Dark Angel (Anders Knutas 6) by Mari Jungstedt Read Free Book Online

arms.
    The crime tech leaned closer and began sniffing at the victim’s face. Cautiously he opened the pale lips, stuck a finger between the man’s teeth and prised open his jaws. Then he started back, grimacing.
    ‘What are you doing?’ asked Knutas indignantly.
    Sohlman gave him a knowing look.
    ‘Come over here and smell it for yourself.’
    Knutas leaned forward and noticed an acrid odour.
    ‘What’s that smell from?’
    ‘Bitter almonds,’ muttered Sohlman. ‘It means that he was most likely poisoned with potassium cyanide. It usually has that strong smell of bitter almonds. The body’s colouration also points in that direction. Remember that old detective novel by Agatha Christie called
Sparkling Cyanide?
It seems horribly apropos in this situation. You were at the party last night, weren’t you? And didn’t they serve champagne?’
    Knutas was so taken aback he didn’t know what to say. He tried to recall the last time he’d seen Algård during the festivities.
    ‘How long do you think he’s been dead?’
    Sohlman carefully lifted the victim’s arm.
    ‘Full rigor mortis has set in, and signs of livor mortis are also present, so we’re talking about at least twelve hours, maybe more.’
    Knutas glanced at his watch. Four forty-five. He’d run into Algård on the way to the gents. That was after dessert had been served and right before the dancing began. What time would that have been? It must have been at least eleven or eleven thirty. That was the last time Knutas saw him. But with so many guests, there had been a great deal of commotion when everyone got up from the dinner tables and scattered in different directions. Knutas had spent almost all evening dancing with his wife Lina, except for the few occasions when he’d stepped outside to have a smoke. They had stayed until the band stopped playing around two in the morning. He had no memory of seeing Algård when they left. Lina had been so involved in an intense discussion with the county governor that they’d had a hard time getting away. They were probably among the very last guests to leave the conference centre.
    Patches of blood and drag marks were visible on the floor outside the lift. Viktor Algård also had a gash on his forehead where the blood had coagulated.
    ‘How’d he get that wound on his forehead?’ asked Knutas.
    ‘God only knows,’ muttered Sohlman. ‘Look at the blood spattered all over the floor.’ He got to his feet and pointed. ‘The perpetrator obviously dragged the body into the lift. You can see the marks.’
    Knutas looked around. A glass door opened on to a stone-paved terrace with several tables next to a narrow side street and a small car park. In the other direction was the sea, the open-air swimming baths and the harbour.
    A woman walking her dog passed by outside, casting an inquisitive glance at the big picture windows. Those damned windows, thought Knutas. They were everywhere. The street outside needed to be cordoned off. He called to Detective Inspector Thomas Wittberg, who appeared in the doorway.
    ‘Cordon off the building, the side street and the immediate vicinity! Right now anybody can look inside. It won’t be long before we’ve got journalists swarming all over the place. Call for back-up. I want the police dogs brought in.’
    ‘OK. The cleaning woman who found the body is about to leave. Do you want to have a word with her before she goes?’
    ‘Absolutely.’
    Wittberg pointed at the Asian woman who was sitting on the sofa and leaning against an officer’s shoulder. She was crying so hard that her thin form shook. Knutas went over to her and introduced himself.
    Knutas’s colleague, whose name he’d forgotten, got up to make room for him on the sofa. The cleaning woman looked about twenty-five, with long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. Not until Knutas sat down next to her did he realize how petite she was.
    ‘What’s your name?’
    ‘Navarapat, but everyone calls me