‘Just that it’s not that far off from the field I’m toiling in to obtain a doctorate. Theoretically, it is possible, but if he’s managed to do it, we’re talking the Odile Bain Prize. Eh... that’s like the Nobel Prize in parasitology.’
‘Mm. I’m thinking he’ll get life instead.’
‘Yeah, of course. Sorry.’
‘Another thing,’ Harry said. ‘The mice are attracted by the smell of cat, any cat I mean. So why are these women attracted to just one man in particular?’
‘You tell me,’ Helge said. ‘The key is the smell the parasites can direct an infected person towards. Perhaps he carried something the women caught the scent of. Or he might have smeared it directly on his body.’
‘What kind of smell?’
‘Well, the most direct way is a smell from the intestinal tract where the parasites know they can reproduce.’
‘Excrement, you mean?’
‘No, he’d use excrement to spread the parasite. But to attract an infected person he might use the intestinal juices and enzymes in the small intestine. Or the digestive secretions from the pancreas and gall bladder.’
‘You’re saying he’s spreading the parasite with his own faeces?’
‘If he has created his own parasite, then he’s probably the only possible compatible host, so he alone must ensure the life cycle continues running its course so the parasites don’t die out.’
‘And how does he do that?’
‘Same as the cat. He could see to it, for example, that the water the victims drink is infected with his faeces.’
‘Or the cocaine they snort.’
‘Yes, or the food they eat. It will take a while before the parasite reaches the victim’s brain and can manipulate it.’
‘How long?’
‘Well... if I had to guess how long it took with a mouse, I’d say two days. Maybe three or four. The point is that in humans the immune system would generally eradicate the parasite, and that would occur after a couple of weeks or a month, so he doesn’t have all the time in the world if he’s trying to keep the life cycle going.’
‘So, he’d need to wait a couple of days, but not too long, before killing them.’
‘Yes. And then he’d have to eat the victim.’
‘All of the victim?’
‘No, the parts where parasites ready to reproduce are most concentrated should do it. So, the brain...’ Helge stopped abruptly and stared at Harry as though it just dawned on him. He swallowed. ‘...or the eyes.’
‘Last question,’ Harry said hoarsely.
Helge just nodded.
‘Why don’t the parasites take over the brain of the primary host as well?’
‘Oh, but they do.’
‘Really? And what do they do to him?’
Helge shrugged. ‘Pretty much the same thing. He becomes fearless. And seeing as how he is receiving a continuous top-up as is the case here, the immune system won’t be able to get rid of the parasite, and he risks a dulling or a slowing down of reaction times, for instance. And schizophrenia.’
‘Schizophrenia.’
‘Yes, recent research indicates it. Unless he keeps the number of parasites in his own body in check.’
‘How?’
‘Well. That I don’t know.’
‘What about parasiticides? Like Hillman Pets, for example?’
Helge gazed into the air thoughtfully. ‘I’m not familiar with that brand, but theoretically the right dosage of a parasiticide could create a balance of sorts, yes.’
‘Mm. So the quantity of parasites you have in you is important?’
‘Oh yeah. Were you to give someone a large dose with a high concentration of gondii the parasites would block the brain, paralysing the person in the space of a few minutes. They’d be dead within an hour.’
‘But you wouldn’t die from snorting a line of infected cocaine?’
‘Maybe not within an hour, but if the concentration is high enough, it could easily kill you within a day or two. Excuse me...’ Helge picked up a ringing phone. ‘Yes? All right.’ He hung up. ‘Sorry, I’m going to be busy now, they’re on their way up with a body from the Custody Unit I have to carry out a preliminary post-mortem on.’
‘OK,’ Harry said, buttoning up his suit jacket. ‘Thanks for your help, I’ll find my own way out. Sweet dreams.’
Helge gave him a faint smile.
Harry had just walked out the door of the lab when he turned and went back in.
‘Whose body are they bringing over, did you say?’
‘I don’t know his name — the guy arrested at Jernbanetorget today.’
‘Fuck,’ Harry said in a low tone, gently striking the doorjamb with his fist.
‘Something wrong?’
‘That’s him.’
‘Who?’
‘The primary host.’
Sung-min Larsen was standing behind the counter at the Custody Unit peering down into the box containing the property of the deceased. There was no great hurry on the house keys, since they had already broken in and searched his place, but a forensics officer was on the way to collect the keys to the car, which had been found in the multi-storey car park closest to Jernbanetorget. Sung-min turned the theatre ticket. Had he been to the same performance as Helene? No, there was an earlier date on the ticket. But maybe he had gone to the National Theatre to reconnoitre, to plan the abduction and murder of Helene Røed.
His phone rang.
‘Larsen.’
‘We’re at Beckstrøm’s now but only the wife is home. She says she thought he was at work.’
