But not the rest.
Despite having listened to the strange and violent death, Ewert Grens could never have anticipated that he would think back on the days that followed, and the consequences of this death, as the most hellish time of his life.
He did not cry. It is hard to say why – he himself has no explanation – but he could not cry. He doesn’t cry now. Afterwards, he didn’t cry when he entered the mortuary through the splintered door – when he saw two people on the floor with holes through their heads, the blood that had not yet dried.
Bengt was lying on his back. He had been shot twice.
Once through his left eye. Once in his genitals, which were covered by his blood-soaked hands. She had aimed between his legs first and he had instinctively put his hands there.
He was naked, pale bare skin against the grey floor tiles. Lydia Grajauskas lay next to him with her plastered arm twisted oddly under her. She had shot herself in the temple and must have hit the floor hard, almost bouncing, to end up lying face down.
Ewert moved cautiously along the new marker lines dividing up the room. He had to get an overview, had to be efficient, that was what he always did, to escape his feelings, work work work to shut out everything else. He didn’t need any drugs to block off his emotions, he just got on with the work in hand, head down and no let-up until the worst had passed.
He gently prodded the bare white thigh with his foot.
Sven Sundkvist was standing at a distance. He saw Ewert prod Bengt Nordwall’s body with his foot and then silently bend over the dead man, a body surrounded by a white outline. He went and stood just behind his boss.
‘Ewert.’
‘Yes.’
‘I can take over now.’
‘I’m in charge of this operation.’
‘I know. But I can take over down here. Just for a while. I’ll manage the site examination. You don’t need to be here, not now.’
‘Sven, I’m working.’
‘I know it must be-’
‘Sven, how did a prostitute manage to take us to the cleaners like this?’
‘Ewert, please. Just go.’
‘Can you tell me that? If not, move over. You must have things to do too.’
Ewert recognised the four forensic technicians who were down on their hands and knees, crawling all over the mortuary suite looking for the sort of things forensics look for. Two of them were his own age, and for years they had met just like this, at crime scenes where life had slipped into death. They would stay in touch for as long as the investigation continued, then nothing for a few months, until there was another suspicious death. Then they would meet up again and chat. He touched Bengt’s thigh for a second time and then walked over to the nearest of the technicians, who was hunched over a supermarket carrier bag, examining it for fingerprints.
‘Nils?’
‘Ewert, I’m very sorry. I mean that Bengt-’
‘Please, not now. I’m working. That bag, is it hers?’
‘Seems to be. Quite a few bullet magazines left. Some explosive and a few detonators. A couple of pages torn from a notebook. And a video.’
‘How many people have handled it?’
‘Two. Small hands. Two rights, two lefts. I’m pretty sure they were both made by women.’
‘Two women?’
‘One set is probably hers.’
The technician, whose name was Nils Krantz, nodded in the direction of Lydia Grajauskas’s still body. Ewert glanced at her and then pointed at the video.
‘Let me have that when you’ve finished with it.’
‘Sure. Give us a couple of minutes more.’
Ammunition. Explosives. A video. Ewert’s eyes were fixed on her lacerated back.
‘What were you after? What did you really want?’
Suddenly someone was calling out, a man’s voice out in the corridor.
‘Ewert!’
‘Yes! I’m here.’
‘Come and see this.’
Ewert hadn’t realised that he would get there so quickly, but was glad that he had come as asked.
‘Look.’
Ludwig Errfors stood in the middle of fragments of what had once been a human body, the body Grajauskas had made them carry out and blow up in order to make her message absolutely clear to everyone.
‘Ewert. Look at this. A dead body.’
‘I don’t have time for games.’
‘Please. Have a closer look.’
‘What the hell’s your problem? I heard the blast. I know he or she is as dead as you get.’
‘This is a dead person and was a dead person at the time of the blast, and has been a dead person for about a week.’
Ewert reached out and touched the arm that Errfors was holding. It was colder than he had expected. Earlier he had felt, somehow, cheated, without understanding why. Now he knew.
‘Look around. No blood. Just a peculiar smell in the air. Can you smell it, Ewert?’
‘Sure.’
‘Describe it.’
‘Bitter. A little like bitter almonds. Bengt said he picked up an astringent smell just before he went in.’
‘It’s formaldehyde.’
‘Formaldehyde?’
‘She blew up one corpse and she shot another. Not the hostages. The first time, yes, she shot the student who attacked her. But he was the only person she shot.’
Errfors took one more look at the arm that had been lifeless for at least a week, shook his head and put it back where it had been. Ewert left him examining the remains in the corridor, moving from one body part to the next.
No blood anywhere. And that smell.
She had used the dead bodies and left the hostages alone. She had only wanted to get Bengt there. That was all.
He went back inside, to Bengt’s naked body, to the woman in her oversized hospital clothes.
He almost stepped in the blood from the wound on her temple when he went closer to them.
