There were no traces on the body that could be linked to a possible perpetrator. No fragments of skin under Elita’s nails to suggest a struggle, although there was a certain amount of soil. Several strands of hair were found on her clothing; the reader is referred to a different technical report. Thea checks and learns that these hairs come from horses and dogs – the animals that lived at Svartgården.
A more detailed account of the autopsy itself follows the summary. Thea soon realises that something isn’t right. The beginning and end are there, but a chunk is missing in the middle. She assumes that the original document pages stuck together, so the archivist failed to copy this section. However, when she checks the pagination, she sees that there are no pages missing – and yet the report is definitely incomplete.
She takes a closer look at the numbers from the middle onwards. The typeface looks slightly different, and the numbers are about a centimetre further to the right than in the rest of the document. She photographs some of them with her phone, then enlarges the image on the screen and plays around with the brightness. In a couple of places she thinks she can see a faint, uneven shadow right next to the numbers – as if someone has Tippexed over the original then typed a different one.
Maybe it doesn’t mean anything. If the pathologist had found something significant, it would have been included in the summary on the first page. She photographs that too, adjusts the brightness once more. No Tippex shadows this time, but there is something almost at the bottom. A thin line across the page could indicate that someone placed a piece of white paper over the original so that the last sentence didn’t appear on the copy. A kind of Eighties version of Photoshop.
Thea goes through the autopsy report once more just to make sure, and reaches the same conclusion.
One page is missing – the examination of Elita’s stomach. Someone has removed that page, and tried to hide the information.
What could they have found in her stomach that was so controversial that someone went to so much effort to keep it quiet?
A sentence from Elita’s letter pops into Thea’s head.
Because no secret is greater than mine.
She rubs her forehead again. Tries to tell herself that she’s wrong, that there must be a perfectly simple explanation for the missing page. But the suspicion has already taken root in her mind. It grows and grows until it becomes a conviction.
Elita Svart must have been pregnant when she was murdered.
48
Thea spends the drive home trying to get her head straight.
Elita’s pregnancy is not mentioned in any of the interviews, which means that the interviewer probably didn’t know about it. Therefore, the person who removed the page from the autopsy report must have come across the information at an early stage and taken steps to ensure that no one else found out.
The autopsy was just a formality, really. The cause of death had already been established, and there was no evidence pointing to Leo. Therefore, it’s likely that the investigating officers would have read the summary and nothing else, and the pathologist wasn’t called to give evidence at Leo’s trial.
But if Thea is right, if Elita really was pregnant, then who concealed that information – and why? The report should have been sent to the senior investigating officer.
She slows down at a junction and is so lost in thought that she barely notices that the car on the opposite side of the road is flashing its lights at her. The driver is waving as if he wants something.
She stays put as he drives towards her and stops with his side window next to hers. It’s Per Nygren.
‘Good afternoon, Doctor,’ he says with his usual smile. ‘Everything OK?’
‘Yes, thanks – I’m just trying to get into the daily routine.’
‘Excellent. It’ll be great to see Bokelund all fixed up soon. I haven’t been inside the castle for years – not since the old count’s time.’
Another smile, just on the borderline between charming and flirtatious.
‘What was he like?’ She thinks of the painting in Hubert’s library.
‘Rudolf? A hard master. I don’t think I ever saw him smile, but he and my father got along well. He was actually my godfather.’
‘Oh – so you must know Hubert?’
Per nods. ‘We used to play together when we were children. Have you met him?’
‘Yes, a couple of times.’
‘Good. Hubert needs to get out and meet people.’ Per leans out of the window a fraction. ‘As you might know, he didn’t go to the village school with the rest of us; he had a private tutor. Unfortunately, that made him a little reclusive. A bit different. But he’s well worth getting to know.’
The tenderness in Per’s voice surprises her a little.
‘Anyway, I must go – I don’t want to be late for rehearsal.’
‘Rehearsal?’
‘I’m in a band – we get together a couple of times a week. It’s mostly for fun, but we play the odd gig – weddings, fiftieth birthdays, that kind of thing. Plus I run an open mic night at Gästis in Ljungslöv. You ought to come along some time.’
Only now does Thea notice the guitar case on the passenger seat. ‘I might just do that.’
‘I’ll look forward to it. Have a nice evening, Doctor!’
He is about to close the window when she stops him. The question has been burning in her brain ever since she found the blood on Emee’s coat.
‘Any news on the deer? Was it a wolf?’
The smile fades. ‘We still don’t know. Whatever it is, it took a pregnant hind yesterday.’
‘Where?’ She wishes she hadn’t asked. Holds her breath, waiting for the answer.
‘Same place as before – over by the western meadow.’
‘That’s so sad.’ She glances in the rear-view mirror at Emee, whose head is sticking up above the back seat.
‘Yes. We’re going to have to come up with a new strategy soon; this can’t go on. But don’t worry; it’s not the first time we’ve had problems with predators in the enclosures. Hunting is all about patience. And cunning. A bit like love.’ He winks at her, closes the window and drives off.
David’s car is in its usual place. Just like yesterday evening, Thea is struck by a sudden desire to be close to him. It’s as if every little piece of Elita’s story makes her understand him better, helps her to know who the real David is.
She parks her car and goes into the castle, calling his name. She thinks she can hear noises from upstairs; she searches around for a while before she spots the ladder and the open loft hatch in the bridal suite. That’s where the voices are coming from.
‘Hello?’ she shouts.
David’s face appears in the gap. ‘Hi, Thea!’ He looks pleased to see her.
‘What are you doing?’
‘We’re getting ready to install a lightning rod. We can’t afford to have a power cut in the middle of the high season. Come up and see!’
Thea clambers up the steep ladder. She says hello to the workman in dungarees and small round glasses who is inspecting the inside of the roof by the light of a builder’s lamp. The loft is huge, the floor covered with sturdy planks. Removal crates and old pieces of furniture are dotted here and there. Beyond the glow of the lamp, the darkness is dense.
‘Cool, isn’t it? We could have ghost walks up here. Get a couple of the summer staff to dress up as the dead girls.’
Thea is taken aback, then realises he’s talking about the two girls Hubert mentioned, not Elita Svart.