didn’t improve after the blond body-builder of an attendant informed them that the professor was in the examination room. He was familiar with the superintendent’s loathing for autopsies and beamed with a charming but provoking smile. His teeth shone white against his sunburned skin. Though he had been working at Pathology for many years, his appearance, together with his neat ponytail, gave an impression of vitality that was entirely out of place in those surroundings. Irene only knew his first name, printed on his name tag: Sebastian.
It was the smell that was the worst. Perhaps it was possible to get used to it if you experienced it daily, thought Irene. But when people like her and the superintendent visited only now and then, it hit them with its full effect.
Andersson stopped just inside the door and, to her surprise, Irene noted that he had pushed her in front of him. So she trotted up to the steel table where Yvonne Stridner was dissecting the upper half of the torso that had been found.
The pathologist looked up over the edge of her magnifying eyeglasses and knit her eyebrows. “What are you doing here?” she asked sharply.
Irene felt impelled to answer since the superintendent was silent.
“We were wondering if you really hadn’t discovered anything . . . useful?”
Stridner snorted loudly. “I’ll contact you when I’m finished.”
“You don’t know if it’s a man or a woman?”
“No. The pectoralis major, the large muscle in the chest, has been almost completely removed on both sides. It doesn’t make sense.”
“What doesn’t make sense?” Andersson ventured to ask.
“The mutilation of female breasts is usually limited to the breast glands and fatty tissue. But here they have gone deeper and removed the muscle. Consequently, I can’t say whether it’s a man or a woman. The incisions are elliptical and nearly eleven by seventeen centimeters.2 It appears as though two female breasts have been removed. Yet I need to look more thoroughly. . . .”
“What’s the cause of death?”
“Impossible to say. Find the head and maybe that will provide a lead. In this type of case strangulation is the most common cause of death.”
“You don’t see any marks on the neck?”
“There is no neck to see any marks on. The head has been removed above the seventh cervical vertebra. All of the internal organs have been removed. No lungs, no heart, no abdominal organs. The chest has been opened all the way up to the throat. The entire sternum has been sawed open.”
“How long has the body—or the body part—been in the sack?”
“Can’t say for certain. Based on decay it could be anywhere from two to four months. It was very cold in February and March, which is obviously a factor. There haven’t been any long periods of warm weather from April up to today either. But we have taken the usual samples and, of course, performed toxicology tests. We’ll have the results in a few days and then we can be more certain.”
Irene heard the superintendent heading toward the exit behind her. Her brain worked feverishly to come up with an important question she should ask while there was still time. Suddenly, it struck her. “The tattoo. Is it possible to see what the image is?” she asked.
“Yes. It looks like a small upside-down y with a cross stroke where the fork separates and a cross stroke a bit higher up on the shaft. I think it resembles a Chinese character. There is a dragon wrapped around the sign and it’s biting its own tail. A very attractive tattoo. Actually a real piece of art, in different colors. See for yourself.”
Stridner twisted the limp grayish green chest so that Irene would be able to see the tattoo. It may have been very beautiful, but now Irene was also starting to feel ill. She pretended to examine the tattoo closely before she thanked Stridner and hurried out of the room.
THEY TOOK Highway 158 from Järnbrottsmotet toward Särö. It wasn’t until they had turned off at Brottkärrsmotet and headed out to Skintebo that Irene broke the silence.
“I think we got a lot of information.”
The superintendent mumbled an answer. Irene thought it sounded like “far too much,” but she wasn’t entirely certain.
“Are we going to have a case review tonight?” she asked, mostly as a means of changing the subject.
“No. Nothing is pressing. We’ll take care of it at morning prayers.” Irene drove by Billdal’s Park and after a while she turned onto the little road to Killevik. From there they