No progress whatsoever has been made in the case since her murder.
I got an e-mail from Milo. He spoke with Ismo, the pathologist, about Lisbet S?derlund’s head. Ismo hates to be called and asked for synopses of autopsies. He expects a detective either to take enough interest to show up at the autopsy, or wait for the transcription, which may take months. I’ll send him a bottle of scotch. Grumpy though he was, he informed Milo that Lisbet was dead when she was decapitated. Her neck was severed through to the spine with a single ring-like cut, and then her spine was severed with a fine-toothed electric saw. The act was smooth enough to be worthy of a talented butcher. More expertise and professionalism. My talk with Moreau tomorrow seemed of growing importance.
20
Sunday, March twenty-eighth. The day of my “Welcome back to the world” party. It’s a misnomer. I was only in the hospital for a short time after my surgeries and became semi-active almost immediately upon returning home. I had a feeling it was really Milo’s party. It was his idea, and he decided the guest list. Just me, Kate, Sweetness, Arvid, and himself. Every time the subject came up—and he often mentioned it—he radiated exuberance. He set the time at three o’clock. I had invited Moreau to come at four, so Milo could unveil whatever treasures he had for us to behold.
Kate and I spent the morning in bed. We made love for the first time since Anu was born. Technically speaking, she had been able to have sex for a couple weeks, but she was nervous about it and we waited. Afterward, we lounged with Anu and Katt and talked. Just small talk. Her lack of work and reticence on both our parts to discuss mine limited our topics of discussion. But having both an infant and a kitten—both were growing fast—filled the void.
Around noon, the door buzzer rang. Kate sighed. “None of them would dare show up this early, would they?” she asked.
“No,” I said, “it’s something else.”
Two deliverymen brought in massive boxes. I asked the men to open the boxes for me, and they unveiled a massive man’s chair covered in soft blue-gray fabric, a stool, and a reading lamp.
Kate watched, astonished and amused, as I directed where they should be placed. I gave them a generous tip, and the deliverymen left.
I plunked down in the chair and put my feet up. The seat was four feet wide, had plenty of room for both of us. I patted the seat beside me. “Try it out,” I said.
She sat snuggled up next to me and interlaced her feet with mine on the stool. She asked, “So, what prompted this?”
The dining and living room are one open space. Only a low dais separates the two rooms. Our couch faces away from the dining room toward a big flat-screen TV and entertainment center. A built-in bookcase composes the wall to the right. Besides these things, the living room contained only a couple chairs for guests. Usually, Kate sat on the couch beside me or lay on it in front of me, with my arm draped over her, especially if we were watching TV.
“It’s just something I’ve never had but always wanted,” I said. “I spend a lot of time at home. I can sit here with my laptop if I’m working, and it’s big enough for the whole family to sit in together if we like.”
She nodded her head in agreement. “Pretty cool,” she said. “It’s really high-quality. How much did it cost?”
I said, “Don’t ask.”
She didn’t, just buried her face deep in my shoulder for a little post-coital dozing. Katt sat in my lap and purred. Anu lay in her crib, and I heard barely audible snoring. She was having a nap, and I did the same.
Around one, I woke and told Kate I had to get ready for the party, and that Moreau, a French policeman, would be coming at four for a brief discussion about the murder investigation.
“It takes you ten minutes to shower and shave,” she said.
“I have primping to do,” I said.
It was a strange word for her to hear come out of my mouth as a way of describing my ablutions.
“‘Primping’?”