The Chestnut Man

by Søren Sveistrup

“The victim’s name is Laura Kjær, thirty-seven years old, nurse at a dental practice in central Copenhagen. Looks like she was surprised after she went to bed. Her nine-year-old boy was sleeping in the room at the end of the hall, but apparently he didn’t see or hear anything.”

“What’s it like to know the killer never revealed the location where your daughter—”

“Sorry. Enough to establish that the fingerprint on the chestnut man—at least, five points on it—are identical with Kristine Hartung’s fingerprints.”

It strikes her that there was something familiar about her, but she can’t remember where or when she’s seen her before.

“‘Chestnut man, do come in. Chestnut man, do come in. Have you any chestnuts that you’ve brought for me today? Thank you kindly, won’t you stay . . .’”

Erik Sejer-Lassen is walking just three paces behind the woman, and he can smell her perfume.

that grief is love made homeless, that one needs to live with grief and force oneself on.

“But now I think about it, I remember we didn’t actually make chestnut men last year at all.”

“Here’s something, I think. 1987. Toke Bering . . . and his twin sister, Astrid.”

He can see it, but it is as impossible as it is obvious. When comprehension dawns,

his first thought is that it is too late to fight back.

“Wie viele gibt es im Haus?!” “Das Mädchen, wo ist sie!?” “Antworte!”