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Thirty nine steps rose from the occupied highway of Tuborgvej into Mindelunden, using its tranquil graves and abiding bitter stories. Lennart Brix, head of the Copenhagen homicide team, experienced he'd been walking those almost all of his life. Beneath the entry arch, sheltering from the icy rainfall, he couldn't help but remember that first visit almost fifty years before. A five-year-old youngster, clutching the hands of his daddy, barely able to visualize what he was about see...The bark of an dog broke his reverie. Brix looked at the forensic officers, white bunny suits, mob hats, marching grim-faced down the rows of graves, towards the space in the tiny wood where in fact the rest of the team was gathering... Three gnarled stakes, replicas now, with the originals in the Frihedsmuseet.A female was tied to the centre pole, hands behind her again, destined with heavy rope round her torso. Blonde locks soaked with rainfall and worse, head down, chin on torso, crouched awkwardly on her knees. A gaping wound at her neck of the guitar like a suffering second giggle. She wore a blue dressing gown slashed in places all the way to the waist, flesh and skin visible where in fact the frenzied blade had stabbed at her.Her face was bruised and dusty. Bloodstream poured from her nostrils, had dried down each side of her mouth, like makeup on the tragic clown...

Category: International Mystery & Crime