Hugendubel.info - Die B2B Online-Buchhandlung 

Merkliste
Die Merkliste ist leer.
Bitte warten - die Druckansicht der Seite wird vorbereitet.
Der Druckdialog öffnet sich, sobald die Seite vollständig geladen wurde.
Sollte die Druckvorschau unvollständig sein, bitte schliessen und "Erneut drucken" wählen.

The Corpse Flower

E-BookEPUBePub WasserzeichenE-Book
336 Seiten
Englisch
Swift Presserschienen am12.10.2021
The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo meets Sharp Objects in this internationally bestselling thriller, for fans of Jo Nesbo and Henning Mankell Danish journalist Heloise Kaldan is in the middle of a nightmare. One of her sources has been caught lying, and she could lose her job over it. And then she receives the first in a series of cryptic letters from an alleged killer. Anna Kiel is wanted for murder but hasn't been seen by anyone in three years. When the reporter who first wrote about the case is found murdered in his apartment, detective Erik Schafer comes up with the first lead. Has Anna Kiel struck again? If so, why does every clue point directly to Heloise Kaldan? As Heloise starts digging deeper she realises that to tell Anna's story she will have to revisit her darkest past, and confront the one person she swore she'd never see again...

Anne Mette Hancock lives in Copenhagen with her two children. In 2017 her debut The Corpse Flower introduced readers to journalist Heloise Kaldan and police officer Erik Schäfer. It won the Danish Crime Academy's debutant prize, was a #1 bestseller in Denmark and a top ten bestseller in Europe. The sequel, The Collector, was published in Denmark in 2018 and will be published by Swift in 2023.mehr
Verfügbare Formate
BuchGebunden
EUR17,00
BuchGebunden
EUR27,00
TaschenbuchKartoniert, Paperback
EUR11,50
TaschenbuchKartoniert, Paperback
EUR17,50
E-BookEPUBDRM AdobeE-Book
EUR14,99
E-BookEPUBePub WasserzeichenE-Book
EUR7,19

Produkt

KlappentextThe Girl With the Dragon Tattoo meets Sharp Objects in this internationally bestselling thriller, for fans of Jo Nesbo and Henning Mankell Danish journalist Heloise Kaldan is in the middle of a nightmare. One of her sources has been caught lying, and she could lose her job over it. And then she receives the first in a series of cryptic letters from an alleged killer. Anna Kiel is wanted for murder but hasn't been seen by anyone in three years. When the reporter who first wrote about the case is found murdered in his apartment, detective Erik Schafer comes up with the first lead. Has Anna Kiel struck again? If so, why does every clue point directly to Heloise Kaldan? As Heloise starts digging deeper she realises that to tell Anna's story she will have to revisit her darkest past, and confront the one person she swore she'd never see again...

Anne Mette Hancock lives in Copenhagen with her two children. In 2017 her debut The Corpse Flower introduced readers to journalist Heloise Kaldan and police officer Erik Schäfer. It won the Danish Crime Academy's debutant prize, was a #1 bestseller in Denmark and a top ten bestseller in Europe. The sequel, The Collector, was published in Denmark in 2018 and will be published by Swift in 2023.
Details
Weitere ISBN/GTIN9781800750722
ProduktartE-Book
EinbandartE-Book
FormatEPUB
Format HinweisePub Wasserzeichen
FormatE101
Erscheinungsjahr2021
Erscheinungsdatum12.10.2021
ReiheA Kaldan and Schäfer Mystery
Seiten336 Seiten
SpracheEnglisch
Dateigrösse982 Kbytes
Artikel-Nr.11938854
Rubriken
Genre9201

Inhalt/Kritik

Leseprobe

CHAPTER
3

FINE, ALMOST SILENT September rain descended upon Copenhagen for the fifth day in a row. The summer, which was long over, had been grayer than usual, and it was starting to feel like the four seasons had been replaced by one long, muddy autumn.

Heloise Kaldan was closing her kitchen window, where water was dripping onto the windowsill, when her cell phone started buzzing.

It had been ringing off the hook all weekend. This time she didn´t recognize the number. She rejected the call and popped a dark-green capsule in the Nespresso machine, and immediately it started spluttering out a pitch-black lungo.

From her living room she had a view of the huge, verdigris dome of the Marble Church. The old attic apartment on the corner of Olfert Fischers Gade had been neither spacious nor appealing when she had bought it. It hadn´t even had a real bathroom, and the old kitchen, which was now Heloise´s favorite room, had been downright disgusting. But from the small living room balcony, she had a clear view of the Marble Church, and that was one of the few criteria she had insisted on from the estate agent: she´d have to be able to see the dome from at least one window in the apartment.

As a child, she had seen her father every other weekend, and the dome had been their special place. Every other Saturday they had first gone to get hot chocolate and cream cakes at Conditori La Glace, where he had charmed all the waitresses, and then strolled down Bredgade toward the church, where they had made their way up the winding stairs with familiar ease and crossed the squeaky floorboards in the loft under the roof before sitting down on one of the benches in the cupola at the top.

Snuggled up, they had savored their view of Copenhagen. At times the city had been covered in snow, at other times bathed in sunshine, but mostly it had just been gray and windswept. Her father had pointed out historical buildings and told her long, spellbinding tales about the country´s old kings and queens. She had sat there listening, gazing at him with an expression that revealed that in her eyes, he was the nicest and wisest man in the whole wide world.

On every visit, he had taught her three new words she was to practice before their next meeting.

Right, let me see, he had said as he moistened the tip of his finger and pretended to be leafing through an invisible dictionary.

Aha! Today´s words are braggart, baroque, and . . . opulent.

Then he had explained their meaning and given examples of amusing contexts they could be used in, and Heloise had lapped it all up. She had loved the times the two of them spent together at the top of the church, and it was there, cuddled up safely against his big belly, that her love of storytelling had been born.

In the first apartment she had moved into as an adult, she´d had an unobstructed view of the dome from her bedroom window, and over time it had become her lucky mascot: a memento of a safe and meaningful childhood. Whenever she traveled, she missed the dome more than anything.

It was, however, rare for her to be standing as she was now, looking toward the church on an early Monday afternoon. Normally she would be at an editorial meeting at the newspaper where she worked, discussing this week´s main issues and planning her research.

But not today.

Today´s papers lay spread out in front of her on the kitchen table. The Skriver story was on the front page of every single one of them.

She opened page two of Demokratisk Dagblad, her workplace for the past five years, and read the editorial. The editor in chief was apologizing for a story published a few days earlier about the fashion mogul Jan Skriver´s investment in an environmental disaster of a textile factory in Bangalore that used child labor. The paper had acted naïvely in its search for the truth, he wrote. The piece was filled with pathos and well-choreographed hand-wringing, and its sole purpose was to make the paper appear honest, neutral, and-this was the crucial bit-to dodge any management responsibility.

Fair enough. It wasn´t the editor in chief´s fault. It was hers. She had written the story, she had trusted her source, and she had allowed something resembling trust to trump due diligence.

How the hell could she have been so stupid? Why hadn´t she checked and double-checked her facts? Why had she trusted him?

Her cell phone started vibrating again. This time it was a number she couldn´t dismiss. She let it ring three times before she answered in a weary voice.

Kaldan speaking.

Hi, it´s me. Were you asleep? Her editor, Karen Aagaard, sounded tense.

No, why?

Your voice sounds a little rusty, that´s all.

I´m up.

Heloise had been up most of last night and had finished off the bottle of white wine she and Gerda had opened yesterday. She had mulled over the story and examined it from all angles, reviewed every single detail in the course of events in an attempt to get to grips with it, but no matter how hard she´d tried, it had remained blurred, fuzzy. Or perhaps she just didn´t like what she was seeing? She was a journalist-a damn good one, too-and it just wasn´t like her to be so horribly wrong. She was furious with herself- and with him.

I know I told you to take today off, Karen Aagaard said, but The Shovel wants to see you.

Carl-Johan Scowl, aka The Shovel, was a greasy garden gnome of a man who worked as readers´ editor at Demokratisk Dagblad, taking his lead from the guidelines for good press ethics. He dealt with readers´ complaints about errors in the newspaper´s stories, and whenever he knocked on your door, you knew it would be a long day, maybe a long week, and possibly the end of your career.

Again? Heloise closed her eyes and let her head fall backward. She felt emotionally drained at the prospect of yet another exhausting review of the sequence of events. They had been over it three times already.

Yes, you need to come in so that we can finish it off. There are still a few things he wants to go over before we can move on. Surely you´d like that too?

I´ll be there in fifteen minutes, Heloise said, and hung up.

She grabbed her black leather jacket, kicked aside a pile of junk mail on the doormat, and slammed the door behind her.

* * *

Demokratisk Dagblad´s offices were in a listed building in Store Strandstræde whose antiquated, regal expression and decor matched the paper´s conservative views. The vaulted ceilings were high, the walls decorated with handmade wallpaper, and the glass in the old casement windows was so thin that Heloise always froze her butt off during the winter months.

She parked her bicycle in front of the building and nodded to a couple of guys from the paper´s sales department who were smoking, sheltered from the rain on a café bench across the street. A black awning stretched out above them, filled to bursting with water, and drops of rain trickled down the big metal posts that held it up. Heloise watched the canvas, half expecting it to split above their heads.

One of the men returned her greeting with a cheerful, Hey, Kaldan, what´s up?

His buddy leaned toward him without taking his eyes off Heloise and whispered something that made them both smirk.

She turned away and swiped her card through the electronic lock to the right of the entrance. She entered her personal code, and the door made a buzzing, mechanical sound before it opened.

Heloise climbed the stairs to the news desk on the third floor and jogged up, taking two steps at a time.

Karen Aagaard was waiting for her on the landing. They had always been on good terms, and Heloise liked and respected her, but they had never been close. Heloise knew that Aagaard lived in ritzy Hellerup, that she was married and that her son was in the military, but apart from that she had no notion of her editor´s private life-or vice versa. It was a level of intimacy that suited Heloise just fine, especially today.

Let me guess: you don´t believe in umbrellas, is that it? Aagaard studied Heloise´s soaked clothing quizzically.

Heloise smiled and shook off some of the raindrops. Yeah, I´m just not that grown up yet.

I assume that you´ve read today´s editorial?

Yes.

And?

Heloise gave a light shrug. What else could Mikkelsen write?

I suppose you´re right, but he was seriously pissed off when I spoke with him this morning. If you hadn´t produced so many of the paper´s scoops this year, I really think he´d kick you out on your ass. I´m still not a hundred percent sure you´re in the clear.

Thanks. That´s exactly the pep talk I was hoping for. Heloise opened the door to the open plan office. After you, boss.

There´s nothing more to the story than what you´ve already told us, is there? Something The Shovel might dig up that I should know about?

Such as?

I don´t know. Anything that might make you appear worse than you already do? And a spontaneous no would have been much more reassuring, let me tell you. Karen Aagaard looked at her over the rim of her tortoiseshell glasses.

Blurred images of naked bodies, sweat, and salty kisses appeared like a runaway slideshow in Heloise´s mind. She wanted to be helpful, because she didn´t enjoy having her name on a story that didn´t hold up to scrutiny, but she also didn´t want to share details of her...
mehr

Autor

Anne Mette Hancock lives in Copenhagen with her two children. In 2017 her debut The Corpse Flower introduced readers to journalist Heloise Kaldan and police officer Erik Schäfer. It won the Danish Crime Academy's debutant prize, was a #1 bestseller in Denmark and a top ten bestseller in Europe. The sequel, The Collector, was published in Denmark in 2018 and will be published by Swift in 2023.
Weitere Artikel von
Hancock, Anne Mette