“Mortui vivis docent— the dead teach the living,” replies The Needle, smiling to himself as he and Frippe ease her onto her stomach.
He points out the blotchy reddish-brown patches on her buttocks and the small of her back and across her shoulder blades and arms.
“The hypostasis is faint when the victim has lost a lot of blood.”
“Obviously,” says Joona.
“Blood is heavy, and when you die there is no longer any internal pressure system,” The Needle explains to Frippe. “It might be obvious, but the blood runs downward and simply collects at the lowest points; it’s most often seen on surfaces that have been in contact with whatever the body was lying on.”
He presses a patch on her right calf with his thumb until it almost disappears.
“There, you see . . . you can press them and make them disappear up to twenty-four hours after death.”
“But I thought I saw patches on her hips and chest,” says Joona hesitantly.
“Bravo,” says The Needle, regarding him with a faintly surprised smile. “I didn’t think you’d notice those.”
“So she was lying on her stomach when she was dead, before she was turned over,” says Joona.
“For two hours, I’d guess.”
“So the perpetrator stayed for two hours. Or he came back to the scene. Or somebody else turned her over.”
The Needle shrugs his shoulders. “I’m a long way from finishing my assessment at this stage.”
“Can I ask something? I noticed that one of the wounds on the stomach looks like a C-section.”
“A C-section,” says The Needle, smiling. “Why not? Shall we have a look at it?” The two doctors turn the body once again. “This one, you mean?” The Needle is pointing to a large cut extending about six inches downward from the navel.
“Yes,” replies Joona.
“I haven’t had time to examine every injury yet.”
“Vulnera incisa,” says Frippe.
“Yes, it does look like an incision,” says The Needle.
“Not a stab wound,” says Joona.
Frippe leans over so that he can see.
“In view of the fact that it’s a straight line and the surface of the surrounding skin is intact.” The Needle pokes inside the wound with his fingers. “The walls,” he goes on. “They’re not particularly blood-soaked, but— ”
“What is it?” asks Joona.
The Needle is looking at him very strangely. “This cut was made after her death,” he says. He pulls off his gloves. “I need to look at the computer tomography,” he says worriedly; he walks over, opens up the computer on the table by the door, clicks through the three-dimensional images, stops, moves on, and alters the angle. “The wound appears to go into the womb,” he whispers. “It looks as if it follows old scars.”
“Old scars? What do you mean?” asks Joona.
“You’re the one who called it.” The Needle smiles faintly. “An emergency C-section scar.”
He points at the vertical wound. As Joona looks more closely, he can see that all along one side there is a thin thread of old, pale-pink scar tissue, from a C-section that healed long ago.
“But she wasn’t pregnant?” asks Joona.
“No.” The Needle laughs, pushing his aviators back.
“Are we dealing with a murderer who has surgical skills?” asks Joona.
The Needle shakes his head; Joona thinks about the fact that someone killed Katja Ek in a frenzy, with considerable violence, and came back two hours later, turned her over, and carefully cut open her old C-section scar.
“See if there’s anything similar on the other bodies.”
“Do you want us to make that a priority?” asks The Needle. “Yes, I think so.”
“You’re not sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“So you want us to prioritize everything.”
“More or less.” Joona is smiling as he leaves the room.
But as Joona gets into his car, he starts to shiver. He starts the engine, pulls out into Retzius Väg, turns up the heater, and keys in the number for Chief Prosecutor Jens Svanehjälm.
“Svanehjälm.”
“Joona Linna.”
“Ah. Good morning. I’ve just been talking to Carlos. He said you’d be in touch.”
“It’s a little difficult to say what we’re dealing with here,” says Joona. “I’ve just left the forensic unit, and I’m thinking of heading to the hospital; I really need to question the surviving witness.”
“Carlos explained the situation to me,” says Jens. “Have you got the profiling group started?”
“A profile won’t be enough,” replies Joona.
“No, I know; I agree. If we’re to have any chance of protecting the older sister, we absolutely have to speak to the boy.”
Joona suddenly sees a firework explode in complete silence: a pale blue star, far away above the roofs of Stockholm. He clears his throat. “I’m in touch with Susanne Granat at Social Services, and I was thinking of having Erik Maria Bark, the psychiatrist, with me during questioning. He’s an expert in the treatment of shock and trauma.”
“That’s perfectly in order,” says Jens reassuringly.
“In that case I’ll go straight to the neurosurgical unit.”
“Good idea.”
Chapter 15
tuesday, december 8 : morning
Hurrying along the hospital corridor after dropping Benjamin off at school, Erik thinks how stupid he had been to comment on Aida’s tattoo. He has just made himself look self-righteous and critical in their eyes.
Two uniformed police officers let him into the unit. Joona Linna is already waiting outside the room where Josef Ek is lying. When he sees Erik he gives a little wave, like a small child might, opening and closing his hand.
Erik looks in at Josef through the window in the door. A bag of blood, almost black, is suspended above him. His condition has stabilized somewhat, but there’s still a risk of new bleeds in the liver. The nurse prepares an infusion of morphine.
He is lying on his back, his mouth tightly closed; his stomach is moving rapidly up and down, and his fingers twitch from time to time.
“I was right when I said the perpetrator started at the soccer field,” says Joona. “He murdered Anders Ek first. Then he went to the house and killed Lisa, the little girl, thought he killed the boy, and killed Katja, the mother.”
“Has the pathologist confirmed that?”
“Yes,” replies Joona.
“I see.”
“So if the killer’s intention is to eliminate the entire family,” Joona goes on, “only the older daughter remains. Evelyn.”
“Unless he’s found out the boy is still alive,” says Erik.
“Exactly, but we can protect him.”
“Yes.”
“We have to find the killer before he can get to Evelyn,” says Joona. He looks Erik directly in the eye. “I need to find out what the boy knows.”
“And I need to do what’s in the best interests of the patient.”
“Perhaps it’s in his best interests not to lose his sister.”
“That occurred to me as well; I’ll have another look at him, of course,” says Erik. “But I’m fairly sure it’s too early. That said, I believe the patient will regain consciousness quite soon, within just a few hours, at least to the extent that we’ll be able to start talking to him. But after that point, you have to understand that we have a lengthy therapeutic process ahead of us. An interrogation could damage the boy’s condition.”
Daniella walks over briskly, wearing a snug red coat. She hands the patient’s file to Erik.
“Erik, it doesn’t matter what we think. The prosecutor has already decided that special circumstances apply.”
Erik turns and looks inquiringly at Joona. “So you don’t need our consent?” he asks.
“No,” answers Joona.
“So what are you waiting for?”
“I think Josef has a
lready suffered more than anyone should have to suffer,” says Joona. “I don’t want to put him through anything that might harm him. But at the same time I have to find his sister before the killer does. And that boy saw the attacker’s face. If you won’t help me find out what he knows, I’ll do it myself, but obviously I prefer the better way.”
“Which is?”
“Hypnosis,” replies Joona.
Erik looks at him. “I don’t even have permission to hypnotize— ”
“I’ve spoken to Annika Lorentzon,” says Daniella.
“What did she say?” asks Erik.
“It’s hardly a popular decision, permitting an unstable patient to be hypnotized, a child in the bargain. But since I am responsible for the patient, she has left the final judgment to me,” Daniella tells him.
Erik exhales, then rubs his eyes with his fingers. “I really want to get out of this.”
“If you don’t mind my saying so, your reluctance to use hypnosis seems to go beyond your prudent concern for the patient’s well-being,” says Joona.
“I have no intention of discussing the matter, but I promised ten years ago never to use hypnosis again. It was a decision on my part that I still think was the right one.”
“Is it right in this case?” asks Joona.
“To be honest, I don’t know.”
“Make an exception,” implores Daniella.
“Hypnosis, then.” Erik sighs.
“I’d like you to make an attempt as soon as you feel the patient is in any way receptive to hypnosis,” says Daniella.
“It would be good if you were here,” says Erik.
“I’ve made the decision with regard to hypnosis,” she explains, “on condition that you then take over responsibility for the patient.”
“So I’m on my own now?”
Daniella looks at him, exhausted. “I’ve worked all night,” she says. “I’d promised to take my daughter to school, I blew that off, and I’m going to have to deal with that tonight. But right now I have to go home and sleep.”
Chapter 16
tuesday, december 8 : morning
Erik watches Daniella Richards walk down the corridor, red coat flap-ping behind her. Joona looks in at the patient. Erik goes to the washroom, locks the door, washes and dries his face. He takes out his phone and calls Simone, but there is no reply. He tries his home number and listens to the phone ringing, but when the answering machine kicks in, he no longer knows what to say: “Sixan, I . . . you have to listen to me, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but nothing’s happened, maybe you don’t care, but I promise I’m going to find a way to prove to you that I’m— ”
Erik stops speaking. What’s the point? He knows his assurances no longer have any meaning. He lied to her ten years ago, and he still hasn’t managed to prove his love, not sufficiently, not enough for her to begin to trust him again. He ends the call, leaves the washroom, and walks over to where the detective is gazing into the patient’s room.
“What is hypnosis, actually?” Joona asks, after a while.
“It’s just an altered state of consciousness, coupled with suggestion and meditation,” Erik replies. “From a purely neurophysiological point of view, the brain functions in a particular way under hypnosis. Parts of the brain that we rarely use are suddenly activated. People under hypnosis are very deeply relaxed. It almost looks as if they’re asleep, but if you do an EEG the brain activity shows a person who is awake and alert.”
“I see,” Joona says hesitantly.
“When people think of hypnosis, they usually mean heterohypnosis, where one person hypnotizes another with some purpose in mind.”
“Such as?”
“Such as evoking negative hallucinations, for example.”
“What’s that?”
“The most common is that you inhibit the conscious registration of pain.”
“But the pain is still there.”
“That depends on how you define it,” Erik replies. “Of course the patient responds to pain with physiological reactions, but he experiences no feeling; it’s even possible to carry out surgery under clinical hypnosis.”
Joona writes something down in his notebook. “The boy opens his eyes from time to time,” he says, looking through the window again.
“I’ve noticed.”
“What’s going to happen now?”
“To the patient?”
“Yes, when you hypnotize him.”
“During dynamic hypnosis, in a therapeutic context, the patient almost always splits himself into an observing self and one or more experiencing and acting selves.”
“He’s watching himself, like in a theatre?”
“Yes.”
“What are you going to say to him?”
“Well, he’s experienced terrible things, so first of all I have to make him feel secure. I begin by explaining what I’m going to do, and then I move on to relaxation. I talk in a very calm voice about his eyelids feeling heavier, about wanting to close his eyes, about breathing deeply through his nose. I go through the body from head to toe; then I work my way back up again.”
Erik waits while Joona takes notes.
“After that comes what’s called the induction,” says Erik. “I insert a kind of hidden command into what I say and get the patient to imagine places and simple events. I suggest a walk in his thoughts, farther and farther away, until his need to control the situation almost disappears. It’s a little bit like when you’re reading a book and it gets so exciting that you’re no longer aware of the fact that you’re sitting reading.”
“I understand.”
“If you lift the patient’s hand like this and then let go, the hand should stay where it is, in the air, cataleptic, when the induction is over,” Erik explains. “After the induction I count backwards and deepen the hypnosis further. I usually count, but others have the patient visualize a grey scale, in order to dissolve the boundaries in his mind. What is actually taking place on a practical level is that the fear, or the critical way of thinking that is blocking certain memories, is put out of action.”
“Will you be able to hypnotize him?”
“If he doesn’t resist.”
“What happens then?” asks Joona. “What happens if he does resist?”
Erik studies the boy through the window in the door, trying to read the boy’s face, his receptiveness.
“It’s difficult to say what I’ll get out of him. It could be of very variable relevance,” he says.
“I’m not after a witness statement. I just want a hint, a clue, something to go on.”
“So all you want me to look for is the person who did this to them?”
“A name or a place would be good, some kind of connection.”
“I have no idea how this is going to go,” says Erik, taking a deep breath.
Chapter 17
tuesday, december 8 : morning
Joona goes into the recovery room with Erik, sits on a chair in the corner, slips off his shoes, and leans back. Erik dims the light, pulls up a metal stool, and sits down next to the bed. Carefully he begins to explain to the boy that he wants to hypnotize him in order to help him understand what happened yesterday.
“Josef, I’m going to be sitting here the whole time,” says Erik calmly. “There is absolutely nothing to be afraid of. You can feel completely safe. I’m here for your sake. You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to say, and you can bring the hypnosis to an end whenever you want to.”
Only now, his heart pounding, does Erik begin to realize how much he has longed to do this. He must try to curb his enthusiasm. The pace of events must not be forced or hurried along. It must be filled with stillness; it must be allowed to slow down and be experienced at its own gentle tempo.
He immediately feels how receptive Josef is; his injured face grows heavier, the features fill out, and his mouth relaxes. It’s as if the boy intuitively clings to the security Erik conveys. It’s easy to get the boy into a stat
e of deep relaxation; the body has already been at rest and seems to long for more.
When Erik begins the induction, it is as if he never stopped practising hypnosis; his voice is close, calm, and matter-of-fact, and the words come so easily they pour out, suffused with monotonous warmth and a somnolent, falling cadence.
“Josef, if you’d like to . . . think of a summer’s day,” says Erik. “Everything is pleasant and wonderful. You are lying in the bottom of a little wooden boat, bobbing gently. You can hear the lapping of the water, and you are gazing up at little white clouds drifting across the blue sky.”
The boy responds so well that Erik wonders if he ought to slow things down a little bit. Difficult events can increase sensitivity when it comes to hypnosis. Inner stress can function like an engine in reverse: the braking action happens unexpectedly fast and the rev count very quickly drops to zero.
“I’m going to start counting backwards now, and with each number you hear you will relax a little more. You will feel yourself being filled with great calm; you will be aware of how pleasant everything around you is. Relax from your toes, your ankles, your calves. Nothing bothers you; everything is peaceful. The only thing you need to listen to is my voice, the numbers counting down. Now you are relaxing even more, you feel even heavier, your knees relax, along your thighs to your groin. Feel yourself sinking downwards at the same time, gently and pleasantly. Everything is calm and still and relaxed.”
Erik rests a hand on Josef ’s shoulder. He keeps his gaze fixed on the boy’s stomach, and with every exhalation he counts backwards. Erik had almost forgotten the feeling of dreamlike lightness and physical strength that fills him as the process runs its course. As he counts he can see himself sinking through bright, oxygen-rich water. Smiling, he drifts down past a vast rock formation, a continental fissure that continues down towards immense depths, the water glittering with tiny bubbles. Filled with happiness, he descends along the rough wall of rock. As Erik falls through the bright water, he reaches out an arm, grazing the rock with his fingers as he passes. The bright water shifts slowly into shades of pink.