“His red-and-purple-striped socks led to a pair of worn, brown leather shoes. Some loose sheets of paper were strewn across the floor. His gold-framed glasses were resting on his forehead, and his eyes were closed. Lars raised his hand to knock on the open door. “It’s called meditation.” The forensic pathologist kept his eyes closed, his mouth hardly moved. “And you don’t disturb someone who’s meditating. Sit down in the corner chair; I’ll be finished soon.” Lars looked around the na...rrow office. The window at the end had a view of the parking lot behind the main building of Rigshospitalet. The enormous desk rested against the wall on the right; bookshelves, groaning under the weight of thick volumes, lined the wall on the left. Here, in the corner by the door, Lars found a chair, moved the reports and what looked like a complete set of The American Journal of Forensic Medicine and Pathology onto the floor, and settled in.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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