with anything that might come out during the investigation. You’re an old fox and known for employing your own tactics—and very successfully, I might add—but I would really appreciate receiving regular updates from you during the course of the investigation, blah blah blah . . .”
With growing distaste Andersson realized that Bergström knew full well that he wasn’t going by the book, but he was trying to hide it behind flattery and feigned familiarity. In Sweden it wasn’t normal to give police commissioners information while an investigation was in progress. Usually they received one partial report during the course of the investigation, and then a final report.
Andersson slapped his palm against the steering wheel and sputtered, “Murder is murder, and a killer is a killer! Even if he pisses in a gold chamberpot, he’s still a killer.”
The woman standing by the crosswalk, where Andersson had stopped for a red light, gave him a quizzical look. Embarrassed, he realized that he had been talking out loud, but thank God the windows were rolled up.
Why was he sitting here getting all worked up? Was it because he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to solve the case? Maybe, but he knew that the upcoming meeting with Professor Stridner was also making him uneasy. She was organized and accomplished. But she showed no respect for him. Or anyone else, for that matter.
I’d have to wait for that until I’m lying there like a—if not neat then interesting—corpse on the stainless-steel autopsy table, he thought.
THE AUTOPSY assistant was a huge bodybuilder who had worked in Pathology for many years. He gave Sven Andersson a nod of recognition and pointed up the stairs when the superintendent asked for Yvonne Stridner.
She was sitting in her office, dictating into a little tape recorder the size of a cigarette pack.
“. . . the liver is somewhat hypertrophied, although there is no visible sign of steatosis. In view of the size of the liver, this is probably a beginning stage. Sent to Pathological Anatomical Diagnosis.”
She clicked off the tape recorder and gave Andersson a sharp look. And she recognized him at once.
“So you’ve decided to come over yourself, Andersson? I just finished the autopsy and was thinking of calling you up. Now I won’t have to,” she said with satisfaction.
The superintendent said hello and then asked her the important question at once. “Has the cause of death been determined?”
“Yes, beyond all doubt. He died from the impact of his fall.”
“Does that mean there’s still a possibility it was a damned suicide?”
“Not at all. There is a severe contusion on the back of his head. On the os occipitale there is a small fracture from a powerful blow, sufficient to cause unconsciousness but not death. The interesting thing is the location of the blow. Right above the hollow at the back of the neck, at the rear wall and base of the cranium. It’s located a little obliquely to the left. This opens up two possibilities. One: Von Knecht knelt down in front of his executioner with his head bowed. The killer was unmoved and swung the cleaver from directly above in a wide arc, so that the blow landed somewhat below the base of the skull. But if so, Richard must have been bowing deeply. Hardly credible. Possibility number two: The murderer has a good backhand, and is right-handed.”
“Backhand?”
“Tennis stroke, in this case. The power in the blow came from below, obliquely to the killer’s body and directed upward. It’s difficult to put sufficient power into such a blow, but a good tennis player should be able to put enough force into it to knock someone out.”
“From what I understood from Svante Malm, the incision across the back of the victim’s hand was made with the blade of the meat cleaver that was found on the balcony. How does the wound at the back of his head look?”
“It matches the cleaver’s dull edge exactly. I’ve checked it.”
“But weren’t the techs here by seven this morning? And they took the cleaver back to the lab.”
She gave him a withering look. “Who wasn’t here by seven o’clock?” she snapped.
She took a deep breath and let her gaze wander out through the filthy window. “For me, this is science: I have to know the cause of death. What can the body tell us about the living person? Can it tell me anything about the killer? It’s your job to figure out who murdered him and why.”
The superintendent decided to stay on Professor