Stalker by Lars Kepler Read Free Book Online Page B

attention could feed his vanity and make him overconfident.’
    Bright floodlights are shining through the windows of the house, as if it were a film location or the setting for a fashion shoot.
    Erixon the forensics expert opens a can of Coca-Cola and hurries to drink it, as though there were some magic power in the first bubbles. His face is shiny with sweat, his mask is tucked below his chin, and his protective white overalls are straining at the seams to accommodate his huge stomach.
    ‘I’m looking for Erixon,’ Margot says.
    ‘Try looking for a massive meringue that cries if you so much as mention the numbers 5 and 2,’ Erixon replies, holding out his hand.
    While Margot and Adam pull on their thin protective overalls, Erixon tells them he’s managed to get a print of a rubber-soled boot, size 43, from the outside steps, but all the evidence inside the house has been ruined or contaminated thanks to the efforts of the victim’s husband to clean up.
    ‘Everything’s taking five times as long,’ he says, wiping the sweat from his cheeks with a white handkerchief. ‘We can’t attempt the usual reconstruction, but I’ve had a few ideas about the course of events that we can talk through.’
    ‘And the body?’
    ‘We’ll take a look at Susanna, but she’s been moved, and … well, you know.’
    ‘Put to bed,’ Margot says.
    Erixon helps her with the zip of her overalls, as Adam rolls up the sleeves of his.
    ‘We could start a kids’ programme about three meringues,’ Margot says, placing both hands on her stomach.
    They sign their names on the list of visitors to the crime scene, then follow Erixon to the front door.
    ‘Ready?’ Erixon asks with sudden solemnity. ‘An ordinary home, an ordinary woman, all those good years – then a visitor from hell for a few short minutes.’
    They go inside, the protective plastic rustles, the door closes behind them, the hinges squealing like a trapped hare. The daylight vanishes, and the sudden shift from a late summer’s day to the gloom of the hallway is blinding.
    They stand still as their eyes adjust.
    The air is warm and there are bloody handprints on the door frame and around the lock and handle, fumbling in horror.
    A vacuum cleaner with no nozzle is standing on a plastic sheet on the floor. There’s a trickle of dark blood from the hose.
    Adam’s mask moves rapidly in front of his mouth and beads of sweat break out on his forehead.
    They follow Erixon across the protective boards on the floor towards the kitchen. There are bloody footprints on the linoleum. They’ve been clumsily wiped, and then trodden in again. One side of the sink is blocked with wet kitchen roll, and a shower-scraper is visible in the murky water.
    ‘We’ve found prints from Björn’s feet,’ Erixon says. ‘First he went round in his blood-soaked socks, then barefoot … we found his socks in the rubbish bin in the kitchen.’
    He falls silent and they carry on into the passageway that connects the kitchen with the dining and living rooms.
    A crime scene changes over time, and is gradually destroyed as the investigation proceeds. So as not to miss any evidence, forensics officers start by securing rubbish bins and vehicles parked in the area, and make a note of specific smells and other transitory elements.
    Apart from that, they conduct a general examination of the crime scene from the outside in, and approach the body and the actual murder scene with caution.
    The living room is bathed in bright light. The cloying smell of blood is inescapable. The chaos is oddly invisible because the furniture has been wiped and put back in position.
    Yesterday evening Margot saw the video of Susanna as she stood in this room eating ice cream with a spoon, straight from the tub.
    A plane comes in to land at Bromma Airport with a thunderous roar, making the glass-fronted cabinet rattle. Margot notes that all the porcelain figures are lying down, as if they were asleep.
    Flies are buzzing