Read Online The Crow Girl by Erik Axl Sund - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Erik Axl Sund
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skin has dried out completely and can’t be removed from the underlying –’
‘Sorry to interrupt,’ Jeanette said impatiently. ‘I don’t want to seem unfriendly, but I’m mainly interested in how he died and when it might have happened. Even I could see that he was dried out.’
‘Of course. Maybe I got a bit sidetracked. You have to appreciate that it’s practically impossible to say when death occurred, but I can tell you that he hasn’t been dead for longer than six months. The process of mummification also takes time, so I’d guess he died somewhere between November and January.’
‘OK, but that’s still a fairly broad period of time, isn’t it? Have you managed to get any DNA?’
‘Yes, we’ve taken DNA from the victim, as well as urine from the bag.’
‘What? You mean someone pissed on the bag?’
‘Yes, but that doesn’t necessarily have to be the killer, does it?’
‘No, that’s true.’
‘But it might take another week before we get back comprehensive results about the DNA and can build up a more extensive profile. It’s a tricky job.’
‘OK. Have you got any ideas about where the body might have been kept?’
‘Well … like I said, somewhere dry.’
The line fell silent, and Jeanette thought for a moment before going on.
‘So pretty much anywhere, then? Could I have done it at home?’
She saw the disgusting and utterly absurd image in her mind’s eye. A dead boy at home in the house in Enskede, getting drier and more mummified by the week.
An indescribably terrifying picture was developing. What Ivo Andrić was explaining had a purpose.
‘I don’t know what your home’s like, but even an ordinary apartment might do. It might smell a bit to start with, but if you had access to a hot-air ventilator and put the corpse in an enclosed space, it would certainly be possible to do it before the neighbours started to complain.’
‘A wardrobe, you mean?’
‘Maybe not as small as that. A closet, a bathroom, something like that.’
‘That’s not much to go on.’ She could feel her frustration growing.
‘No, I realise that. But there is something that might be able to help you.’
Jeanette listened intently.
‘The preliminary chemical analysis indicates that the body is full of chemicals.’
Something, at last, she thought.
‘To start with, there’s amphetamines. We’ve found traces in the stomach and in the veins. So he’s either eaten or drunk a lot, but there’s also evidence to suggest that it had been injected as well.’
‘A drug addict?’ She hoped he was going to say yes, because everything would be a whole lot simpler if they were looking for an addict who had died in some drug den, then dried out over the passage of time. They’d be able to write off the case and draw the conclusion that one of the young boy’s drugged-up friends had dumped the body in the bushes in a state of confusion.
‘No, I don’t think so. He was probably injected against his will. The needle marks are fairly random, and most of them wouldn’t even have hit a vein.’
‘Oh, fuck.’
‘Yes, I’m inclined to agree with you there.’
‘And you’re quite sure he wasn’t shooting up himself?’
‘As sure as I can be. But the amphetamines aren’t the most interesting thing. What’s really strange is that he’s also got traces of anaesthetic in his body. More precisely, a substance known as Xylocain adrenalin, which is a Swedish invention from the forties. To start with, AstraZeneca marketed Xylocain as a luxury medicine: Pope Pius XII took it for hiccups, and President Eisenhower was treated with it for hypochondria. These days it’s a standard painkiller, the stuff you get injected into your gums if you ask the dentist for anaesthetic.’
‘OK … I’m not following you now.’
‘Well, this boy hasn’t got it in his mouth, of course, but throughout his body. Bloody weird, if you ask me.’
‘And he’s been severely abused as well?’
‘Yes,
‘Sorry to interrupt,’ Jeanette said impatiently. ‘I don’t want to seem unfriendly, but I’m mainly interested in how he died and when it might have happened. Even I could see that he was dried out.’
‘Of course. Maybe I got a bit sidetracked. You have to appreciate that it’s practically impossible to say when death occurred, but I can tell you that he hasn’t been dead for longer than six months. The process of mummification also takes time, so I’d guess he died somewhere between November and January.’
‘OK, but that’s still a fairly broad period of time, isn’t it? Have you managed to get any DNA?’
‘Yes, we’ve taken DNA from the victim, as well as urine from the bag.’
‘What? You mean someone pissed on the bag?’
‘Yes, but that doesn’t necessarily have to be the killer, does it?’
‘No, that’s true.’
‘But it might take another week before we get back comprehensive results about the DNA and can build up a more extensive profile. It’s a tricky job.’
‘OK. Have you got any ideas about where the body might have been kept?’
‘Well … like I said, somewhere dry.’
The line fell silent, and Jeanette thought for a moment before going on.
‘So pretty much anywhere, then? Could I have done it at home?’
She saw the disgusting and utterly absurd image in her mind’s eye. A dead boy at home in the house in Enskede, getting drier and more mummified by the week.
An indescribably terrifying picture was developing. What Ivo Andrić was explaining had a purpose.
‘I don’t know what your home’s like, but even an ordinary apartment might do. It might smell a bit to start with, but if you had access to a hot-air ventilator and put the corpse in an enclosed space, it would certainly be possible to do it before the neighbours started to complain.’
‘A wardrobe, you mean?’
‘Maybe not as small as that. A closet, a bathroom, something like that.’
‘That’s not much to go on.’ She could feel her frustration growing.
‘No, I realise that. But there is something that might be able to help you.’
Jeanette listened intently.
‘The preliminary chemical analysis indicates that the body is full of chemicals.’
Something, at last, she thought.
‘To start with, there’s amphetamines. We’ve found traces in the stomach and in the veins. So he’s either eaten or drunk a lot, but there’s also evidence to suggest that it had been injected as well.’
‘A drug addict?’ She hoped he was going to say yes, because everything would be a whole lot simpler if they were looking for an addict who had died in some drug den, then dried out over the passage of time. They’d be able to write off the case and draw the conclusion that one of the young boy’s drugged-up friends had dumped the body in the bushes in a state of confusion.
‘No, I don’t think so. He was probably injected against his will. The needle marks are fairly random, and most of them wouldn’t even have hit a vein.’
‘Oh, fuck.’
‘Yes, I’m inclined to agree with you there.’
‘And you’re quite sure he wasn’t shooting up himself?’
‘As sure as I can be. But the amphetamines aren’t the most interesting thing. What’s really strange is that he’s also got traces of anaesthetic in his body. More precisely, a substance known as Xylocain adrenalin, which is a Swedish invention from the forties. To start with, AstraZeneca marketed Xylocain as a luxury medicine: Pope Pius XII took it for hiccups, and President Eisenhower was treated with it for hypochondria. These days it’s a standard painkiller, the stuff you get injected into your gums if you ask the dentist for anaesthetic.’
‘OK … I’m not following you now.’
‘Well, this boy hasn’t got it in his mouth, of course, but throughout his body. Bloody weird, if you ask me.’
‘And he’s been severely abused as well?’
‘Yes,
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