Trophy by Steffen Jacobsen

himself, but didn’t try pulling himself up by using the rope. There are no burn blisters in his palms, as you can see.’
    The forensic examiner pulled off her gloves, took off her sterile gown, scrunched everything up and threw the bundle in a bin.
    ‘I’ve heard of cases where a killer has tried to make a murder look like a suicide,’ she said pensively. ‘But I’ve never heard of anyone trying to make a suicide look like a murder.’
    ‘So this is unusual?’
    ‘It is. Why would someone want to do that?’
    Lene smiled. She really liked the forensic examiner. When she smiled, she revealed a charming gap between her front teeth which she could easily have had fixed. Lene liked that she had simply let it be.
    ‘Elementary, my dear Watson,’ she said. ‘Someone wants Kim Andersen’s suicide investigated as if it were a murder. So that’s what I’m going to do. What do the blood tests say?’
    The pathologist opened the file.
    ‘A quite respectable level of alcohol following the excesses of the wedding, but not alarming or in any way life-threatening.’
    ‘Sleeping pills?’
    The forensic examiner shook her head.
    ‘No benzodiazepines or barbiturates, but Sertraline, a bog-standard antidepressant in a therapeutic concentration. Happy pills. You don’t kill yourself when you’re taking happy pills.’
    ‘You just get even happier?’ Lene mumbled.
    ‘Sorry?’
    ‘Nothing. What about his tattoos?’
    ‘The Royal Life Guards.
Pro Rege et Grege
is the Guards’ overall motto: “For king and people”. Then we have the words
Dominus Providebit
, which means “The Lord will provide”. Very pious. I looked it up. It’s a secondary motto for the Royal Life Guards’ First Armoured Infantry Company. It says
ISAF
on the inside of his right forearm, which stands for the “International Security Assistance Force” – the NATO-led mission to Afghanistan.’
    ‘The Coalition?’
    ‘Yes. He was a veteran.’
    ‘He was, and not just from Afghanistan. He had also been to the Balkans and Iraq. What about lipstick?’
    ‘Excuse me?’
    ‘His wife claims that she gave him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation once she had cut him down. She wore heavy make-up left over from the wedding, including smeared lipstick and a mascara, which was far from waterproof. I couldn’t see lipstick anywhere on his nose or his mouth. And there should be, shouldn’t there?’
    The doctor’s eyes widened slightly and she nodded slowly.
    ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘I mean … there isn’t any.’
    The two of them looked at the dead man’s stern, introverted face. The eyes had sunk deep into their sockets.
    ‘You’re saying the wife is lying?’ the forensic examiner asked.
    ‘I think that the only thing she has told me that’s true is her name,’ Lene said.
    She removed her surgical mask, even though it took the edge off the stench, and hid a fresh yawn behind her hand. Her mobile vibrated silently in her jacket pocket, but she ignored it. She knew who it would be. Chief Superintendent Charlotte Falster wanted her daily briefing so she could step in with her superior intelligence if she felt it necessary.
    ‘Any fingerprints on the handcuffs?’ she asked.
    ‘Your CSOs have got them.’
    Lene pointed to an irregular, deep scar on the dead man’s right thigh.
    ‘What’s that?’
    ‘Yes, that’s also very interesting. I’d say it’s a bullet from a hunting rifle or an army carbine.’
    With some effort the forensic examiner raised the leg from the steel table. ‘The bullet brushed the top of the thigh, which broke its trajectory, so it went into the leg. The bullet passed straight through the flesh without hitting the bone or any of the vital structures in the back, such as a nerve or major artery.’
    The exit wound at the back of the thigh was considerably larger than the smallish, star-shaped scar at the front.
    Lene frowned.
    ‘And that’s not shrapnel from an IED?’ she asked.
    ‘No. And it hasn’t been