The Dinosaur Feather(113)

“And?” Søren prompted him after a long, ominous pause.

“What bothers me is that we’re talking about very little semen.”

Søren was perplexed.

“I don’t follow.”

Bøje hesitated.

“Well, it’s as if . . . as if the killer ejaculated while he manhandled the body. Very confusing and difficult to explain. Even for me.”

Søren groaned. A parasite freak and a necrophile. What the hell was going on?

“Are we talking about necrophilia?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Bøje replied. “Do you recall that man from Søborg who killed an armed robber by throwing him against a stove?”

“No,” Søren said.

“Well, anyway, we found traces of the man’s DNA on the intruder. In the form of semen. We were speechless, to put it mildly. The man called the police straight after the attack and nothing suggested he had time to satisfy his necrophiliac urges before calling for help, and besides, it made no sense whatsoever. He was a regular guy whose wife was holding an almost newborn baby in her arms, and I didn’t think for one moment he had ejaculated over the body. Besides, there simply wasn’t enough semen, if that was the explanation. We found traces, but nowhere near the amount we find in rape victims, for example, not even half a load. So how on earth had his semen ended up on the intruder? We were all going crazy because we couldn’t figure it out. You were on leave or something and that hopeless idiot, what was his name, Flemming Tørslev or Tønnesen?”

Søren groaned for the second time.

“Hans Tønnesen,” he said.

“Right, thanks. Well, that dimwit was convinced the husband was a pervert and had masturbated over the intruder after hurling him against his stove. What an idiot!” Bøje remarked as if it was Søren’s fault that Hans Tønnesen was a mediocre detective. In a way, it was. As a result of Søren’s sudden absence, his colleagues had to tolerate Tønnesen’s modest talent for three months in 2005. Elvira had died, and Knud was ill. And then there was the breakup with Vibe. And the business with Maja. Søren had burned out and the only way he could hide it was to take time off. Hans Tønnesen had been the only senior officer at Bellahøj police station who could replace him. When Søren returned to work, he had been made to pay for his colleague’s incompetence by buying everyone pastries for an unreasonably long time.

“Eventually the husband admits, under questioning, that he had been naked on the toilet, masturbating over a porn mag. At the very same second he ejaculates, he hears the intruder climb through a window. He runs into the living room where he attacks the intruder, leaving semen traces on him. As well as in the bathroom, in the hallway, on the door to the living room, and every other surface he touches. Minuscule amounts, obviously, but enough for us to track him from the bathroom to the living room. This case started off as an enigma, but make a note of this, my boy: sometimes the utterly improbable explanation is the right one.”

Søren felt a headache coming on.

“And now you’ve found traces,” he said, “but not enough to prove direct sexual contact?”

“Bingo.”

“And you still rule out necrophilia?”

“I can’t rule out anything, but I’ve seen three cases of necrophilia in my time, approximately one every fifteen years and in every one of them, there was either a full amount of semen in or on the body, or no semen at all, because even the most deranged necrophile appears to know DNA makes great evidence. Here, the semen proves neither one thing nor another, just like in the Søborg case. Johannes didn’t have sex with anyone prior to his death. He had some old tears to his rectum, which suggest he may have had anal intercourse in the past, but even that’s difficult to establish. Tears can happen for all sorts of reasons, and in this case, they bear no relation to the cause of death. My opinion is we’re dealing with the same type of coincidence as in the Søborg case. The killer is masturbating, and while he’s doing that an argument starts, he ejaculates, gets angry, and attacks Johannes, and that’s how the traces end up on him.”

“Have you checked the semen?”

“Yep.” There was a scrambling noise down the other end. “Negative. He’s not on our database.”

Søren was silent for a moment, then he asked: “Any connection to Lars Helland, in your opinion?”

“The parasite-riddled guy from the other day?”

“Yes,” Søren sighed.