Gunder nearly wept from relief. Then she went to Marie's bed to remove the saliva from the tube. Gunder allowed himself to close his eyes. Finally his shoulders relaxed.
"Was everything all right yesterday?" she said, looking at Gunder from across the bed. He opened his eyes. He thought his voice would break.
"You mentioned some problems," she said.
She leaned forward again, but she was still listening. He had a feeling that she understood a great deal.
"Everything will be easier once your brother-in-law gets here," she said. "Then you won't have to manage on your own."
"Yes," he said. "It'll get better then." He summoned up his courage and looked at her. "Is she going to wake up?" he said feebly.
He looked down at Marie in the bed. That was when he noticed the nurse's name-badge for the first time.
"Yes, I think so," the girl called Ragnhild said. "She'll wake up."
Chapter 6
In the woman's gaping mouth Sejer counted three or four teeth which were still in the right place. What must the pathologist have thought when he saw this broken woman?
Bardy Snorrason had worked at his steel slab for many years. It was fitted with guttered edges and there was an outlet at the end where blood and fluids from the corpses could be hosed away and disappear down the drain. He could smell her, rank and raw. The chest and abdominal cavities were open.
"I want you to think out loud," Sejer said, studying the pathologist.
"I'm sure you do." He pushed his glasses down his nose and peered at Sejer over the frame. "This face speaks for itself." He turned his back and began leafing through a pile of papers. He muttered to himself, "This is so awful that it makes you want to shut up for once."
Sejer knew better than to push him. The woman's presence was deafening. That which must have escaped from her throat in her last moments echoed between the walls. He had to weigh his words. Respect her in some pathetic way, as she lay there naked on the slab with her chest opened up and the crushed head starkly lit by a work lamp. Because she had been hosed clean of blood, her injuries were there for him to see in a different way from when she was lying in the grass.
"She was wearing an outfit of silk," Snorrason said. "As far as I can see, the silk is very high quality. The clothing is produced in India. Her sandals are plastic. A wristwatch from Timex is also of modest quality. Her underwear was plain, cotton. In her bag were several coins, German, Norwegian, Indian. Oh yes, and on the bottom of her sandals it says 'Miss India'." Another pause. Papers rustled. "She suffered repeated blows to her head and face," he said.
"Is it possible to estimate how many?"
"No. I'm saying 'repeated blows' because it's impossible to number them. But we're talking very hard blows. Between ten and fifteen." Snorrason went over to the slab and stood behind the woman's wrecked head. "The skull has been smashed like a jar. You can no longer make out its original shape. A skull is fragile," he said, "though the top of your head is quite robust. The injuries are greater when you hit the back of the head or the temple. Here we're talking about a very destructive force. Whoever killed this woman attacked her in a violent rage."
"How old is she?"
"Around forty."
Sejer was surprised. Her body was so neat and slender.
"The weapon?" he said.
"The weapon was big and heavy, possibly blunt or smooth, and it was wielded with considerable force. I try to comfort myself and perhaps you too, since you look as though you need it" – he glanced across at Sejer – "that the majority of the blows were inflicted after her death. You can say what you like about death," he said, "but it sweeps away all this misery."
A long pause followed. Sejer felt a little outside himself, floating almost. He sensed a long period ahead with little sleep and much anxiety. That he could not escape from. He would not be able to forget this woman for a moment, she would be with him every hour of the day and night. In his head like a silent cry. He stared into the future to the moment when the culprit was identified and brought in. He would be sitting close enough to smell him and sense the vibrations when he moved in the same air space. Take his hand. Nod sympathetically. Approach this person with kindness. He felt a faint prickling at the back of his head. Snorrason was leafing through his papers once more.
"As I said. She's around forty years old, perhaps a bit younger. Height 1.60. Weight 45 kilos. As far as I can establish, she was healthy. She has a tiny scar from four stitches on her left shoulder. Incidentally, the filigree brooch is from Hardanger."
"That was quick," Sejer said, clearly pleased.
"I have a woman working for me on the case. She has one just like it." He thought for a while. "There were traces of fighting all over the meadow. Did he toy with her, do you think, like a cat?"
"I don't know," Sejer said, "I don't understand how he would dare to. It's still light at nine o'clock. Ole Gunwald lives just at the edge of the woods. The road goes right past. There is an audacity here which makes me think that the killer is chaotic. With no sense of judgment at all."
"Has anyone come forward yet?" Snorrason said.
"Car sightings. But the only thing I want to know right now is who she is."
"You should talk to all the jewellers in the area. They will likely remember if a foreign woman bought a filigree brooch from Hardanger. I don't suppose that happens so often."
"Presumably they keep a list of all sales," Sejer said. "On the other hand, I find it hard to believe that she bought it herself. I think it's a present from someone in Norway. A man, perhaps. And in that case a man who's fond of her."
"You get a lot out of a little," Snorrason said, smiling.
"I'm thinking aloud. When I saw her lying there in the grass, in those delicate clothes, the brooch was sparkling almost like a declaration of love."
"Well," Snorrason said, "perhaps love turned into something else. This doesn't look particularly loving."
Sejer went round the room once. "Yes," he said. "Bear in mind that it is possible to kill out of love."
Snorrason nodded reluctantly.
"You'll call when the post-mortem report is ready?"