NINA RUSKA REACHES a hand over her head toward her shoulder blades and presses her elbow with her other hand. Her triceps stretch satisfyingly. Both her arms and her neck are still stiff from her match the day before yesterday. It has been over a year since her cheek was last pressed against the tatami mat and her opponent’s wrist was on her neck. In addition to the muscle aches and stiffness, Nina is frustrated by the bitter fact that she lost the match to a constable ten years her junior from the Eastern Finland PD. And it wasn’t even close.
“The substance we’re looking for isn’t thiopental,” Mikael says, spinning his chair around. He has the receiver of one of the last landlines on the floor held against his chest, and now he lowers it to the table.
“What do you mean?”
“I talked to the lab. What we’re looking for is thiopental sodium. It turns into thiopental in the body.”
“What else did they say?” Nina asks, gradually dropping her hand.
“I wrote it all down. Wait.” Mikael picks up his notepad from the desk. “Three substances . . . first, thiopental sodium renders the victim unconscious. That happens in less than a minute—”
“Hasn’t the chloroform already done that? Rendered them unconscious?”
“Yes. The reason for using both substances on the victims isn’t a hundred percent clear, but the lab had a pretty good theory.”
“Which is?”
“The chloroform entered the victims’ bodies through the respiratory passages, but the other substances were delivered directly into the bloodstream. They figured at the lab that the chloroform was used so the victims would be easier to manhandle. The cannula used to administer the other substances is damn hard to insert if the ‘patient’ resists.”
“Makes sense,” Nina says as Mikael pulls a pack of gum out of his desk drawer.
“They were subsequently injected with thiopental sodium, which ensured they remained unconscious. Then the pancur . . .”—Mikael pops a quick series of gum bubbles with his tongue and then leans over to take a closer look at his notes—“pancuronium bromide. It’s a muscle relaxant that paralyzes the respiratory organs. And last of all they were given potassium chloride, which stops the heart.”
“And these last three substances were injected into the bloodstream using a cannula?”
“Yes, as indicated by the bruising on the backs of the hands.”
“That demands some skill. And perhaps some sort of equipment—a regulator and stuff like that. An IV drip and a stand?”
“Exactly. The substances weren’t injected indiscriminately; the dosages were precisely measured. The concentrations found in the blood of Maria Koponen and of Lea Blomqvist are almost identical. That, in turn, means the drugs were dosed according to the victims’ weight. In all likelihood, the women were weighed so they could be administered the precise dose that proved effective. The poisoner knew not only how to insert the cannulas, but also how to calculate the precise dose that would prove fatal.”
“Are you going to say it, or should I?”
“The perp is a doctor?”
“Or a nurse?”
“Or a vet.”
For a moment Nina and Mikael stare at each other the way they sometimes stare at each other after they’ve made love, lost in thought, without saying a word. But now both of them are thinking only and exclusively about the case they’re investigating.
“Or not,” Nina eventually says, crossing her arms over her chest. “The procedure doesn’t exactly require years of specialization. You can probably find instructions in no time by searching the magical Internet.”
“But a health care professional would have a much easier time getting their hands on the substances.”
“Why would hospitals stock lethal poisons?”
“None of the substances is lethal on its own. Thiopental is used as an anesthetic and so is pancuronium bromide, which is used in pretty simple procedures requiring anesthesia. They’re found in every hospital.”
“What about potassium chloride?”
“E508.”
“What?”
“It’s an additive. You’ll find it in the frozen pizza down at your local grocery store. The lethality is due to the large dose. In small doses, it can even be beneficial to your health.”
“No shit. Maybe tracing them won’t be so easy after all.”
“Maybe not. But now we know the perpetrators didn’t necessarily have to turn to the black market. In the case of the first two chemicals, hospitals keep detailed records of them and any related medications.”
“What about Maria Koponen’s workplace? Neurofarm. They manufacture drugs—”
“We can exclude that possibility.” Mikael hands Nina a printout that was lying on the table. “The company manufactures neurolepts, in other words antipsychotics, which it then sells onward to companies that manufacture pills. Here’s a list.”
Nina studies it for a moment, then sighs in disappointment.
“What about Torsten Karlstedt and Kai Lehtinen?” Nina stands and walks over to the wall covered in a controlled chaos of photographs, Post-it Notes, and sheets of paper. She presses the tape holding the men’s photographs in place more firmly against the board. “An IT entrepreneur and a construction contractor. Does either one have any connections to hospitals or drug stocks?”
“We’ll have to look into that right away,” Mikael says, once more raising the receiver of the landline to his ear. But before he brings up the number, he stops to look at Nina. It’s evident from her face that she isn’t thinking about the case at that particular instant. Nina loves her work. When engrossed in a case, she often has the same look on her face as a high school student aiming for top scores on her college entrance exams: thoughtful and determined. But now her face is a mask of concern.
“Are you thinking about Jessica?” Mikael says, lowering the receiver back to its cradle.
Nina nods and stops in front of the mind map, hands on her hips.
“Jessica can look after herself,” Mikael continues.
“I have no doubt about that, but . . . someone’s too close. It feels horrible.”
“We’re going to solve this case.”
“Have you ever considered that the chance to investigate murders from a bird’s-eye view is a luxury of sorts? That it’s a privilege to solve problems that aren’t . . . reactive. Dynamic. Problems that don’t change as we follow the clues.”
“No, but I get your point. Unfortunately this isn’t that sort of case.”
“No, it’s not. This is anything but. This is like some fucking super-bacteria that keeps living and mutating no matter what the antibiotics do.”
“Are we antibiotics?”
“Wow, you got the metaphor.”
“You get this metaphor?” Mikael’s voice is thick and smarmy as he curves his fingers into a suggestive gesture.
“You’re such a clown, Micke. Make that fucking call,” Nina says, then disappears into the corridor.