took a quick glance at the case file," the doctor said. His glasses made him look as if he were in a constant state of fear. "I was curious. You're a chief inspector, isn't that what you said?"
Sejer nodded.
"So I'm assuming that there must be something unusual about this death?"
"I have no opinion about that."
"But isn't that why you're here?"
Sejer looked at him and blinked twice, and that was all the answer he gave. When he remained silent, the doctor started talking again – a phenomenon that never ceased to amaze Sejer, one that had produced numerous confessions over the years.
"A tragic case," the pathologist said, looking down at the papers. "A two-year-old boy. An accident at home. Left without supervision for a few minutes. Dead on arrival. We opened him up and found a total obstruction of his windpipe, in the form of food."
"What type of food?"
"Waffles. We were actually able to unfold them, they were practically whole. Two whole, heart-shaped dessert waffles, folded together into one lump. That's an awful lot of food for such a small mouth, even though he was a sturdy boy. It turned out that he was quite a greedy little fellow, and hyperactive too."
Sejer tried to picture the waffle-iron that Elise used to have, with five heart shapes in a circle. Ingrid's iron was a more modern kind with only four hearts that weren't properly round.
"I remember the autopsy clearly. You always remember the very sad cases; they stay in your mind. Most of the people we see, after all, are between 80 and 90 years old. And I remember the waffle hearts lying in the bowl. Children and dessert waffles go together. It seemed especially tragic that they should have caused his death. He was sitting there having such a good time."
"You said 'we'. Were there others working with you?"
"Arnesen, the head pathologist, was with me. I had just been hired back then, and he liked to keep an eye on the new people. He's retired now. The new departmental head is a woman." The thought made him glance down at his hands.
"Two whole waffles shaped like hearts. Had he chewed them?"
"No, apparently not. They were both nearly whole."
"Do you have children?"
"I have four," he said happily.
"Did you think about them when you were doing the autopsy?"
The doctor gave Sejer a look of uncertainty, as if he didn't quite understand the question.
"Well, yes, I suppose I did. Or I might have been thinking more about children in general, and how they behave."
"Yes?"
"At that time my son had just turned three," the doctor went on. "And he loves dessert waffles. I'm forever scolding him, the way parents do, about stuffing too much food into his mouth at one time."
"But in this case no one was there to scold the boy," Sejer said.
"No. Because then, of course, it wouldn't have happened."
Sejer didn't reply. Then he said, "Can you picture your own son when he was about the same age with a plate of waffles in front of him? Do you think he would have picked up two of them, folded them in half, and stuffed both into his mouth at the same time?"
Now there was a long silence.
"Well... this was a special kind of child."
"Where exactly did you get that information from? I mean, the fact that he was special?"
"From his father. He was here at the hospital all day. The mother arrived later, together with his half-brother. By the way, all of this is included in the file. I've made copies for you, as requested."
He tapped the pile in front of him and pushed the Chinese book aside. Sejer recognised the first character on the cover, the symbol for "man".
"From what I've been told, the father was in the bathroom when the accident occurred, is that right?"
"That's right. He was shaving. The boy was strapped to his chair; that's why he couldn't get loose and run for help. When the father came back to the kitchen the boy was lying across the table. He had knocked his plate to the floor so it broke. The worst thing was that the father actually heard the plate fall."
"Why didn't he come running?"
"Apparently the boy broke things all the time."
"Who else was home when it happened?"
"Only the mother, from what I understood. The older son had just left to catch a school bus or something, and the mother was asleep upstairs."
"And didn't hear anything?"
"I suppose there was nothing to hear. He didn't manage to scream."