'Acode?' Gunnarstranda wondered, resigned, and repeated: 'J one-nine-five.' ToSchwenke he said: 'What about the crosses on his forehead?'
'Threecrosses. And the same colour. Must be the same ink as on the chest.'
Frølichstooped over the dead man's forehead.
Schwenkestraightened up. 'Same cut in the clothing which is soaked in blood. So he waskilled wearing clothes,' he concluded with a wry smile, and spoke severalmedical terms into the Dictaphone. Thereafter he said to the policemen in a lowvoice: 'The graffiti was added afterwards.'
Frølichmade way for the woman who was taking photographs of the dead man on theautopsy table. Schwenke was still talking into the Dictaphone.
Gunnarstrandastood with his eyes fixed on the dead man's chest. 'A code,' he mumbled tohimself, rapt in thought. 'The perpetrator takes the trouble to undress theman, write the code on the body and display it in the window.'
Theymade way for the lab assistant who was washing the corpse.
'Satanists,'Schwenke interjected from the right. He sent Frølich a good-natured wink.
'Whatare you talking about now?' Gunnarstranda asked in an irritated tone.
'Iwas just joking.' Schwenke sent Frølich another wink. 'But there is somethingritualistic about this, isn't there? Soon only masons and Satanists will haverituals.' He chuckled. 'Hanging from sewing thread, with three crosses on hisforehead. All that was missing was a fish sticking out of his gob.' Schwenkelaughed louder. 'Perhaps that's what we will find now,' he said, going over tothe table where the assistant had finished. He flourished the scalpel beforemaking the\classic cut, from the neck down the stomach, left of the navel anddown to the edge of the pubis.
Hemoved to the side as the assistant began to cut through the dead man's ribs. Itsounded as though someone was cracking thick roots in wet mud. Frølich had tolean against the wall, as always.
'Queasy,Frølich?' Schwenke asked, in cheery mood. At a signal from the assistant heturned round, folded back the softer tissue and took a good hold before raisingthe sternum.
Schwenkelifted out the internal organs and placed them all on the organ table. Theassistant hosed them down very thoroughly. Frølich avoided the jets of water andonce again breathed through his mouth because of the nauseous stench fillingthe room.
'Well,what do you know,' Schwenke mumbled. 'What do you know!'
Gunnarstrandawoke up: 'What?'
Schwenke:'The question is how long he would have lasted.'
'Why'sthat?'
Schwenkepointed to the man's intestines. 'There.'
'Andwhat's that?'
'Akidney riddled with cancer.'
'Ican't see any cancer.'
'Andthis?' Schwenke held up something which looked like a half-chewed, regurgitatedblood orange. 'Does this look like cancer?'
'Allright. But he must have felt it, mustn't he?'
'Idon't know. This type of cancer is hard to detect. If I'm not much mistaken, ithas spread to his lungs.'
'Hewas dying?'
'Lookslike it.'
'Buthe might not have known?'
'Well,we don't know that. I don't have the man's records. Check with his doctor andthe usual hospitals. What I'm saying is that finding this type of cancer duringan autopsy is not uncommon.'
Gunnarstrandanodded pensively. 'And the wound?' he asked at length. 'The angle?'
Schwenkestudied the passage of the weapon through the dead man's internal organs. 'Itlooks like it was an upward thrust from an acute angle. A punctured lung. Vitalblood vessels ruptured.'
'Butjust one stab?' 'A single stab wound,' Schwenke confirmed, working on the deadman's abdominal organs.
Frølichlooked away, at Gunnarstranda, who was intently studying Schwenke's hands atwork. 'Is there anything else you can tell me?' the Inspector barked.
Schwenkelooked up: 'Like what?'
'Forgetit!' Gunnarstranda rummaged furiously through his pockets.
'Nosmoking in here,' Schwenke said.
'Am Ismoking?' asked the policeman\in an irritated tone of voice, holding out two emptyhands.
Schwenkestood up and beamed a guilty smile. 'Sorry. Well – there must have been quite afountain of blood as the blade cut into blood vessels under a fair amount ofpressure,' he mumbled and added: 'But then you said the crime scene was surprisinglyclean. I assume he fell straight to the floor. But,' he continued, 'since theclothing is drenched in blood, the perpetrator's garments must have got prettyred, too.'
'Causeof death?'
'Nineto one it's the stab wound. But I can tell you more in a couple of hours.'
'Timeof death?'
Schwenketurned. 'Death is a process, Gunnarstranda. Life is not some digital mechanismthat stops working.'
'Butyou can say something about when…'
'The brainmight be dead, but there can still be life in the digestive wall and whiteblood corpuscles,' Schwenke interrupted.
'… hewas stabbed and fell to the floor, can't you?' the policeman continuedundeterred.
'We'llhave to see what his body temperature was when we arrived and measure itagainst the temperature taken by the window, then we'll have to examine thefood in his stomach, find out what his last meal was and when he ate it. Theproblem is the room he was in was freezing. If the temperature of the brain isthe same as in the room, the thermometer can't tell us anything. Besides, rigormortis has not subsided yet. My understanding was that your forensics peoplehad a struggle with his limbs when they brought him in. Do you know what his lastmeal was?'
'Reindeersteak,' Gunnarstranda said. 'Somewhere between seven-thirty and ten o'clocklast night.'
Schwenkelooked up from the dead man's stomach. 'With chanterelle sauce,' he added.'Washed down with red wine. I would guess Spanish, tempranillo, a Rioja.'
Schwenkegrinned when he saw Frølich's expression. 'Just joking.' He became serious andreflected. 'We don't know how cold it was in the room and that might causeproblems.'
Chapter 11
Afterthe autopsy they drove back in silence to Police HQ in Gronland and settled in theiroffice. Frølich logged on to the computer network and wrote his report.Gunnarstranda noted down the cryptic message written on the dead man's chest.He stood up and poured himself the dregs of the coffee in the flask. It wascold. He grimaced, went to the sink by the door and poured it down the drain.He repeated the grimace in front of the mirror. 'At times my teeth irritateme,' he said. 'You can see the crowns so clearly. And the older you get, theclearer they are. If I reach seventy, I'll look like a row of teeth someonehung a body on.'
Frølichstraightened up. 'Let me have a look,' Frølich said.
Gunnarstrandaturned to him and spread his lips wide in a way which made the other man startwith surprise. 'You look like a row of teeth with a body on,' Frølichconfirmed.
'Itwas a joke,' he tried to explain to the older policeman, who was still glaringat him.
Gunnarstrandaturned away, went back to his chair and lifted up the slip of paper with thecode on.
'Mightbe a road number' Frølich suggested.
'Aroad starting with a J?'
'Itdoesn't have to be a J. It might have been a U once. In England they call majorroads A-roads, such as Ai, Az…'
'Butan A isn't a U.'
'No,but there must be roads beginning with a U, just as there are roads beginningwith an A, or an E. We say Europavei, don't we?'
'Thisis a J,' retorted Gunnarstranda. 'It's not an A or an E. It says J-onehundred and ninety-five. If you think that's a road, then find out if thereare any roads in the world starting with a J or a U. That's fine by me, exceptfor one thing: there isn't a road like that in Oslo, there isn't one in Norwayeven, and we have no authority outside Oslo's city limits.'
'Couldbe a perfume,' said Frølich, still persevering. 'There's a perfume called4711.'
Gunnarstrandalifted the piece of paper into the air and tapped the numbers with hisforefinger. 'What does it say here?' he asked in a menacingly gentle voice.