The Hanging Girl

2

Wednesday, April 30th, 2014

Staff retirement receptions were normally held at the police station in Rønne. But that was precisely what Habersaat had not wanted. Since the new police reform had come into force, his good close contact with the local citizens, and what happened over on the east coast of the island, had been transformed to a constant transport back and forth from east to west, and suddenly endless decision-making processes sneaked in from the moment a criminal act occurred until something serious was done about it. Time was wasted, leads were lost, criminals got away.

“It’s a golden age for crooks,” he always said, as if someone cared to listen.

Habersaat hated the direction society was moving in, both generally and more locally. And colleagues who supported the system, and didn’t even know him and the extent of his forty years of loyal service, shouldn’t be at his retirement reception like bleating sheep, acting like they were honoring him.

As a result, he decided to hold the main reception in the local setting of Listed Community Hall, just six hundred meters from his house.

With what he had planned for the occasion, it would be more decent in every way.

He stood in front of the mirror a moment, inspecting his parade uniform, noticing the folds that had formed in the material as a result of not being used for so many years. And while he meticulously and clumsily ironed the trousers on an ironing board that had never been put up before, he let his eyes wander around the room that had once been the family’s warm and lively living room.

Almost twenty years had gone by since then, and now the past stalked about like a purposeless stray animal among heaps of rubbish and junk that no one wanted.

Habersaat shook his head. When he looked back, he didn’t understand himself. Why had he allowed all the colored ring binders to take over the shelves instead of the good books? Why was it swimming with photocopies and clippings on every available surface? Why had he put all his life into work rather than those people who once cared about him?

And yet he understood.

He bowed his head, trying to give free rein to the emotions that momentarily came over him, but the tears didn’t come. Maybe because he was all cried out a long time ago. Yes, of course he knew why things had gone the way they had. It was the way it had to be.

He took a deep breath, straightened out his uniform on the dining table, picked up a worn photo frame, and caressed the picture in it as he’d done hundreds of times before. If only he could have the wasted days back. If only he could just change his nature and decisions and one last time feel the closeness of his wife and boy.

He sighed. Here in this room, he’d made love with his beautiful wife on the sofa. Here on the rug, he’d crawled about with his son when he was very small. Here the arguments had begun, and here his gloom had established itself and multiplied.

It was in this living room that his wife finally spat in his face and once and for all left him alone in life with the knowledge that a trivial case had ripped the happiness out from under his feet.

Back when it all started, it had knocked him for six and left him in an almost permanent state of dejection, yet he just hadn’t been able to let the case go. That was the way it was, unfortunately, and with good reason.

He stood up, tapped one of the piles of notes and clippings, emptied his ashtray, and took out the trash with the week’s ration of empty, rattling cans. Finally, he gave his inside pockets a last check in case he’d forgotten something and looked to see that his parade uniform was just as it should be.

Then he shut the door.

* * *

Despite everything, Habersaat had probably expected that more people would’ve turned up for the reception. If nothing else, then at least those he’d helped out during hard times over the years, but maybe also those for whom he’d smoothed out injustices and put a stop to unfairness. At any rate, he’d expected to see a few of the old retired colleagues from the uniformed police in Nexø and maybe some of the citizens he’d provided authority for over the years in the small community. But when he saw that it was only the chair and substitute accountant of the civic association, the police commissioner and his immediate subordinate, together with the police union representative, who had dutifully turned up, over and above the five to six people he had invited personally, he dropped his long speech and let things come as they came.

“Thanks for coming out on this wonderful sunny morning,” he said, nodding to his old near neighbor Sam that he could start filming now. He poured white wine into the empty plastic glasses and emptied peanuts and potato chips onto foil trays. There was certainly no one else offering to help.

He took a step forward and invited everyone to take a glass. And while they assembled around in front of him, he discreetly put a hand in his pocket and took the safety off his pistol.

“Cheers, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, nodding to each person individually. “Fine faces for judgment day,” he continued smilingly. “Thanks for turning up under the circumstances. You all know what I’ve been through, that I was once like most men, especially policemen. I’m sure that those of you who haven’t gone to seed can still remember me as a quiet and calm guy who could talk around a psyched-up fisherman with a broken beer bottle in his fist and a little too much adrenaline coursing round his veins. Isn’t that right?”

Sam gave a thumbs-up in front of the camera but only one other person nodded. Even so, with downcast eyes, there was an expression of agreement here and there.

“Of course, I’m sorry that after all this time I’m remembered as the man who burned the wick at both ends on a hopeless case, which finally tore apart my family, friendships, and happiness. I’d like to apologize for that, as I’d like to apologize for the years of bitterness from my side. I should’ve stopped when I could. Sorry once again for that.”

He turned toward his superiors, his smile fading and his hand now clutching the pistol in his pocket. “Colleagues, to you I want to say that because you’re so new in office you can’t be personally blamed for my problems. You carry out your work without fault in the way the foolish politicians tell you to. But many of your older colleagues, and those who came before you, let down not only me with their insufficient backing, but also a young woman through their indifference and thoughtlessness. For this betrayal I want to reciprocate with my contempt for the system that you’ve come to protect. A system that isn’t capable of carrying out the police work we’re employed to do. Nowadays, it’s all about the statistics and not whether you really get to the bottom of things. So I say to you: I’ll be damned if I ever got used to that!”

A few quiet protests came from the police union representative, as he was required to make, and another reproached him for what he judged as an unsuitable tone for such an occasion.

Habersaat nodded. They were right. It was unsuitable, just like most of what he’d boxed their ears with over the years. But now it had to end. He needed to put a stop to it all and make an example that would never be forgotten among his colleagues. And as unwilling as he was, the time had come.

He yanked the pistol out of his pocket so violently that those closest to him disappeared from his field of vision.

For a brief moment, he noticed the fear and horror that spread over his superiors, as he pointed the pistol at them.

And then he let it happen.