Darling Daddy, children become what you make them.
‘I’ve told your mother I don’t want her to visit you. Not while you’re behaving like this. Do you understand what I’m saying, Thea? You’re going to be horribly lonely.’
I have been lonely for as long as I can remember.
Eventually, he had got to his feet, looked at her for the last time.
‘I’m ashamed of you,’ he had whispered. ‘I’m ashamed because my daughter is a murderer.’
And I am ashamed because my father is an idiot and my mother is a milksop.
Thea’s hands shook, making the newspaper rustle. She thought she knew who the dead man was. The man who could have made a difference, but who had vanished when she needed him the most. The police had believed he had disappeared because he wanted to, but Thea had always known that he was dead. She had longed for him to return, been unable to understand why no one could find him. How deep do you have to bury a man so that no one will find his grave? About two metres, according to the police. That was how far down he had been lying. How many feet had walked over him, unaware of what lay hidden beneath the moss and the fallen branches?
She closed her eyes, wishing her thoughts would leave her in peace. The police would need more time to work out who he was, and what his connection with Rebecca Trolle was. And with Thea.
She wondered if they realised that they would find more bodies in that accursed grave.
14
‘We’re digging day and night, but it’s difficult to keep all the bloody journalists away,’ said the DS.
Alex listened, along with his colleague Torbjörn Ross, who had been first on the scene when Rebecca’s body was found.
‘Do you need more manpower?’
‘At least another five, if we’re going to get anywhere. We daren’t use mechanical diggers; we’re doing everything by hand. But it’s starting to feel unsustainable. The lads can’t carry on much longer.’
Torbjörn thought for a moment.
‘Could we get some help from the Local Defence Volunteers?’
‘Check out the possibilities,’ Alex said. ‘If there are any more bodies in there waiting to be discovered, I want them out over the weekend.’
The DS headed back to the site, which was growing steadily. He promised to do his best; if there were more bodies, they would see the light of day before Sunday night.
It was Friday now; Alex didn’t know where the time had gone. He had been lost in a maelstrom of interviews and meetings, and a never-ending flow of thoughts and speculation.
‘Are you working over the weekend?’ Torbjörn asked.
‘Looks that way.’
‘My wife and I are going to our cottage from Saturday until Sunday; we’d be very pleased if you could join us.’
Alex didn’t quite know what to say. Peder appeared in the doorway of the meeting room.
‘Are we in here today?’
Alex nodded and turned to Torbjörn as Peder walked in and sat down.
‘We’ve got a meeting; the forensic pathologist is coming over to speak to us.’
More people came in; chairs scraped against the floor as the team settled down around the table.
‘Thanks for your offer…’ Alex hesitated. ‘It’s very kind of you, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to get away; I’m probably going to end up working all weekend.’
A firm hand on his shoulder, Torbjörn’s eyes fixed on his.
‘In that case, I suggest you give it some thought and let me know if you can make it. Sonja and I would be very happy to see you, and I’d love to take you fishing on Sunday morning.’
‘Fishing?’
‘Think about it, Alex.’
The hand disappeared, but the offer lingered as Torbjörn left the room.
Fredrika was the last to arrive, just after the pathologist. The team seemed to have grown overnight; there wasn’t room for everyone around the table, and some had to sit over by the wall.
Birger Rosvall, the forensic pathologist, sat down in the corner just to one side behind Alex, but Alex waved him forward and moved his chair to make room at the head of the table.
‘Birger has been kind enough to come over and pass on his conclusions verbally on this occasion. I would like to remind everyone that any information which emerges during this meeting is confidential and is not to be passed on. Not under any circumstances.’
There was complete silence in the room; some people glanced away when Alex looked at them.
‘We can’t afford mistakes in this investigation,’ he said. ‘Given the level of media interest, we need to be particularly careful about what we say and what steps we take. Does everyone understand that?’
Some people nodded, others murmured their assent. No one objected; nor had he expected them to. Without further ado he handed over to the pathologist.
‘We’ll start with the woman,’ Birger said in his characteristic voice, both nasal and hoarse at the same time. ‘The head has been separated from the body immediately below the chin, if you can imagine a line just here.’
He ran his finger under his own chin from ear to ear.
‘Damage to the trachea suggests that she might have been strangled, but I am unable to establish a definite cause of death. The hands were removed from the body by the same method as the head, using a chainsaw.’
The pathologist’s words bounced off the walls in the meeting room and settled over those present like a sodden blanket. Not everyone had known about the use of the chainsaw.
‘The severed surfaces of the bones are the main indication that a chainsaw was used rather than an ordinary blade. In addition, traces of a particular oil which could be used to grease the chain itself have been found where the amputations took place.’
‘What do you mean by a particular oil?’
‘Most chainsaw oil on sale today is biodegradable. The person who dismembered Rebecca’s body didn’t use that kind, which would have been cleverer; he used an older product which takes longer to break down. The damage to the skeleton, together with the discovery of traces of this oil or grease, leads me to conclude that the body was dismembered with a chainsaw.’
The door opened and a colleague looked in; when he saw that there was a meeting in progress, he apologised and quickly withdrew.
‘Can you tell what kind of chainsaw was used?’ Alex asked.
‘That’s impossible,’ Birger replied. ‘All I can say, given the choice of oil, is that it could well be an older model. However, I will be able to tell you exactly what kind of oil or grease was used.’
Unpleasant images of what the process of dismemberment might have looked like came into Alex’s mind. He shook his head; he didn’t need pictures, just words. Facts.
‘Birger, how messy would this kind of thing be? I’m sure we’re all imagining horrific scenes.’
The pathologist leaned back on his chair.
‘That depends on the circumstances. If the heart is still beating, even if the victim is unconscious, there will be a considerable amount of blood. However, if she is dead and no longer has a pulse, then the process will be neater. If you spread out enough plastic under the body, it shouldn’t be too difficult to clear up afterwards.’
Fredrika coughed discreetly.
‘And what about Rebecca?’
‘What do you mean?’
She shuffled uncomfortably.
‘I’m wondering if she was dead or alive when she was dismembered.’
‘I can’t say for certain, but I would guess that she was dead. Otherwise I am unable to explain the damage to the larynx.’
Everyone present felt like letting out a sigh of relief, but the pathologist’s words brought no real comfort. Rebecca Trolle had probably been dead, but she could have been alive. Could was a taboo word.