Jeanette had fallen asleep, feeling as safe as a child.
After a quick shower she goes down to the kitchen, which is bathed in the glow of the weak autumn sun. The thermometer outside the kitchen window says it’s fifteen degrees, even though it’s only half past eight in the morning. It looks like it’s going to be another beautiful day.
It isn’t. But it will be incredibly long.
It’s just after nine o’clock when Jeanette gets out of the taxi at the pathology lab in Solna.
Ivo Andri? is waiting for her with two double espressos.
He’s an angel, she thinks, as her late night meant she’d had to do without her morning coffee.
‘Have you spoken to Hurtig? Maybe he’d like to be here as well?’
Of course; she hadn’t got round to that. But, on the other hand, she hadn’t even been awake forty-five minutes yet. She shakes her head as she calls his number.
The mummified body of a boy, estimated to be between ten and twelve years old, has been found in a black plastic bag in Norra Hammarbyhamnen. The body bears a striking resemblance to the boy found dead at Thorildsplan.
Karakul, she thinks as the call goes through.
Good timing. She’s not superstitious, but she can’t help thinking that the call from Iwan Lowynsky was oddly well timed.
Hurtig answers, and Jeanette updates him about what’s happened, and tells him what she’s found out about Annette Lundstr?m since yesterday. She asks him to try to have a talk with her.
‘Don’t forget to ask if Annette can tell us more about Viggo’s adopted children, and try to organise a regular interview at headquarters as early as possible without causing any friction. And by that I mean free of bureaucratic interference.’
Ivo Andri? unlocks the door and they go inside. On the metal table is a cloth-covered bundle, and on the workbench over by the wall is a mass of photographs. She can see that the pictures are of their first victim, Itkul Zumbayev, the mummified boy found at Thorildsplan.
‘So, what do you know?’ she asks as he uncovers the body. She feels an instinctive revulsion at what she sees. The mouth is open, the skin has been loosened by the water, and her first impression is that his life came to an end mid-movement, and that the body is now decomposing.
‘The injuries are almost identical to those of the Thorildsplan victim. Signs of whipping and violence from a blunt instrument. Randomly distributed needle marks. Castrated.’
The boy is lying on his back, his arms are raised, bent in front of his face, which is turned to one side. She thinks it looks like a frozen image of the moment of death, as if the last thing the boy did was try to defend himself.
‘I suspect that the body is going to contain traces of Xylocain adrenalin,’ Ivo Andri? goes on, and Jeanette is suddenly transported back in time several months. ‘The samples have been sent to the forensic chemistry lab. As you can see, his feet are tied together with duct tape. That was used last time as well.’
She’s having trouble breathing, and her heart is beating harder. Organised fights, she thinks. That thought had struck her back in the spring, and Ivo had actually also mentioned it.
‘There are a few striking differences from the boy at Thorildsplan,’ Ivo says. ‘Can you see what they are?’
The pathologist gently touches one of the boy’s arms. One hand is missing. The right hand.
Now she can also see what else is different from the body at Thorildsplan. Although she’s having trouble keeping her eyes on the boy’s face, Ivo’s emphasis on the similarity of the injuries had made her miss the other, most obvious difference.
He gestures across the body. ‘Bite marks. On large parts of the body, but particularly the face. Do you see?’
She nods weakly. It’s more like someone’s actually bitten chunks out of him than just left marks. ‘There’s something I’m wondering. This body has a different … How shall I put it? Colour? The boy at Thorildsplan was more yellowy brown. This one’s almost greenish black. Why is that?’
How the hell could Sofia have been so right? she thinks. Less than twelve hours ago they had been sitting in the kitchen discussing cannibalism. She starts to feel sick again.
Ivo frowns. ‘Too early to say yet, but this boy has been in the water for at least two or three days, and has probably been subjected to a different, more thorough type of mummification.’
‘How long has he been dead?’ she gulps. Her nausea is making it hard even to talk.
‘Same thing there. Difficult to say, but I think we’re talking about a longer time than the boy at Thorildsplan. Possibly six months longer, which as I’m sure you can see might mean a number of things.’
‘Yes, pretty much anything. The boys died at roughly the same time, or one died before the other, or the other way round.’ Jeanette sighs, and Ivo gives her an almost hurt look. ‘Sorry, this is getting to me, that’s all,’ she explains. ‘Anything else I should know?’ She feels incredibly tired. The boy on the slab is guaranteed to give her nightmares, and she’s trying not to look at him, but she can see his body from the corner of her eye the whole time, and it now feels as if it’s reaching out to her.
‘Yes, a couple more things.’
She can see that Ivo Andri? is thinking hard, and realises that he’s trying to find the right words. His scrupulousness sometimes makes what he says sound like a prepared statement, and can mean that he loses sight of the big picture because of all the details he wants to convey. But he is very thorough.
‘The body at Thorildsplan was missing its teeth,’ he finally says. ‘This boy isn’t, so I’ve taken an imprint of them.’ He goes over to the workbench and picks up the little mould. ‘Super Hydro, very good, easy to work with, no bubbles in the imprint.’
‘An imprint of his teeth?’ Jeanette’s heart begins to race again, but she makes an effort to stay calm. ‘That’s vital for identification.’
‘Of course … We’ve got a good imprint, and that usually gives us a clear answer.’
The pathologist seems almost nervous, something she’s never seen in him before. He turns round quickly and puts the mould back on the workbench before picking up a picture of Itkul Zumbayev, the body at Thorildsplan. Jeanette’s pulse is racing.
‘I’m not entirely sure yet, but you might be able to see from this picture that the boy’s jaw is slightly crooked?’ He taps the picture with his finger. ‘The boy on the table also has a crooked jaw. My guess is that they’re brothers.’
Jeanette breathes out. Ivo Andri? doesn’t need to be sure, because she is.