As usual, Karen is able to get through the first part, when Fredrik Stuub’s clothes are cut up and put in plastic bags for further analysis and samples are taken from his nails and mouth, without too much distress. She spends the hours that follow trying her best not to hear the grinding of saws cutting through ribs, sternum and skull or the sucking sound of organs being lifted out and put in kidney dishes. Instead, she tries to make sense of what the two doctors are talking about and what Brodal is saying into the recorder. A year of criminology studies in London and ten years as a detective inspector has made her familiar with the most common Greek and Latin terms, but she would never presume to draw any conclusions from her own interpretations. When he’s done, Kneought Brodal will summarise his findings in the condescending way he considers necessary to make even a police officer understand.

This time is no different.

‘All right, then,’ he says, after ordering the young autopsy technician to ‘stuff the giblets back in and stitch up the steak’. ‘Let’s take this somewhere else, so Eiken can get some colour back in her cheeks.’

*

They sit down in an adjacent conference room with a panoramic view of Ravenby Bay. No one wants coffee, but the water pitcher is passed around the table and Karen watches Brodal pop a sugar cube in his mouth, for lack of anything better. She waits in silence.

‘OK,’ he says at length and turns to Karen, ‘let me lay things out in plain terms, so everyone can understand. The bloke was murdered. You need more?’

She forces out a smile but says nothing, thinking to herself that she’s had about as much as she can take of the coroner in the past twenty-four hours. After pausing for effect, Brodal continues.

‘OK, everything points to Stuub having been given a powerful blow to the left side of his jaw. If I had to guess, I’d say by a fist. His head was then subjected to further violence, most likely a good kick. I say kick, because at that point, Stuub would have collapsed onto the ground. Agree?’

Sven Andersén and Sören Larsen nod. Brodal sucks loudly on his dissolving sugar cube and crushes it between his molars before continuing.

‘Then he was dragged on his back, based on haematoma in both armpits in addition to the injuries we’ve already discussed. And then, well, he was probably simply rolled over the edge; there are faint bruises on his right upper arm and hip indicating as much. He was most likely unconscious, or at least very dazed when this happened, but the cause of death is that his skull was crushed against a protruding rock when he landed. Are we still in agreement?’