Helene Tursten - Detective Inspector Huss

Andersson slapped his palm against the steering wheel and sputtered, “Murder is murder, and a killer is a killer! Even if he pisses in a gold chamberpot, he’s still a killer.”

The woman standing by the crosswalk, where Andersson had stopped for a red light, gave him a quizzical look. Embarrassed, he realized that he had been talking out loud, but thank God the windows were rolled up.

Why was he sitting here getting all worked up? Was it because he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to solve the case? Maybe, but he knew that the upcoming meeting with Professor Stridner was also making him uneasy. She was organized and accomplished. But she showed no respect for him. Or anyone else, for that matter.

I’d have to wait for that until I’m lying there like a-if not neat then interesting-corpse on the stainless-steel autopsy table, he thought.

THE AUTOPSY assistant was a huge bodybuilder who had worked in Pathology for many years. He gave Sven Andersson a nod of recognition and pointed up the stairs when the superintendent asked for Yvonne Stridner.

She was sitting in her office, dictating into a little tape recorder the size of a cigarette pack.

“. . the liver is somewhat hypertrophied, although there is no visible sign of steatosis. In view of the size of the liver, this is probably a beginning stage. Sent to Pathological Anatomical Diagnosis.”

She clicked off the tape recorder and gave Andersson a sharp look. And she recognized him at once.

“So you’ve decided to come over yourself, Andersson? I just finished the autopsy and was thinking of calling you up. Now I won’t have to,” she said with satisfaction.

The superintendent said hello and then asked her the important question at once. “Has the cause of death been determined?”

“Yes, beyond all doubt. He died from the impact of his fall.”

“Does that mean there’s still a possibility it was a damned suicide?”

“Not at all. There is a severe contusion on the back of his head. On the os occipitale there is a small fracture from a powerful blow, sufficient to cause unconsciousness but not death. The interesting thing is the location of the blow. Right above the hollow at the back of the neck, at the rear wall and base of the cranium. It’s located a little obliquely to the left. This opens up two possibilities. One: Von Knecht knelt down in front of his executioner with his head bowed. The killer was unmoved and swung the cleaver from directly above in a wide arc, so that the blow landed somewhat below the base of the skull. But if so, Richard must have been bowing deeply. Hardly credible. Possibility number two: The murderer has a good backhand, and is right-handed.”

“Backhand?”

“Tennis stroke, in this case. The power in the blow came from below, obliquely to the killer’s body and directed upward. It’s difficult to put sufficient power into such a blow, but a good tennis player should be able to put enough force into it to knock someone out.”

“From what I understood from Svante Malm, the incision across the back of the victim’s hand was made with the blade of the meat cleaver that was found on the balcony. How does the wound at the back of his head look?”

“It matches the cleaver’s dull edge exactly. I’ve checked it.”

“But weren’t the techs here by seven this morning? And they took the cleaver back to the lab.”

She gave him a withering look. “Who wasn’t here by seven o’clock?” she snapped.

She took a deep breath and let her gaze wander out through the filthy window. “For me, this is science: I have to know the cause of death. What can the body tell us about the living person? Can it tell me anything about the killer? It’s your job to figure out who murdered him and why.”

The superintendent decided to stay on Professor Stridner’s good side. It was important for him to obtain as many facts as possible right now. An autopsy report wouldn’t be ready for a few days. Without showing how much self-control it took, he said in a neutral tone, “I’m very grateful that you attended to the body so quickly. I’ll do my best to provide an answer as to ‘who’ and ‘why,’ but without your help that will be impossible.”

The professor pursed her lips, but she shifted her gaze from the dirty window and deigned to look graciously at Andersson again. Satisfied, she said, “You’re probably right about that. By the way, did it ever occur to you that it might not be von Knecht who was lying on the sidewalk?”

Andersson sat dumbfounded, wearing a slightly sheepish expression.

Stridner challenged him, “Did you get a good look at the body yesterday?”

“He was lying on his stomach. It was dark,” Andersson replied evasively.

“Precisely. He landed flat on his belly. His skull was shattered and in a terrible mess. I’ve reconstructed the lower jaw and parts of the upper jaw. The forensic odontologists are coming after lunch. And then. . voilà! My little surprise for you!”

She reached across the desk and picked up a manila envelope, which she waved triumphantly in the air.

The superintendent had a hard time hiding his conviction that things had now gone too far. He had always had trouble talking with this woman, but what he intuitively sensed now was that she was totally insane.

Stridner saw what he was thinking. Laughing, she opened the flap of the envelope and pulled out a green piece of cardboard. It was folded in thirds, and each part had small rectangular windows in it, filled with shiny dark celluloid. They were dental X rays. In the corner was a small cardboard label with the text: RICHARD VON KNECHT, 350803.

Andersson was embarrassed and managed only to mutter, “I see. . all right. .”

Stridner frowned and jokingly waved the X rays at him. “I don’t hear you saying, ‘Amazingly fast work, Yvonne!’ or ‘But how in the world did you manage to get his X rays already?’ or the most obvious, ‘How did you get hold of his dentist so quickly?’”

This was her point, and she was savoring the moment. Andersson sighed and raised both palms in a gesture of resignation.

“Okay, okay. Amazingly fast work. . Yvonne, and all that other stuff. I bow to you. But I’d appreciate an answer to my questions, plus facts about von Knecht’s general condition.”

“Oh, you certainly are a demanding man.”

Mischievously she gave him another gleeful look. She was truly enjoying her little joke. With a glance down at the papers on her desk she became the efficient pathologist again. For his part, Andersson preferred this Yvonne Stridner.

“As you may recall, I promised you a list of the von Knecht crowd. I haven’t had time to write it down, but I’ll give you the names before you go. One of the names is Sven Tosse. He’s one of Göteborg’s most talented dentists. Among his patients are both myself and the von Knecht family. This is probably the only common point of contact we have left since my divorce from Tore. His practice is only a stone’s throw from here, on the other side of the street. At Kapellplatsen.”

Andersson had pulled a dog-eared notepad out of his pocket and with a stump of a pencil wrote down the dentist’s name and address.

“I called Sven this morning. Naturally he had seen the news of Richard’s fall in the paper and was deeply shocked. He sent over his nurse with Richard’s X rays, and now the forensic odontologists will take care of the rest.”

“Do you have any doubts that it’s von Knecht’s body?”

“No, but it’s important to cover all bases, since his face was so damaged. Would you like to see him?”

Andersson was unprepared for the question, but quickly shook his head. Autopsy rooms were not pleasant places. Not to mention what usually lay on the table. No, if he could avoid it he preferred not to enter any autopsy room. The bodies he had to look at in the course of his work were bad enough. Although their interests did often coincide, of course, Stridner could keep her corpses to herself.