“Did Robert abuse her?”
“Yes, apparently quite severely. But it’s the drugs that have really hurt her.”
Irene peered into the interrogation room and a glimpse of the suspect being questioned gave her a strong feeling that breaking Robert Larsson wasn’t going to be easy. He was around thirty, quite tall, and very muscular. His well-trimmed hair was light; long blond hairs covered his powerful arms all the way down to his fingers. His elegant shirt was nonchalantly unbuttoned at the neck and showed a tight carpet of thick golden hair on his chest and climbing up his neck. A heavy gold chain glimmered in the opening. It would have been easy to call him a blond gorilla, but no one who saw his face would have done so. That face could have been used in a shaving commercial. His eyes were a cold, intense blue, and his heavy eyebrows had a slight arch that harmonized well with his straight nose. He had a dimple on the point of his chin, which was covered with heavy reddish blond stubble. His smile was relaxed and charming.
Birgitta and Fredrik took turns asking Robert questions. He reclined in the creaking chair, smiled faintly, and said in a low tone of voice, “Why are you asking me this? I want to speak with my lawyer.”
He cast a preoccupied glance at his heavy gold Tag-Heuer, demonstrating that he was starting to tire of the bullshit that was taking up his precious time.
Irene closed the door and went to work on her own investigation. It was at a complete standstill. They hadn’t found any new sacks, no new information had come in that would lead them to the victim’s identity, and there were no new witness accounts from the people around Killevik about events that could be connected to the black sacks.
Nothing happened during the whole morning. Irene went through a lot of paperwork that had been lying around. She became stiff from sitting for so long at the computer, so she took breaks and went in to chat with colleagues. The truth was that she felt lonely in the office she shared with Tommy Persson. She called him at home to find out how he was doing.
“I’m OK, thanks. It feels good as long as I don’t do any high jumps,” he replied.
“Then maybe you can come to work?” Irene said, hoping.
“Well, I don’t think I can quite keep up with you yet. The hernia was pretty big. They’ve done quite a job.”
“They didn’t take out your appendix since they were already inside?” Irene asked teasingly.
“No. The surgeon was sober.”
After an uninspiring Sausage Stroganoff for lunch in the employee dining room of the nearby building, Irene became restless. She considered heading up to Pathology. Professor Stridner probably wouldn’t be happy but she might let a bit more information slip about the victim. That was what was so frustrating about this investigation-the lack of information.
YVONNE STRIDNERwas in the process of inspecting Friday’s findings. The smell was just as nauseating as it had been during Irene’s first visit, but she braced herself. She walked up to the examination table with determined steps. When she saw what was lying on it she regretted this but it was too late. Professor Stridner had already lifted her head and seen her.
“It’s you again?” she said.
Irene tried to steady her voice when she replied. “Yes. I’m one of the officers working on the investigation.”
Stridner nodded. She cut off a piece of the gray flesh and placed it in a labeled test tube. “Just in case,” she muttered to herself.
Irene looked at the lower part of the abdomen, which was lying on the shiny steel surface. The genitalia had been completely removed. No intestines could be seen within the open abdomen. It was just as empty as the upper half of the torso had been. The thighs had been cut off at an angle just below the groin. Stridner looked up from her work.
“I’m almost done. You can go into my office.”
Relieved, Irene obeyed.
“THIS IS unusually nasty. We’re dealing with a very gruesome type of murderer, who is probably a sadistic necrophile,” Stridner opined.
They were sitting in her workroom, one flight up. The professor was enthroned on an expensive leather armchair, and Irene was sitting on a lumpy and uncomfortable plastic-covered visitor’s chair. It didn’t matter to her. The main thing was that the pathologist seemed ready to speak to her.
“As you have seen for yourself, all of the internal organs are missing. The chest and buttock muscles on both sides have been cut away and, moreover, the genitals and the rectal opening have been removed. The pubic bone shows signs of substantial trauma. The arms and legs were probably sawed off with a circular saw or similar tool. There is a plenitude of bone splinters in the surfaces of the cuts that point to this. The head was removed between the third and fourth vertebrae. Again a circular saw was used. The separation was not carried out with any great anatomical knowledge: rather, the parts have just been sawed off. But then we have the removal of the body’s internal organs.”
Stridner interrupted herself and looked earnestly at her dark computer screen. For a short while her thoughts seemed to be very far away.
“The incision is a standard autopsy incision and was started at the upper part of the breastbone descending to the pubic bone. The navel is not involved; rather, the incision makes a little curve around it, which is standard in autopsies. Another thing that makes me think about someone familiar with autopsy procedures is the complete removal of all organs inside the abdominal membrane and the removal of the pelvic organs. This is seen during completed autopsies.”
Again she stopped herself before she caught Irene’s eye and said with her sharp voice, “However, the removal of the outer musculature and genitalia is not common autopsy procedure!”
“So you think that the murderer is familiar with autopsies?”
“Yes. Or a very skilled hunter. The organs were removed in a highly professional manner.”
“But the head, arms, and legs were not removed in a professional manner?”
“No. Anyone could have done that with a good circular saw.”
She stopped herself and took a deep breath. “But this isn’t just anyone.”
“What kind of person is it?”
“A ghoulish person. He’s looking for a dead body-in order to do that, first he has to kill. And he does.”
“He. You’re saying he. Can’t it be a woman?”
“I’ve been reading the current literature.”
Stridner rose and went to the bookshelf that covered the wall behind her. She took out a bundle of books and set them down on the desk with a thud.
“I’ve skimmed through these over the weekend.”
Irene could make out the titles of the top two volumes: Der nekrotope Mensch and Sexual Homicide: Patterns and Motives.
“You asked if it could be a female killer. The answer is, with almost complete certainty, no. There are hundreds of case studies of necrosadistic mutilation in the literature and in not a single case has the perpetrator been a woman. Perhaps an accomplice, but it’s unlikely.”
Stridner was quiet while she straightened her green-framed glasses on the thin bridge of her nose.
“When I was examining the upper portion of the abdomen I began to suspect that we were dealing with a necrosadistic murderer. There are two types of murderers who dismember. The first wants to get rid of the body and remove all traces of his and the victim’s identity. The other wants to have a dead body in order to satisfy himself sexually during the dismemberment by defiling the dead body. There are no similarities between these two types of murderers.”
She tapped meaningfully on the pile of books and paused dramatically before continuing.
“One thing is very unusual-namely, that the victim happens to be a man. That is rare. Almost without exception it’s men killing women. There are, however, a few deviations. I found a pair of brothers in the USA who had murdered over thirty young men. They had subjected their victims to standard sadistic necrophiliac dismemberment and later buried the bodies on their ranch. Certain parts of the outer musculature were miss
ing from the bodies. In the brothers’ freezer, these body parts were found, well preserved. Mostly, the buttocks. Cannibalism is not unusual with this type of murderer.”
“It sounds like an American horror film,” said Irene. The persistent feeling of nausea she’d had in her stomach since she arrived at Pathology was increasing.
Stridner continued, “I’m very concerned that this sort of victim has been found here. Thankfully, this type of murder is unusual. It means that the type of murderer is also very unusual, but when such a murderer starts killing, the risk is high that he will kill again.”
“He isn’t satisfied with one victim?”
“No. Dismemberment and the defiling of the body fulfill his fantasies and keep his anxiety in check. He feels good after his exploit. He wants to have that sensation repeated.”
“Is he fully aware of what he has done?”
“Yes. Just as he is aware that he can do it again. Whenever he wants.”
Irene started to understand why this case had affected her so much from the beginning. Instinctively, she had sensed a merciless killer’s presence. A type of murderer she wasn’t accustomed to. Nor was anyone else at Violent Crimes in Göteborg, for that matter.
“Is he mentally ill?”
Stridner drew her eyebrows together and focused on Irene while she thought.
“Not so that one can label him with a psychiatric diagnosis. Often these murderers seem relatively normal. I say relatively because if you take a closer look at them, they have certain personality traits in common. Usually, they are lonely people. They are pleasant and polite when you speak with them but they don’t invite any deeper friendship. They rarely display their violence; it is buried deep within. They have rich fantasy lives that are fed by violent pictures, films, and books. Frequently, they start on their paths with sadistic acts performed on animals. Their sex lives are often odd. Commonly, they are impotent, but they get their release through masturbation during the rites they enact with the dead bodies.”
Irene thought fast. “Have I understood you correctly? Are you saying that our murderer is probably homosexual?”
Stridner shook her head. “Not necessarily homosexual. Sexually ambivalent. As I said, their sexuality is often odd. Outwardly they can almost seem to be asexual. There can be hints of homosexual interest, but usually fetishism or, for example, transvestism interests them. They are sexual seekers. It is only when they start performing rites with dead bodies that they attain an outlet for their fantasies and feel well. They need complete power over a dead body. No one is as vulnerable as a dead human being.
“May I ask a big favor of you?” Irene asked.
“Depends. What is it?”
“Would you be so kind as to come down to Violent Crimes tomorrow morning? We have a meeting at eight o’clock. It would be helpful if my colleagues could hear what you just told me.”
“Can’t you repeat it?”
“No. I’m going to forget half of it, and I can’t answer the questions that I think we will have. We have no experience with this type of murderer. But you know a great deal.”
“Well, since it’s an extraordinary case, I’ll be there tomorrow at eight o’clock.”
Irene thanked her, rose, and started for the door. She was stopped by Stridner’s voice. “I will have the drawing of the tattoo with me tomorrow. It’s supposed to be finished today.”
AT EXACTLY eight o’clock on Tuesday morning, Professor Stridner started her case review. All the officers in Superintendent Andersson’s investigation team were present, as was the superintendent himself. The fact that Stridner had come in person to brief them showed how seriously she was taking this case. They listened to the medical examiner with increasing concern. The portrait of the murderer was becoming clearer but none of them could see who the individual in Stridner’s terrifying picture might be.
When she asked for questions, Birgitta raised her hand.
“Why has the murderer cut away the breasts in circular form? Just as if they were female breasts?”
“Ellipses. This probably has to do with the sexual ambivalence of the murderer. We don’t know exactly how he thinks during the dismemberment process, just that he finds an outlet for his strong inner feelings and fantasies. Objectively, what one sees with the victims is that the violation always affects the breasts, rectum, and genitalia. Always.”
“Why?”
“It has to do with power. The power to efface the sex. Complete power to annihilate the victim’s humanness.”
“Damn!” Andersson said.
Irene asked, “What is known about the victims? Is a particular type of person selected?”
“Women are often the victims, but there are exceptions. Yesterday, I told you about the brothers in the USA who had murdered and dismembered more than thirty young men and buried them on their ranch. When the men were identified, it turned out that most of them were homosexual prostitutes. Even among females the victims tend to be prostitutes. This isn’t because the necrosadistic murderer is drawn to prostitutes. The killer isn’t attracted to any one type. He wants a dead body. The easiest thing is to pay a prostitute and take her, or him, to a secluded place. There the murderer can carry out his real intentions: kill and dismember.”
Fredrik Stridh raised his hand. “How common is this type of murderer?”
“Very rare. We’ve only had a handful of cases in Sweden during the twentieth century. Murder-mutilation as a phenomenon is more common. During the last thirty years we have had about ten. But these were dismemberments where the body needed to be disposed of. They weren’t defiled in the same brutal way. For reasons of practicality, the extremities and the head were cut off so that the pieces could be stowed in sacks or suitcases, quite simply as a means of getting rid of the body and hindering identification.”
“So practical. . I feel ill,” Birgitta mumbled to Irene.
Irene nodded in agreement.
Andersson looked meditative, but Stridner was the one who broke the silence. “Tomorrow I’m going to London for a large medical examiners’ conference. I could ask around about similar cases among my colleagues.”
“That. . that would be great,” Andersson stammered.
Stridner opened her elegant briefcase and took out a large envelope. “The picture of the tattoo.”
She held it out to Andersson.
“Thank you very much,” he remembered to say after a while.
But it was too late. The clicking of Stridner’s heels could already be heard disappearing down the corridor.
THE DRAGON’Sred mouth was wide open and long razor-sharp teeth coiled around the end of its own tail. The eyes glowed like sparkling emeralds. The claws were wide open and ready to drag the intestines out of anyone who came too close. The entirety of the powerful and agile body was covered by red, blue, and green armored scales. The dragon curled itself in a protective circle around the mysterious character.
An upside-down y, Stridner had said. Or maybe it was more like an upside-down fork with two cross strokes over the stem, one exactly at the split in the fork and the other at the middle. The investigation team was in agreement that it was probably a Chinese character. Just to be sure, Hannu had been directed to contact Göteborg University in order to try and find someone who was skilled in Chinese characters or to consult the Chinese embassy.
“Make copies on a color copier. Then you can start visiting the tattoo artists in town. But don’t come back with a ring in your nostril! Ha ha!” Andersson joked.
None of the others thought that it was particularly funny, but they smiled politely and assured him that they wouldn’t be tempted.
Birgitta and Fredrik were still working on the investigation of the murder of Laban. Robert Larsson had come up with an alibi. Two of his girls working at Wonder Bar had assured them they had been in the Jacuzzi with their employer at exactly the time of Laban’s demise. Since no witness had turned up to contradict them, it would be difficult to hold Larsson.
Jonny, Irene, and Hannu divided up the seven tattoo artists in Göteborg among themselves. Irene drew Tattoo Tim on Nordenskiöldsgatan and MC-tattoo on Sprängkullsgatan.
Since MC-tattoo was the closest, Irene decided to start there. She found a parking spot by Hvitfeldtsplatsen. Without hurrying, Irene strolled across the bridge over Rosenlundskanalen. The big blossoms on the large chestnut trees stood straight up on the branches like unlit Christmas tree candles. A cascade of colorful bulbs were spread out underneath the tree. It struck her that she was only a stone’s throw away from Flora’s Hill. Laban had died when the area around the canal was at its most beautiful. But Irene doubted that was any comfort to him.
Personally, she felt in great need of comfort as she closed in on MC-TATTOO. Two heavy motorcycles were parked outside. In the last few years she had developed a phobia. Not without good reason since she had had a very unpleasant run-in with the Hell’s Angels. It had put her in the hospital and left deep psychological wounds. She thought that she had gotten over her fear, but when she saw the shiny machines outside the tattoo parlor, she wanted to turn and run. It took great self-control to open the door and step inside.
A fiery humming buzzed in the air. A thin man with a shaved head was sitting, concentrating, as he marked the shoulder of another man, whose upper body was bare, with a small color drill. The humming stopped in the same instant that the door slammed shut behind Irene.
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