‘Completely,’ Sören Larsen says. ‘Judging by what I’ve seen so far of his shoes and clothes, that’s exactly what happened. Exactly like we thought yesterday. So, nothing new.’

‘And no signs of a struggle,’ Brodal adds, ‘which suggests he was probably caught off guard. In other words, don’t expect any useful skin scrapings under his nails.’

‘All right,’ Karen says, slightly disappointed. ‘And what can you tell me about his general health? No obvious problems?’

‘I suppose his liver was a bit worse for wear, but that’s pretty much true of most men his age in this country. Nothing particularly serious. No infarctions and surprisingly healthy vessels. I’ve sent some samples off for analysis, but with everyone on sick leave I wouldn’t hold my breath. And I wouldn’t expect exciting results, either. He might have had fifteen, twenty more years in him, if he’d eased off the sauce and not been pushed into that quarry.’

‘And what about you?’ Karen says to Sören Larsen. ‘Did you find anything potentially useful?’

‘Like Brodal said, nothing under his fingernails. Some stains and hairs on his clothes, most of them probably his own and the dog’s. But . . .’

‘. . . it’s going to take a few days. I know.’

‘Even longer, likely as not. Everyone taking annual leave over the holidays really gums up the works and we have several people in bed with the flu at forensics, too. I wouldn’t count on any definitive answers before New Year’s.’

‘Bloody hell, just have people work overtime!’

‘You’ll have to take that up with Viggo Haugen. Not convinced he feels it’s worth loosening the purse strings for this case. That lunatic in Moerbeck has already eaten up most of the overtime budget.’

Karen sighs. The effort to catch the serial rapist terrorising one of Dunker’s northern suburbs has rightly been allocated a lot of resources. Unfortunately, without result. There’s no reason to believe they will be luckier with the technical evidence in this case. True, the fingerprints from Fredrik Stuub’s house can be run quickly, but they won’t be of much help unless they belong to someone who’s already in their database.

‘Well then,’ Brodal says and slaps the table with both hands, as though to underscore that as far as he’s concerned the meeting is over. ‘You’re on your own, Eiken. I, for my part, am packing up and heading back home. Can I hitch a ride with you, Sören?’

Chapter 16

16