He took out the other phone, the burner, which he had bought on eBay with a SIM card from Latvia registered under a fictive name. Tapped in the number for
It sounded like an order when she came on the line.
‘Daa.’
Prim affected a deeper tone to his own voice, which from experience he knew no one was able to identify as his. ‘Who I am is of no importance, but I’m very worried. I was supposed to meet Helene Røed in Frogner Park today. She never showed up, she’s not answering her phone, and she’s not at home either.’
‘Who—’
Prim hung up. Looked down at the greaseproof paper. Lifted the eye and studied it. Put it in his mouth. And chewed.
Just after half past twelve Johan Krohn rang Harry Hole’s number.
He had come in from the veranda, where his wife was still sitting with a cup of coffee and her face turned to the sun. She said she didn’t trust the weather report which forecast there was more warm weather in store. He buttoned his coat while waiting for an answer. Finally, he heard Harry’s breathless voice.
‘Sorry, am I disturbing a workout?’
‘No, I’m playing.’
‘Playing?’
‘I’m a dragon attacking a castle.’
‘I see,’ Johan Krohn said. ‘I’m ringing because I just received a call from Markus. His assistant just informed him that the Forensic Medical Institute have been in touch. They want him to come and identify a body.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘They think it might be Helene.’
‘Mm.’
Johan Krohn couldn’t tell whether Hole sounded shocked or not.
‘I thought you might want to accompany him. Then you can see the body. Whether it’s Helene or not, the killer is probably the same.’
‘Good,’ Hole said. ‘Can you come over here and look after a three-year-old for a few minutes?’
‘A three-year-old?’
‘He likes it if you pretend to be an animal. A large mammal, preferably.’
Johan Krohn pressed the call button that said Forensic Medical Institute for a second time.
‘It’s Sunday — you sure there’s anyone at work?’
‘They said I was to come asap and ring at this door,’ Markus Røed said, glancing up at the building’s facade.
Eventually they saw someone wearing green scrubs on the inside trotting towards the glass door, which he opened. ‘Apologies, my colleague has left for the day,’ he said from behind the surgical mask. ‘I’m Helge, post-mortem technician.’
‘Johan Krohn.’ The lawyer instinctively put his hand out, but the technician shook his head as he held up his gloved hands.
‘Can the dead be infected?’ Røed asked sarcastically from behind.
‘No, but they can infect the living,’ the post-mortem technician said.
They followed him through an empty corridor to a room with a window facing into what Krohn assumed was the autopsy room.
‘Which of you will be making the identification?’
‘Him,’ Krohn said, nodding towards Markus Røed.
The man handed Røed a face mask, scrubs and a scrub cap like he himself was wearing.
‘Can I ask what your relationship is to the individual who may be the deceased?’
Røed looked at a loss for a moment. ‘Husband,’ he said. The sarcastic tone was gone, as though the possibility of Helene really lying there was beginning to sink in.
‘Before putting on your face mask, I’d like you to have a drink of water,’ the post-mortem technician said.
‘Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,’ Røed said.
‘Experience suggests it can be a good idea to have fluid in the body when we’re dealing with a case such as this.’ The post-mortem technician poured water from a carafe into a glass. ‘Believe me, you’ll understand when we enter.’
Røed looked at him, nodded briefly and drained the glass.
The post-mortem technician held the door open, and he and Røed went inside.
Krohn went over to the window. They stood on either side of a trolley where the outline of a female form lay in profile underneath a white sheet. Apart from the head. Evidently there were microphones inside, and he could hear their voices over a loudspeaker above the window.
‘Are you ready?’
Røed nodded, and the post-mortem technician removed the sheet.
Krohn backed away from the window. He had seen corpses in his professional life but nothing like this. The post-mortem technician’s voice sounded dry and matter-of-fact over the loudspeaker.
‘I’m sorry, but it does appear as though the perpetrator has subjected her to extreme violence. One thing is what you see here, stab wounds over the entire body and the slashed stomach. But the worst is probably the area here around the anus, where we can see that the perpetrator must have used something other than a knife or his hands to cause so much damage. The entire rectum has been torn open and the mutilation continues upward, so he must have used a pipe, a thick branch or similar. I apologise if this is more information than you wish, but it’s necessary to explain the level of violence inflicted so that you understand she is no longer the woman you knew or were used to seeing. So, take your time and try to look beyond the injuries.’
