The Return Read Online Free PDF Page A

earlier…. Before he was dumped in the ditch, that is. At least twelve hours, no doubt about that. Maybe as much as twenty-four hours. There is no blood on the carpet, and not much in the body either, come to that. The decapitation and mutilation took place at an earlier stage. The blood had drained away, to put it in simple terms.”
    “How did the butchery take place?” Münster asked.
    “In an amateurish way,” said Meusse. “An axe, presumably. It doesn’t seem to have been all that sharp, so it probably took quite a while.”
    He emptied his glass. Rooth went to get him a refill.
             
    “What I can say about the cause of death is that it was in his head.”
    “In his head?” said Rooth.
    “In his head, yes,” said Meusse, pointing at his own bald pate to make his meaning clearer. “He might have been shot through the head or killed by that axe, or something else. But the cause of death was a blow to the head. Apart from the mutilations and natural decay, the body is uninjured. Well, I’m ignoring certain secondary effects caused by hungry foxes and crows who managed to get at it in a few places, but even they haven’t caused all that much damage. The carpet and the water in the ditch have had a certain amount of embalming effect. Or delayed the onset of decay at least.”
    Münster had picked up his beer glass, but put it back down on the scratched table.
    “As for age and distinctive features,” said Meusse, who was unstoppable once he was in his stride, “we can assume he was between fifty-five and sixty, or thereabouts. He would have been five foot nine or five foot ten, slimly built. Well proportioned, I think I can say. No broken arms or legs, no surgical scars. There might have been some other superficial scars, but they have either rotted away or stuck to the carpet. Things were made a bit more difficult by what you might call a symbiosis of death between the body and the carpet. They have sort of fused together here and there, or do you say fused into each other?”
    “Holy shit!” said Rooth.
    “Precisely,” said Meusse. “Any questions?”
    “Are there any distinctive features at all?” Münster asked.
    Meusse smiled. His thin lips parted and revealed two rows of unexpectedly white and healthy teeth.
    “There is one,” he said, and it was obvious that he was enjoying this. The pleasure of being able to keep them on tenterhooks at least for a second or two. Satisfying his professional honor, Münster thought.
    “If the murderer was in fact trying to remove things that would make identification possible,” said Meusse, “he missed one.”
    “What was that, then?” wondered Rooth.
    “A testicle.”
    “Eh?” said Münster.
    “He had only one testicle,” explained Meusse.
    “Einstein?” said Rooth, looking foolish.
    “Hmm,” said Münster. “That will need following up, of course.”
    He realized immediately that he had offended the little pathologist by his irony. He coughed and raised his glass, but it was too late.
    “As far as the carpet is concerned,” said Meusse curtly, “you’ll have to speak to Van Impe tomorrow. I think I’ll have to go now. Obviously, you will have a written report on your well-polished desks tomorrow morning.”
    He emptied his glass and stood up.
    “Thank you,” said Rooth.
    “Good evening, gentlemen,” said Meusse. “It would be appreciated if you didn’t call in with another old torso during the next few days.”
    He paused in the doorway.
    “But if you come across the remaining parts of the one we already have, we shall naturally help you to match them up. We’re always pleased to be of assistance.”
    Münster and Rooth stayed put for a few more minutes and finished their beer.
    “Why has he only one testicle?” asked Rooth.
    “No idea,” said Münster. “Mind you, one’s enough when all’s said and done. I suppose he must have injured the other one. An operation, maybe?”
    “Could some animal or other