CHAPTER
NINETEEN
Thursday, April 19
HER RUNNING SHOES drummed against the asphalt. Jana Berzelius veered off toward Järnbrogatan and exchanged the hard surface for the gravel footpath next to the waterway. She had done stretches at home and then had gone out for a refreshing run. She still hadn’t really warmed up, and she felt how the chill pierced her black leggings. She was lightly dressed, but after a kilometer she knew she would start sweating.
All winter she had enjoyed jogging and running outdoors. Her will to train had not been dampened by snow, slush and cold winds. She ran the same round in all weather, following Sandgatan to the town park, on to Himmelstalund and then back. She preferred an urban setting to a hilly landscape; she didn’t want to have to drive out of town just to be able to run on a special path. It was a waste of time, driving. When she exercised she wanted to get going directly.
And going to a gym wasn’t an alternative for her either; no way was she going to join an aerobics group. She liked to be on her own, and so for her running was the optimal exercise.
Bodybuilding didn’t require visits to a gym. In her apartment she had her own equipment and always finished her ten-kilometer run with push-ups and sit-ups. And before showering she usually stood in front of her chin-up bar and did lifts. She liked how she had full control of her body when she did that, and counted to twenty before she would sink down to the floor, exhausted.
It was now 06:57, with plenty of time left in the morning. She checked her pulse. When it had come down to normal range, she got up and pulled off her clothes.
She showered for twenty minutes, after which she picked out a matching set of underclothes, then looked in her walk-in closet for a sheer blouse to go with her deep blue pants and jacket.
She fried four slices of bacon and two eggs and ate her breakfast just in time to watch the morning news on TV. After a long report from a foreign correspondent, an item about the dead boy who was found outside Norrköping came on. He was still unidentified despite a comprehensive investigation. The picture of a smiling Hans Juhlén was shown, and the reporter was asking himself whether there was a link between the two victims and added that the answer would probably come at the press conference that the county police authority was holding at nine that morning.
From the weather report she heard that a new storm was on its way across the North Sea. The girl spoke clearly and with a friendly smile when she warned that there would be chaotic snow conditions in central Sweden. So far in April there had already been a record amount of snow, and now more was expected. Jana turned the TV off. She put on some light makeup, brushed her teeth and combed her hair. When she checked herself in the mirror, she was not completely satisfied with what she saw and so put on another layer of mascara. Then she let her jacket hang over her arm as she went to the garage.
Because of the morning mist and the icy roads, it took fifty-five minutes, instead of the normal forty, to drive to the forensics center in Linköping. The traffic was crawling along and Jana had to concentrate to keep on the correct side of the divide. In the vicinity of Norsholm the mist lightened somewhat and when she got to the exit for Linköping North, vision was normal again.
Jana walked toward the main entrance and the office of the medical examiner, Björn Ahlmann. Although there were still fifteen minutes left before their meeting, DCI Henrik Levin and DI Mia Bolander were already sitting in the visitors’ armchairs there. Long rows of medical books were perched on the birch shelves on the wall, and in the window hung light green curtains with white swallows on them. The desk was a light birch wood and above it hung a bulletin board with various phone numbers and photos from holiday trips.
When Björn Ahlmann had first studied medicine at Linköping University, he had planned to specialize in neurology, but along the way he had become interested in forensic medicine and he finally chose that field as a specialty. Although the work was mentally demanding and the days were filled with independent work, he felt satisfied. He had a good reputation based on his qualified analyses and informed judgments. He knew that his conclusions had a great influence on the lives of individuals, and that his autopsy results were of crucial importance in any court proceedings. Even though he was by far the most qualified person in the department, he didn’t regard himself as the expert he was.
Björn got up from his ergonomically designed office chair and greeted Jana with a firm handshake when she entered the room.
Jana then nodded to the two waiting officers.
“I did as promised,” said Björn. “The report is ready, although we’re still waiting for a few analyses of samples. I’d like us to go and look at the body—there’s something interesting I want to show you.”
One of the ceiling lights flashed on and off as they stepped out of the elevator into the basement corridor.
On the way down the hall Bjorn chatted with Henrik about his eldest grandchildren, who were ten and thirteen years old, and their various sporting activities, swimming and football. He had proudly told Henrik about how he was going to take them to the weekend competitions in Mjölby and Motala.
Neither Jana nor Mia listened as they were fully occupied with avoiding each other’s gaze.
Björn unlocked the fire door and turned on the lights in the sterile room.
Mia as usual stood back to keep her distance from the autopsy table, while Jana and Henrik stood right next to it.
Björn washed his hands thoroughly, put on latex gloves and folded back the white sheet. The naked body only filled about two-thirds of the bench. The boy’s eyes were closed, his face white and stiff. His nose was narrow, his eyebrows dark. His head had been shaved and the exit hole in his forehead was visible. Clearly he was shot from behind.
Jana reacted when she saw all the bruises covering his arms and legs.
Henrik too.
“Are those bruises from when he fell? When he was shot?” said Henrik.
Björn shook his head.
“Yes and no. These are,” said Björn and pointed at large dark areas on the boy’s outer thigh and hip. “Here there are also wounds on the inside, bleeding at various depths of the muscles.”
Björn pointed at the muscular arms.
“But many of the bruises are from earlier, that is, before he died. He has previously been subjected to brutal violence, especially to his head, his throat and around his genitals. And his legs, I might add. I would say that these have been caused by kicks and blows. Perhaps by a hard object.”
“Such as?” said Henrik.
“A piece of iron tubing, perhaps, or hard shoes. Not easy to say. I’ll have to wait and see what the cell-tissue samples can tell us.”
“And regularly, you said?”
“Yes, he has several old scars and some internal bleeding which would indicate that his body had been abused over a lengthy period of time.”
“Assault, thus?”
“Yes, very serious assault, I would say.”
Henrik nodded slowly.
“No sign of any sexual abuse, however, no sign of sperm, no red areas around his anus,” Björn continued. “No sign of a stranglehold either. He died from a shot to the back of his head. The bullet is still being analyzed.”
“Type of weapon used?”
“Not confirmed yet.”
“When will you get the results of the bullet analysis and the tissue samples?”
“Tomorrow, or perhaps the day after.”
“The boy’s age?”
“Nine or ten years. Hard to be more exact.”
“Okay, anything else?” said Henrik.
Björn cleared his throat and went and stood at the end of the table, next to the boy’s head.
“I’ve found traces in his blood of drugs that depress the central nervous system. So he was under the influence of narcotics. A rather large dose.”
“Which substance?”
“Heroin. He has repeatedly injected, or someone has injected him, through the veins in his arm. Look here.”
Björn showed them the festering skin in the crook of the boy’s arm, then twisted the arm and showed a large inflamed area.
“There is a very advanced infection on the underside here. Presumably the deceased missed the vein when injecting so that the solution had ended up in the tissue outside and not in his blood.”
The skin on his arm was red and swollen and there were small wounds everywhere.
“If you press here it feels as if...how shall I explain? It feels like clay and that means the arm is full of pus. This is the sort of infection you can get when you use intramuscular injections, and are not to be played with. I’ve seen horrific examples where parts of the body have simply rotted through with infection. Large holes straight into the skeletal bone are not unusual, nor is sepsis, blood poisoning. Some veins can be completely smashed from all the injections, especially in the groin. In the worst cases, amputation of an infected limb is the only treatment.”
“So what you are saying is that this nine-or ten-year-old was an addict?” said Henrik.
“Most definitely. Yes.”
“A dealer?”
“That I don’t know. I’m not the right person to make that judgment.”
“A runner perhaps?”
“Could be.” Björn shrugged his shoulders. “Now let’s see... This is what I wanted to show you.”
Björn turned the boy’s head to one side so more of his neck was exposed, then pointed to a specific area.
Jana could see letters carved into his flesh. They were uneven and looked as if they had been cut with a blunt object. Jana saw that they spelled out a name, and the ground began to rock beneath her feet. She gripped the edge of the table with both hands so as not to fall.
“Are you all right?” said Henrik.
“I’m fine,” Jana lied and couldn’t take her eyes off the letters.
She read the name again. And again. And again.
Thanatos.
The god of death.