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there. You can see she’s been hit in the face, here and…look here, there’s blood in her nostril and a slight swelling above the nose, and somebody has wiped blood from her upper lip. But there are no strangulation marks, no sign of restraints around the wrists. This, however, is strange.”
    He pointed at one of the woman’s ankles.
    “What is it?” asked Anna-Maria. “A burn mark?”
    “Yes, the skin is very obviously burnt. A narrow, circular injury around the whole ankle. And there’s something else that’s odd.”
    “Yes?”
    “Her tongue. She’s chewed it completely to pieces. Very common in serious road traffic accidents, for example. With a shock of that kind…but from a stabbing, I’ve never seen that. And if it was a tamponade and it happened so quickly…No, that’s a little mystery, that is.”
    “Can I have a look?” asked Anna-Maria.
    “It’s just mincemeat,” said Anna Granlund, hanging up clean towels by the sink. “I was going to put some coffee on, would you both like a cup?”
    Anna-Maria Mella and the medical examiner accepted the offer of coffee as Pohjanen shone his torch into the dead woman’s mouth.
    “Ugh,” said Anna-Maria. “So maybe the blow didn’t kill her? What was it, then?”
    “I might be able to tell you that this afternoon. The stab wound is fatal, I must emphasize that. But the course of events isn’t clear at all. And look at this.”
    He turned up one of the woman’s palms toward Anna-Maria.
    “This can also be a sign of shock. You can see the marks. She’s clenched her fists and driven her own nails deep into her palms.”
    Pohjanen stood there with the woman’s hand in his, smiling to himself.
    That’s why I like working with him, thought Anna-Maria. He still really enjoys it. The trickier and the more difficult, the better.
    She realized with a twinge of guilt that she was comparing him with Sven-Erik.
    But Sven-Erik has become so halfhearted, she defended herself. And what am I supposed to do about it? I have enough to do injecting some enthusiasm into the kids at home.
    They drank their coffee in the smoking room. Pohjanen lit a cigarette, pretending not to see the look Anna Granlund gave him.
    “The business with the tongue is very peculiar,” said Anna-Maria. “It’s often a result of shock, you said? And then that faint mark around her wrist…But the stab wound went through her clothes, so she must have been dressed when she was murdered?”
    “Although I don’t think she’d been out running,” said Anna Granlund. “Did you see her bra?”
    “No.”
    “Top of the range. Lace and underwiring. Aubade, that’s a really expensive label.”
    “How do you know?”
    “One might have treated oneself from time to time, in the days when one still had hopes.”
    “Not a sports bra, then?”
    “Not even close.”
    “If only we could find out who she was,” said Anna-Maria Mella.
    “I keep thinking there’s something familiar about her,” said Anna Granlund.
    Anna-Maria perked up.
    “Sven-Erik thought so too,” she said. “Try to think where you’ve seen her! In the supermarket? At the dentist’s? Big Brother?”
    Anna Granlund shook her head thoughtfully.
    Lars Pohjanen stubbed out his cigarette.
    “Right, go and disturb somebody else,” he said. “I’ll open her up later on today, then we’ll see if we can find out more about that circular mark around her ankle.”
    “Who am I going to disturb at this time?” complained Anna-Maria. “Twenty to seven on a Sunday morning. There’s nobody up but you two.”
    “Excellent,” said Pohjanen dryly. “Then you’ll have the pleasure of waking them all up.”
    “Yes,” said Anna-Maria seriously. “I’ll do just that.”

 
     
     
    C hief Prosecutor Alf Björnfot stamped the compacted snow off his boots and carefully scraped the soles clean when he entered the corridor of the police station. Three years ago he’d been in a hurry, slipped on his icy soles and banged his