Detective Inspector Huss - By Helene Tursten & Steven T. Murray Page 0,1

but he quickly looked away. Inspector Huss also shuddered when she saw what von Knecht looked like. It was not a pretty way to die, she thought. One of the crime scene team came over to them.

“The medical examiner will be here any minute.”

“Do you know which one is coming?” asked the superintendent.

A shrug was the reply. With Inspector Huss in his wake, Superintendent Andersson walked over to the parked patrol car. He bent down to the officer in the driver’s seat.

“Hi, Superintendent Sven Andersson from Homicide.”

“Hans Stefansson from PO-One. So they’ve already called in you guys?”

“Yes, it’s unusually quick. We were contacted barely fifteen minutes afterward, which would mean that he jumped at five forty-five P.M. Is that right?”

“No, we were the first on the scene, at five thirty-five on the dot. He must have floated on down max five minutes earlier. My partner and I were on Korsvägen when the call came in. I would think the correct time of impact would be five-thirty.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Medical Examiner Yvonne Stridner. She was a professor of forensic medicine and undeniably one of the country’s most talented pathologists. But Superintendent Andersson had a hard time working with her because Professor Stridner was a woman who demonstrated her expertise gladly and saw no reason to hide her light under a bushel. Inspector Huss herself had been involved in several cases in which the hypotheses of the police were turned completely upside down by Yvonne Stridner’s definite forensic opinions. And so far she had always been right. But that wasn’t it as much as the fact that she was authoritarian and pedantic that made it difficult for Superintendent Andersson to accept her. Huss had a strong hunch that, deep down, the superintendent did not regard forensic medicine as a proper job for a woman.

The white Ford Escort with MEDICAL EXAMINER painted on both front doors had been parked at the outer perimeter of the blocked-off area. Out sailed the professor of forensic medicine. Even those who had no idea of her profession stood aside in deference to her commanding presence. Her flaming red hair was exquisitely set off by her soft mustard-colored woolen coat. She strode up to the body, took off her coat, and asked an officer to hold it. Underneath she was wearing a clean white lab coat. She opened the little bag she was carrying, pulled on a pair of latex gloves, and squatted down next to von Knecht’s remains. The crime scene technicians had just rigged up a floodlight, giving her a better view. She hadn’t cast a single glance around her. Professor Stridner was wearing a pair of plastic protectors over her expensive leather shoes. There was a good deal of blood around the body, mixed with a lot of other material and diluted with rainwater. Slushy.

In order to feel that she was being of some use, Inspector Huss decided to start questioning the police officers present. The commander of the unit, Håkan Lund, she knew well. Fifteen years earlier they had both been rookies in what was then the third precinct, today Polisområde 1, Göteborg’s downtown area. Lund wasn’t much taller than she was—five-nine at most. But his waistline would soon be approaching his height if he didn’t watch out.

The crime team had received their instructions. Håkan Lund turned to Irene Huss and said easily, “At your service, Huss! Is Violent Crimes already on site?”

“Hi, how are you doing? Yes, we were called in early this time. When did you get here?”

“We got the call from Dispatch just after five-thirty. We were inside the station but left right away. ‘Top priority! Richard von Knecht is lying dead at the corner of Molinsgatan and Aschebergsgatan!’”

“How did it look here?”

“Chaos! The vultures had gathered. We almost couldn’t get through the crowd. But we pushed and shoved and got them driven back and set up barriers. We cordoned off a large area, as you can see. A few people did try to get under the crime scene tape, but I yelled right in their faces. Literally!”

Inspector Huss could imagine the scene vividly. Quickly she went on to ask, “Who identified Richard von Knecht?”

“His wife and son. When we got through the crowd a woman covered in blood was standing here wailing. Some guy was trying to prop her up. That was Fru von Knecht and her son. From what I understood, they happened to be right here on the street when he fell,” said