“Yes, he’s quite battered.” Nyboe paused, resting the Dictaphone against his chin as he thought. “My provisional statement is that he died Friday evening or sometime overnight, but I won’t be able to pin it down until we’ve opened him up and had a look at his stomach contents and so on.”

Anette caught Jeppe’s eye. Friday night. The same day Oscar disappeared without a trace.

“I would wager that he was wrapped in plastic and placed outside, presumably in a garbage container, sometime Friday night or early Saturday morning. He lay there until the garbage was picked up this morning. If he had been in the silo all weekend, I would expect the decay process to be even more advanced.”

“So a dead body has been lying in a trash can in the middle of Copenhagen all weekend?” Anette’s face contorted in a spasm of disgust. “Without anyone noticing it?”

“Why not? A big plastic bag at the bottom of the container isn’t anything unusual, and the stench is there already.” Nyboe turned his Dictaphone back on. “Fortunately the manner of death looks easier to determine. Presumed cause of death: asphyxia. Traumatic, it should be noted. Pronounced stasis phenomena and lividity marks on the neck. In the internal examinations, we’ll look for acute emphysema and any breaks in the hyoid bone, fractures of the thyroid horns or injuries to the cricoid cartilage.”

He let go of the Record button and nodded to the forensic technician, who was preparing stainless steel bowls for the body’s organs.

“Could we just get a close-up shot of the neck?” Nyboe instructed. “Both sides, if you can access them.”

The forensic technician got out the camera and took pictures while Nyboe explained.

“Manual strangulation. It’s very likely that he was strangled, from the front, with both hands.” He demonstrated as he spoke. “One of the most common homicide methods, typical for crimes of passion and other impulsive killings. Plus he was naked inside the plastic—well, apart from the sneaker. No immediate signs of sexual activity or assault prior to or subsequent to the moment of death.”

Anette tried to picture skinny little Oscar strangling his teacher with his bare hands. It didn’t seem like the most obvious scenerio. And yet at the same time, it was just that. She leaned over to Jeppe and spoke softly.

“Don’t you think it would be a good idea to inform Oscar’s family of Malthe’s death? See how they react…?”

“Good thinking, Werner.” He nodded. “I’ll send Larsen and Saidani up to the grandparents in Charlottenlund right away—that’s where Oscar’s siblings are. And then you and I will inform the parents ourselves when we’re done here.”

“Check.”

The forensic technician set aside the camera and returned to the stainless steel bowls by the wall. Nyboe stepped back to the table and leaned down close to the deceased’s face.