Back to square one. Andersson glared at the pathologist with the flame-red hair. Resigned, he was turning to go when he heard her say, “But I can use the other computer.”
Without waiting for a reply, she clattered past him on her stiletto heels and disappeared down the corridor.
Andersson sank onto the uncomfortable visitor’s chair. It was both lumpy and covered in vinyl. Andersson suspected that most people who sat in this chair soon found themselves in varying states of nervousness and general dissolution. From his own experience, he knew how quickly one began to perspire on a vinyl chair. Medical students or police officers, it didn’t matter: Everyone broke into a sweat during a meeting with Professor Stridner, the superintendent continued his gloomy train of thought.
He was interrupted when the clattering of the professor’s heels in the corridor grew closer. She rushed in and stepped up to her ergonomically designed office chair, which was covered in Bordeaux-colored soft leather. It looked more like a small comfortable recliner than a work chair, Andersson noted jealously as he squirmed in his uncomfortable chair.
Stridner straightened her glasses and looked down at the paper she held in her hand. She read directly from the page: “‘Jacob Schyttelius’s stomach contents showed the half-digested remains of a hot dog and mashed potatoes. He drank orange soda along with it. His last meal was consumed at around six o’clock.’ Does that match your information?”
Stridner peered at Andersson over the edge of her glasses.
“Yes. The assistant at the hot-dog stand on Södra vägen got in touch with us. She remembers him. Apparently he was a regular and usually came around six o’clock, several evenings a week. She remembers that it was Monday, because the next day she had a backache and was out sick. And the owner of a men’s clothing store on Södra vägen also phoned us. Jacob was there just before closing on Monday evening.”
The superintendent became annoyed at himself when he heard how he blurted out his information, strutting to show that, by golly, he was in the know. A simple “yes” would have been sufficient.
Stridner nodded and looked down at her paper again. “Then I would like to place the time of the murder at between eleven o’clock and eleven thirty. I can’t be more precise, since we don’t know exactly when Jacob ate his hot dog with mashed potatoes.
“Regarding the parents’ stomach contents, it’s even more uncertain, since we don’t know when they ate their last meal, which was salmon mousse and green peas. Based on the level of digestion, they probably ate six hours before the time of death. And drinks. . ”
Again Stridner gave Andersson a sharp look. Unaware, he sucked in his stomach, which was hanging over his belt.
“Elsa Schyttelius had coffee and water in her digestive tract. Sten Schyttelius had beer and whiskey. His blood alcohol level was one point one. High, but he was only slightly drunk. The condition of his liver bears witness to a rather significant alcohol intake over the years.”
“Was he an alcoholic?”
Stridner hesitated. “Alcoholic?. . More like a regular heavy drinker. His blood sugar was also a bit high, and he was overweight.”
She gave Andersson a meaningful look. He was terribly close to asking her what the pastor’s blood pressure had been, but managed to stop himself. A sulky Professor Stridner was the worst thing you could confront. Instead, he said, “We’ve traced a phone call from the rectory to Jacob’s cell phone. The call came at six thirty-two. That’s the last telephone call registered to or from the rectory’s telephone on the night of the murder. I wonder if one of the parents called Jacob to see if he wanted to join them for dinner. If I’ve guessed right, it means that Mr. and Mrs. Schyttelius ate around six forty-five or a little later. That would mean that they were killed as late as quarter to one. Fifteen minutes in each direction, but probably closer to one o’clock.”
Stridner nodded. “That’s possible,” she said. She took off her glasses and tapped one of the rims lightly against her front teeth. “It was an execution,” she said.
Andersson replied, “Those Satanic stars and all that damn. . drivel were meant to suggest a ritual murder. But it doesn’t really look like it. I mean. . there aren’t signs of any sacrifices.”
“No. These are not ritualistic killings,” Stridner agreed.
“Have you seen any Satanic murders?” Andersson ventured to ask.
“Yes. One. The Purple Murder. I had just started here in Pathology. Are you familiar with the case?”
“Yes. I remember it, but I didn’t participate in the investigation.”
“Then I don’t need to go through the circumstances surrounding the case itself. The man was found dead in his apartment with his throat cut. But that’s not all. Someone had carved a pentagram on his stomach. It wasn’t very deep, but it had bled. The man was alive while the pentagram was being incised.”
“Could he have done it himself?” the superintendent interjected.
“No. It was very well done, with the points all being exactly the same size. You wouldn’t be able to do that to yourself. Not even if he had stood in front of a mirror. Besides, he was heavily drugged.”
“What kind of drug?”
“LSD, which actually is a drug commonly used during Satanic gatherings, I learned. I discussed this case a few years later with a colleague at a conference in Philadelphia who had experience with three ritualistic murders with connections to Satanism. Very interesting! It was two young children and a teenage girl who-”
Stridner stopped herself. “But it was the the Purple Murder we were discussing. So the man had taken LSD, or someone had forced him to take it. Because of the drug, he probably didn’t feel anything when the symbol was carved on his stomach. Aside from his throat being cut after the carving session, he also had five stab wounds in his body. The interesting thing about the stab wounds was that all of them were inflicted with the same knife, but not by the same person.”
Andersson raised his eyebrows in surprise. This last was news to him.
“I didn’t hear anything about that at the time. It was, after all, not my case, but you would think I would have heard something like that through the grapevine-”
“No. We chose not to spread it about, because the information wasn’t supported. Rather, it was only a hypothesis.”
“What did you base it on?”
“The man was alive when the pentagram was carved, and he was also alive when his throat was cut. The blood shot out in a cascade and he quickly bled to death then.
“The stab wounds on the body differed greatly. Two of them were only about a centimeter deep and located peripherally on his chest. One went straight to the heart and would have been fatal in and of itself, just as the fourth, a stab wound to the stomach which perforated the liver, would also have resulted in death. The last stab wound was, strangely enough, positioned directly above the pubic bone and slanted in toward the bladder. None of these knife wounds had bled much, which points to the fact that the man had been dead for a while before they were inflicted on him.”
“I seem to recall that evidence of sexual contact was also found. …”
“Yes. We found vaginal secretions on his penis and sperm in his anus. So he had had sex with at least one man and one woman. If it had happened today, we could have done DNA profiles, but we didn’t have that back then.”
Stridner fell silent.
“You remember this case surprisingly well,” Andersson ventured to say.
She replied dryly, “Yes. It was a case that stays with you. Unusual.”
She straightened her glasses mechanically and looked down at the papers in front of her on the table. “The reason I started talking about that case is to justify my doubt that the killing of the Schyttelius family was a ritualistic Satanic murder. Firstly, we have the appearance of the crime scenes. No strange objects or utensils for Satanic rituals, only the symbols painted on the computers.”