‘Nothing about girlfriends?’
‘Nope.’
‘Because he wanted it that way?’
‘Yes.’
‘Because he had something to hide?’
‘That could be one reason,’ the forensics man replied, reaching for his own computer. ‘He seems to have made a habit of deleting the day’s web-page history before turning off his computer at night.’
‘Not surprising, perhaps, since he was carrying roofies.’
‘No, perhaps not.’
‘So no one knows what he was up to online?’
‘I’m going to see if I can dig anything up. Not everything necessarily goes when the delete button is pressed. His Internet service provider may be able to help us. Actually, it looks as if it’s hosted abroad, so it may take for ever to find out,’ he sighed, shifting in his chair, which creaked in response.
The post-mortem revealed that Runólfur had been in excellent health, with no physical ailments. He was short, slim and well-proportioned. There were no scars or blemishes on his body and his organs had functioned normally.
‘In short, a healthy young man,’ said the pathologist as he finished his recital.
He was standing opposite Elínborg, across from Rúnólfur’s body, in the city mortuary. The autopsy had been completed and the body had been transferred to a lateral cold chamber. The pathologist had pulled out the drawer and now Elínborg looked down at the corpse.
‘It wasn’t an easy death,’ the pathologist went on. ‘He sustained a number of cuts before he was killed. There are several small cuts on the neck, near to the main wound, and a bruise to the throat, as if someone had held him fast. There’s no indication that he made any real attempt to defend himself.
‘It’s not particularly complicated, but interesting in its way. It’s been done cleanly. The throat has been slit with a razor-sharp blade, almost as sharp as a surgical scalpel. The actual cut was one continuous stroke with absolutely no hesitation marks. It’s rather like an expert surgical incision. I would think that his assailant overpowered him and held him helpless for a time — that’s the inference of the small cuts — before slitting his throat and dropping him to the floor. He survived for a little while. Not long, but perhaps up to a minute. You didn’t find any signs of a struggle, did you?’
‘No.’
‘He had intercourse shortly before he died, as you no doubt know. As to whether the sex was non-consensual, I couldn’t say. There’s no indication that it was. Except the fact that’s he’s dead, of course.’
‘No marks on the body? No scratches, no bites?’
‘No, but then you wouldn’t expect any if the woman concerned was sedated.’
The team investigating the case had repeatedly discussed the condition in which Runólfur’s body had been found in his home, and what clues it might provide. He’d been wearing a T-shirt which was far too small for him and probably belonged to a woman. With the exception of the shawl, no other female garments were found in his flat. They deduced that the T-shirt had probably belonged to a woman who had accompanied him home: if a rape had taken place, Runólfur must have undressed the woman, then raped her, apparently getting some kick out of wearing her own shirt. It looked as if he had tried to create a romantic ambience: no electric lights had been on, except in the living room, and burnt-out tea-light candles were found in both the living room and the bedroom.
Some of the detectives were not convinced that there had even been a rape. They were reluctant to infer too much from the evidence found: although Runólfur had Rohypnol in his home, that told them nothing of what had happened there, and no trace of the drug had been found in glasses, for instance. Perhaps he had sex with the woman, putting on her T-shirt during their lovemaking, and for some reason she picked up the knife and cut his throat. Other members of the team, Sigurdur Óli among them, were of the view that a third person must have intruded on the couple: Runólfur, flustered, had put on the T-shirt but had not managed to finish dressing before he was killed. It was possible that his companion had attacked him, but an alternative had also to be considered: that another person had committed the crime. Elínborg tended to favour that view, although she had no particular arguments to support her hunch. The murder weapon, a razor-sharp knife, might have belonged to the victim. Four kitchen knives were arranged on a magnetic strip on the wall. Perhaps there had originally been a set of five. The killer could have used the fifth, then taken it away when he or she left. It was not clear from the knives whether one was missing, and an exhaustive search of Thingholt and further afield had so far yielded no result.
And then there was the Rohypnol in Runólfur’s mouth and throat. He could hardly have taken it of his own accord.
‘Did you find a lot of Rohypnol in the body?’ she asked.
‘Yes — a good deal, really, which seems to have been forced down him.’
‘But it hadn’t reached the bloodstream?’
‘We don’t know yet,’ replied the pathologist. ‘Tox screening takes longer.’
Elínborg looked at him. ‘Oh, yes, of course.’
‘It would have taken about ten minutes to start working, and after that he wouldn’t have been capable of defending himself in any way.’
‘That’s consistent with the fact that we found little sign of a struggle.’
‘Absolutely. He wouldn’t have been able to put up any resistance, however much he wanted to.’
‘Just like his presumed victim.’
‘He got a taste of his own medicine, if that’s what you mean.’
‘So someone forced him to swallow the stuff, then coolly slit his throat?’
The pathologist shrugged. ‘That’s your department.’
Elínborg looked down at the body. ‘He looks pretty fit. Maybe he met women at a gym,’ she said.
‘That’s possible, if he worked out.’
‘And he went to people’s homes and offices. He was a telecoms engineer.’
‘He got around, then.’
‘And there are all the clubs and bars.’
‘Don’t you think it’s more likely that he picked women up at random, rather than targeting them specifically?’
The police officers had discussed this factor at length. Some felt that Runólfur’s modus operandi was fairly straightforward: he met a woman at a bar and invited her home. Some liked the look of him and went with him. It remained unclear whether he drugged any of them since there were no witnesses. Other officers reckoned that he had definitely used drugs and worked in a systematic manner. He did not trust to luck in picking up a woman. He had some acquaintanceship with them, though perhaps only very slight.
‘Maybe,’ said Elínborg. ‘Anyway, we have to find out how he met women. We haven’t dismissed the possibility that a woman was with him when he was killed, and that she may be the killer.’
‘The cut looks like that, at any rate,’ said the pathologist. ‘That was my first reaction when I saw it. My mind went to an old-fashioned straight razor, the kind where the blade folds into the handle. Do you know what I mean?’
‘What did you say about the cut?’
The pathologist looked down at the body. ‘It’s smooth,’ he said. ‘When I saw it I thought to myself that it was … almost feminine.’
9
It was dark in the bar. A large window that faced on to the street had been broken and was now boarded up with plywood. The repair looked recent. Elínborg thought it was probably a temporary measure, but perhaps not. The pane of glass in the door had also been broken, but longer ago. It was covered with black-painted plywood that was scratched and graffitied. It did not look as if the proprietor intended to install new glass. Given up trying, thought Elínborg to herself.