Chapter 6 Chapter Six

The room was fifteen feet long, ten feet wide, and nearly twelve feet high, and was very drab in color—the ceiling was a stained white, and the plaster walls were gray rather than yellow.The floor is covered with off-white marble tiles, and the window frames and doors are light gray.There are heavy light yellow silk curtains hanging in front of the windows, and a thin white cotton curtain behind them.The white iron frame bed is covered with sheets and pillowcases of the same color, and there are gray bedside tables and light brown wooden chairs beside it.The paint on the furniture was peeling, the rough walls were peeling, the plaster on the ceiling was peeling, and there were light brown water stains in several places.Everything is old but very clean.On the table was a nickel-silver vase with seven pale red roses in it, two glasses, a glass vase, a clear jar with two small pills in it, and a small white transistor radio , a half-eaten apple, and a large glass bottle filled with a pale yellow liquid.On the lower shelf were a stack of magazines, four letters, a book of lined paper, a Waterman pen with four-coloured ink tubes, and some loose change—eight ten ohrs, two Twenty-five ore, and six kroner pieces.There were two drawers on the desk, and on the upper shelf were three used handkerchiefs, a plastic box of soap, toothpaste, a toothbrush, a small bottle of shaving lotion, cough drops, and a leather case for nail clippers, files, and scissors.Another drawer contained a wallet, an electric razor, a small packet of stamps, two pipes, tobacco pouches, and a blank postcard with Stockholm City Hall.Several pieces of clothing hung on the back of the chair—a gray cotton jacket, trousers of the same texture and colour, and a white shirt that reached to the knee.There were underwear and socks on the seat, and a pair of slippers by the bed.

A beige bathrobe hangs on a hook by the door. There was only one color in the room that stood out—that shocking scarlet. The deceased was lying on his side between the bed and the window, with his head tilted back almost at a ninety-degree angle due to the deep throat wound.His left cheek was pressed against the floor, his tongue protruding from his gaping mouth, and a broken false tooth jutting out between cracked lips. When the deceased fell back, a large amount of blood spurted out from the carotid artery, splashing bright red patches on the bed sheet and staining the vase on the bedside table.

The wound on the deceased's abdomen soaked his entire shirt and formed a large pool of blood around the body.Judging from the wound, someone should have stabbed through the liver, gallbladder, spleen, stomach and pancreas of the deceased, and the aorta was also pierced. It can be said that the dead man's blood ran out within a few seconds. His skin was so pale that it was almost transparent, and his forehead, tibia and soles could almost be seen through. The ten-inch incision on the corpse was wide open, and the punctured organs were squeezed out from the peritoneum. The man was cut almost in half.

Even a person like Le En, who often associates with bloody violence, still finds it difficult to bear the horrifying scene in front of him. However, from the moment Martin Baker stepped into the door, his expression remained unchanged from beginning to end.From the looks of it, outsiders will think that he is just doing routine business, like going to a restaurant with his daughter to eat and drink, changing clothes, making a sailboat model, reading some books before going to bed, and then rushing to help someone investigate the case suddenly.Worst of all, he didn't even think it was a thing.Martin Baker never allowed himself to flinch. He was not afraid of anything but his own indifference.It was already ten past three in the morning, and Martin Baker was sitting on the floor beside the bed, calmly examining the corpse carefully.

"Yes, Neiman," he said. "Yeah, I guess so." Le En stood up and touched and looked around the pile of objects on the table.He yawned suddenly, then covered his mouth in embarrassment. Martin Baker gave him a quick look. "Do you have records like time sheets?" "Yes." Lean said. He took out a small notebook with something written in characters as small as ants.Le En put on his glasses, and then muttered: "An assistant nurse opened the door at 2:10. She didn't hear or see anything unusual. The nurse was doing a routine round, and Nieman was dead by then. The nurse called the police at 2:11. The policemen near Ding Square received the notification at 2:12 and arrived three or four minutes later. They reported the case to the criminal team at 2:17. I arrived at 2:22_2 and called You, you arrived at two forty-four."

Leon looked at his watch. "It's 2:52. When I arrived at the scene, he had been dead for almost half an hour." "Did the doctor say that?" "No, I deduced it based on the temperature of the corpse and the coagulation of the blood—" Le En paused, as if he felt that it was premature to jump to conclusions. Martin Baker rubbed the bridge of his nose with his right thumb and index finger, thoughtful. "So everything should have happened pretty quickly?" he said. Le En didn't answer, as if he was thinking about something else. After a while, Le En said: "You know why I came to you, it's not because..."

He paused, seemingly distracted. "Not because of what?" "It's not because Nieman is the chief of the criminal team, but because... because of this," Lehn said, pointing at the corpse indiscriminately, "because he died a terrible death." He paused for another second, and then offered a new insight. "I mean, whoever did it must be crazy." Martin Baker nodded. "Yes," he said, "it does appear to be so."