The House That Jack Built Read Online Free PDF Page A

steady, monotone beeps.
    Lars stepped forward and was about to say something when Christine grabbed his arm.
    â€œShh, she’s sleeping. You can’t wake her up.” She dragged him out of the room. “I just wanted you to see her. Come. We can talk in my office.”
    Back in her office, both Lars and Christine assumed their previous positions. The notepad remained in his pocket. Christine cleared her throat. She took off her glasses once more, and looked down.
    â€œI’m sorry if I came across as aggressive before. But this kind —” She broke off.
    Lars nodded. “I’ve got a sixteen-year-old daughter.” He pictured his daughter, Maria, in a park, naked and beaten on the grass, unable to move or call for help. “If this is of any comfort, I don’t think Stine will have any problems being taken seriously. Not by the police, the public prosecutor, or the court.”
    Christine observed him from behind her desk.
    â€œWhen do you think she’ll be able to speak with us?” he continued.
    â€œIt’ll probably be a few days. Tuesday, maybe Wednesday.”
    â€œDid she give a description of her attacker? Who brought her in?”
    â€œAn old couple from Stockholmsgade were walking their dog around six thirty this morning. They found her half-conscious and ice cold at the foot of the monument.”
    â€œMeaning that she was lying there for — three to four hours?”
    â€œHer body temperature was down to thirty-five degrees. She’ll probably get pneumonia on top of everything else. As for her attacker, she got nothing more than a glimpse of him. Black clothes, black balaclava. His Danish was flawless. Oh, wait a minute. Here.” She passed a yellow Post-it note across the table. “That’s her girlfriend’s number.”
    Lars looked at the note: “Astrid” and a Nørrebro number. “Is she going to report it?”
    Christine nodded. “Of course. Despite the statistics.” Lars’s cheeks were burning. Christine continued. “I’m well aware of the police’s standard snapshot of a rapist: a social outcast with no friends. How, then, do you explain that two out of three victims know their attacker?” Lars cleared his throat. She’d hit a sore spot. Christine held a hand up to hold off his protests. “But I think you might be right in this instance. It’s unlikely the attacker is someone she knows.” She flipped through a pile of papers on her desk. “Here. We performed an evidence collection examination. We have sperm and saliva samples from the attacker. The lab has promised a DNA profile by the end of next week.”
    â€œNo fingerprints?”
    Christine shook her head.
    He handed her his card. “The problem with cases like this . . . well, I’m sure you’re aware.”
    â€œYes, of course. Without prior contact between victim and assailant, the case is often solved by chance. Sometimes years later. If it’s even solved at all.”
    Lars got up. Years later. If. Exactly. He cursed Ulrik in his head.
    They shook hands. He didn’t want to let go. She smiled. Then he nodded and left the office.

Chapter 7
    A s Lars disappeared down the stairs, Ulrik guided Sanne through the corridors of the Institute of Forensic Medicine. “You’ll have to forgive me,” Ulrik said, still in shock. “You weren’t meant to see that. I hadn’t counted on it being so . . . hostile.”
    The fluorescent lights flickered. The long corridor was empty. Sanne nodded, went along with it. As always. On the farm, when the boys used to come by with their mopeds at night, revving their engines for the girls, had she ever done anything other than just go along with things?
    Ulrik interrupted her thoughts. “I don’t know how many autopsies you’ve witnessed in Kolding.” His whisper echoed through the empty corridor. “But you’ve got