Camilla Lackberg Crime Thrillers 4-6: The Stranger, The Hidden Child, The Drowning. Camilla Lackberg
for over a week now struck him full force. He’d neglected the investigation of Marit’s death because he’d been working on Lillemor’s case. He hadn’t meant for it to happen, but the media pressure in the wake of the girl’s murder had been too relentless to do otherwise. With a grimace he listened to what Kerstin had to say and then replied, ‘We … we haven’t found out much yet, I’m afraid.’
‘I understand, you must have been rather busy lately.’
‘Let me assure you that we haven’t lost our focus on investigating Marit’s death.’ He grimaced again, finding it distasteful that he had to lie. But all he could do now was try and make up for lost time. He sat for a moment in thought after he clicked off the call. Then he rang another number and spent the next five minutes talking with someone who sounded very confused by what he had to say. Relieved, Patrik then headed off towards Göteborg.
Two hours later he arrived at Forensic Medicine HQ. He quickly found his way to Pedersen’s office and knocked on the door. They usually communicated by fax or phone, but this time Pedersen had insisted on discussing the autopsy results in person. Patrik suspected that the media furore had made them even more cautious than usual.
‘Hello, it’s been a while,’ said Pedersen when Patrik came in. He stood up and shook hands. Though big and tall, he had a gentle nature that was in stark contrast to the brutality he encountered in his profession. His glasses were constantly sliding down to the tip of his nose, and his slightly greying hair was always rather dishevelled. His appearance might fool an observer into believing that he was absent-minded and sloppy. But that was far from the truth. The papers on his desk lay in neat stacks, and the folders and binders were carefully labelled on the shelves. Pedersen was meticulous with details. Now he picked up a bunch of papers and studied them before he looked up at Patrik and spoke.
‘The girl was strangled, without a doubt. There are fractures of the hyoid bone as well as the superior cornu of the thyroid cartilage. But she had no furrows from cord, only these bruises on both sides of the neck, which correspond well with manual strangulation.’ He placed a large photograph before Patrik and pointed at the bruises to which he was referring.
‘So you’re saying that somebody strangled her with his hands.’
‘Yes,’ said Pedersen. He always felt great empathy for the victims that ended up on his autopsy table, but he seldom showed it in his tone of voice. ‘An additional indication of strangulation is that she had petechia, or point-bleeding in the conjunctiva of the eyes and in the skin around the eyes.’
‘Does it require a lot of strength to strangle someone in this way?’ Patrik couldn’t take his eyes off the pictures of Lillemor, her face pale and slightly bluish.
‘More than one might think. It takes quite a while to strangle someone, and one would have to keep a strong, constant pressure on the throat. But in this case,’ he coughed and turned away for a moment before continuing, ‘in this case the perpetrator made it a bit easier on himself.’
‘How do you mean?’ Patrik leaned forward with interest. Pedersen skimmed through the pages until he found the place he was looking for.
‘Here – we found traces of a sedative in her system. Apparently she fell asleep first, and was then strangled.’
‘Oh shit,’ said Patrik, again looking at the photos of Lillemor. ‘Was it possible to determine how the sedative was administered?’
Pedersen shook his head. ‘Her stomach contents were a real devil’s cocktail. I have no idea what she drank, but the odour of alcohol was striking. The girl was extremely drunk at the time of her death.’
‘Yes, we heard she was partying hard that evening. Do you think she was given the sedative in one of her drinks?’
Pedersen threw out his hands. ‘Impossible to say.’
‘Okay, so she fell asleep and was then strangled. We know that much. Is there anything more to go on?’
Pedersen looked through his papers again. ‘Yes, there were other injuries. She seems to have taken some blows to the body, and one cheek also had a subcutaneous bleed as well as in the musculature, as if she’d been given a powerful slap.’
‘That corresponds well with what we know about that evening,’ said Patrik grimly.
‘She also had some deep cuts on her wrists. They must have bled heavily.’
‘Cuts,’ said Patrik. He hadn’t noticed that when he saw her in the rubbish truck. On the other hand, he hadn’t got a good look at her. He’d glanced at the body and then quickly turned away. This information was undeniably of interest.
‘What can you tell me about the cuts?’
‘Not much.’ Pedersen roughed up his hair, and Patrik had a sense of déjà vu, thinking about his own image that he’d seen in the mirror the past few days.
‘Judging by the location of the wounds I don’t believe they were self-inflicted. Even though it’s rather popular these days, particularly among young girls, to cut themselves.’
Patrik saw the image of Jonna in the interview room, with her arms lacerated all the way from her wrists to her elbows. An idea was beginning to take shape. But that would have to wait until later.
‘And the time?’ Patrik asked. ‘Can you say about what time she died?’
‘The temperature of her body when she was found indicates that she died sometime after midnight. Around three or four is my professional guess.’
‘Okay,’ said Patrik, looking thoughtful. He didn’t bother to take notes. He knew that he’d receive a copy of the autopsy report before he left.
‘Anything else?’ He could hear how hopeful he sounded. A week had gone by with no leads to advance the investigation. He was grasping at the slightest straw.
‘Well, we were able to pull some interesting hairs out of her hand. I’m guessing that the perpetrator undressed her to remove any possible evidence, but missed the fact that she had grabbed onto something, presumably when she was dying.’
‘So they couldn’t have come from the rubbish bin?’
‘No, not considering the way they were gripped in her fist.’
‘Yes?’ Patrik felt the impatience like a heat in his body. He saw from Pedersen that this was good, that they would finally get something useful. ‘What sort of hairs are they?’
‘Actually, “hairs” was a somewhat inaccurate description on my part. It’s fur from a dog. From a wire-haired Galgo Español to be exact. All according to the National Crime Lab.’ He placed the paper with NCL’s report before Patrik. It mercifully covered the photo of Lillemor.
‘Is it possible to match the fur with a specific dog?’
‘Yes and no,’ replied Pedersen shaking his head a bit regretfully. ‘Canine DNA is just as specific and identifiable as human DNA. But just as with people, the follicle has to be attached to extract DNA. And when dogs shed their hair, the follicle is not usually included. In this case there were no follicles. On the other hand, it’s a plus that the Galgo Español is a very uncommon breed of dog. There are probably only about two hundred in all of Sweden.’
Patrik looked at him with wide-eyed amazement. ‘Do you know this off the top of your head?’
Pedersen laughed. ‘Those CSI series on TV have given our reputation a terrific boost. Everybody thinks we know everything about everything! But unfortunately I have to disappoint you. It just so happens that my father-in-law is one of the two hundred people who own a Galgo Español. And every time we meet I get to hear everything about that damn dog.’
‘I know what you mean. My ex-wife’s father was the same, only with him it was cars.’
‘Yes, in-laws can get obsessed about things – but I suppose we all can.’ Pedersen laughed but then turned serious. ‘If you have any