bed. In fact that might not be a bad idea anyway.’
    She wore a fashionable fawn coat, a red silk scarf round her neck. Looked tired, he thought. They probably all did.
    ‘Ussing’s fine with the truce.’
    Lebech nodded. Perhaps knew this already.
    ‘That’s good news.’
    ‘So when do you make the announcement?’
    She looked at the beach. The sand whirling around in the wind.
    ‘Tonight, during the TV debate would be good,’ Hartmann added.
    ‘We need to wait. Tonight’s not good. It’ll look better in the morning.’
    ‘We can’t keep on postponing this, Rosa.’
    ‘There’s only one story at the moment. The Zeuthen kidnapping. It’s stealing the show.’
    ‘Hopefully the show, as you call it, will soon be over,’ he said, and tried not to sound too hard.
    No answer.
    ‘Has Ussing got to you?’
    ‘Not me,’ she said. ‘To the deputy chairman. A few others. He’s good at splitting people.’
    ‘You can’t seriously allow him to use a dreadful crime like this for his own ends.’ He watched her closely. ‘Can you?’
    A moment then she said, ‘You’re right. I’ll put my foot down. We’ll throw our weight behind you after the debate tonight.’
    ‘Thanks,’ he said.
    The campaign team were watching from the coach. He wondered whether to care. Then thought better of it. Placed a hand lightly on her waist, smiled. Left it that.
    One hour to go. A team had assembled in the Politigården, ready for the handover. Borch was placing the money into a black holdall watched by Robert Zeuthen, his wife and
Brix. Lund sat in the corner of the room, going through files on a computer.
    ‘We could throw in a GPS,’ Borch said. ‘That way—’
    ‘No!’ Zeuthen insisted. ‘Just do what he says. I don’t care about the money.’
    Lund sensed an argument brewing, came over to the table, looked at Borch. He got the message.
    ‘How will he hand over Emilie?’ Maja Zeuthen asked.
    ‘We don’t know,’ Lund told her. ‘He never said.’
    Brix explained how the drop would be monitored from the Politigården, by radio, through access to nearby CCTV cameras.
    ‘You’re welcome to stay and watch,’ he added.
    ‘No,’ Maja Zeuthen said. ‘I want to come. It’s my daughter. I can’t just sit here, waiting.’
    Her husband nodded.
    ‘We