The Torso dih-2

by Helene Tursten

  Without difficulty he went up to Andersson’s desk and put the pile of paper onto the stained desktop.

  Andersson looked at Jonny bitterly. Then he sighed loudly and turned to Irene. “OK. I can understand your misgivings.”

  GETTING HOMEwas wonderful. Krister had made the rounds of the market and stocked up. He was off work the next day and wouldn’t return until Saturday afternoon. When Irene stepped over the threshold he was busy seasoning pork chops with garlic and spices. Jenny was standing next to him, looking dissatisfied. She didn’t comment on her father’s choice of food. Instead, she continued to fill her greased pan with sliced tomatoes and squash. Katarina was chopping iceberg lettuce, which she put in a bowl together with corn and cucumbers.

  Sammie, as usual, was the first to greet Irene and did so with unreserved joy. But her husband and children weren’t far behind.

  Katarina was depressed. The doctor had told her that she couldn’t train for at least two months. No damage to her skeleton was visible on the X-rays but pain and limited mobility in her neck and back were still troublesome.

  “There’s a risk of chronic pain if I’m not careful,” she said.

  “What treatment did he recommend?” Irene asked, concerned.

  “Acupuncture and physical therapy, which I’m already doing.”

  “She was referred to an orthopedist who specializes in whiplash injuries,” Krister said.

  “What if I can never compete again! As it is now, I don’t even have the energy to train,” said Katarina. She was on the verge of tears.

  “You can devote yourself to walking the dog. Dogs are wonderful exercisers. And it looks like we’ll soon have Sammie’s son in the house,” said Krister.

  “What? No! I don’t have the energy for two dogs,” Irene groaned.

  “You don’t have the energy?! You’re never at home,” said Jenny.

  This stung. Weakly Irene said, “Never home. . it’s not that often that I have to go to Copenhagen or anywhere else. It’s just with this case-”

  Jenny interrupted her, “You’re never home anyway. It’s always work, work, work. But the rest of us really want to have a little puppy. He’s so adorable!”

  “I haven’t said that I would really like to have a puppy,” Krister protested.

  Both of his daughters looked at him meaningfully. Jenny said pointedly, “And who was it who was completely beside himself yesterday when we went to look at him? ‘Oh, so cute and cuddly’!”

  “You went to look at the puppy yesterday?” asked Irene.

  “The lady called. She wants to get rid of him by the end of next week or the beginning of the week after. Then he’ll be eight weeks old. None of us have found someone who is interested. . so the girls and I went to look at him,” Krister said apologetically.

  “And of course he was adorable,” Irene sighed.

  “Adorable!” her family said in unison.

  “SOMETIMES YOU fall into your own trap,” said Tommy Persson.

  He didn’t try to hide his joy. They were sitting in the office they shared, taking an extra cup of coffee to get the Friday morning started. Irene had just given him the short version of what had happened in Copenhagen. And summed up with the fact that the Huss family would probably have to take one of the puppies.

  “Everything at our house revolves around the puppy who’s coming. Sara has bought food dishes and chewing toys and God knows what all,” Tommy said, defeated.

  “I hadn’t thought about starting over with a puppy again. Vet visits, raising them, and training. Yuck! It’s like having kids again.” In order to change the subject, Irene asked, “How is it going with Jack the Ripper?”

  “OK. I have a theory that I’m working on. Two of his victims talked about a certain smell he had. Now the last girl has come up with what it was.”

  Tommy stopped and paused dramatically before he slowly said, “Food.”

  “Food?”

  “Yes. Kitchen odor. The smell seems to come from his clothes or maybe his hair. My theory is that Jack works in the kitchen of a restaurant. The pubs usually stop serving food around twelve. It takes at least one and a half and sometimes two hours to get the kitchen in order. You know that seeing as how you’re married to someone in the business.”

  Irene nodded. Krister was rarely home before two when he worked evenings.

  “All four times, Jack has made his move between one thirty and three in the morning. Always in Vasastan. I’m thinking about taking a look at the pubs in the area. Especially the kitchen staffs.”

  “You can eliminate Krister right away. He’s too big and fat to match the description. And too old. Jack is around thirty if I remember correctly.”

  “Krister isn’t the first person I would suspect in this case,” Tommy said.

  IRENE SPENTthe rest of the day in front of her computer. The only interruption was lunch at the employee cafeteria of the nearby insurance office. The chicken casserole wasn’t too bad, but Irene thought longingly about the lunches in Copenhagen. Jens and Peter were probably sitting at a nice pub with an ice-cold beer in front of them right now. Suddenly her light beer felt very thin.

  The report she had to write about events in Copenhagen turned out to be a long one. She mentioned the photo of Marcus that hung above Emil’s bed. It was too important to leave out. But she sneaked in the little lie she had served the superintendent and Hannu earlier that morning, namely that she had recognized Marcus from the pictures in the photo album that they had found in his apartment. Even if some of the pictures had been naked studies, they weren’t in the same league as that framed photo. It occurred to her that it might be useful to try to locate the photographer. He must be well known. But who could provide information about a photographer who took these kinds of photos? Irene had to get copies of the photos from Copenhagen before she could attempt to find him.

  She called Jens Metz. As luck would have it, he was in his office. He promised to arrange to send her a copy of the photo over Emil’s bed.

  “Do you need it in the original size?” he asked.

  “Not necessarily. But not too small.”

  “OK. I’ll take care of it.”

  Before they hung up, Irene thanked him again for the friendly treatment she and Jonny had received in Copenhagen, and Jens countered politely by inviting her down again.

  After some hesitation Irene took out her cell phone and called Tom Tanaka. It rang several times before he answered. When she heard his hoarse voice she realized that she had awakened him.

  “Tom speaking.”

  “Hi. Irene Huss. Sorry to wake you.”

  Tom mumbled something unintelligible in response. Irene decided to keep the phone call short.

  “It’s important. Can you arrange to let me have copies of the photos you have on your bedroom wall?” she asked.

  It was quiet for some time. Irene assumed that Tom was trying to wake up and understand what she had said. Finally she heard his gruff voice. “I have a Polaroid camera. Is it good enough if I use that?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. We can always make an enlargement.”

  Personally, she wasn’t among the most chipper of morning people so she understood his irritation about being awakened. But it was actually one thirty in the afternoon. As if he had realized how grumpy he sounded, he hurried to add, “I know a guy who can make real copies of the photos. But it will take a bit longer. Then you can have them enlarged.”

  “That would be really nice of you. Could I suggest that you take the Polaroid pictures with your camera and send them today and then send the others when they are ready?”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  Irene decided to get in one more question. “You haven’t come up with the name of the photographer or the name of the other model?”

  “No. Marcus never mentioned them. He had the pictures with him when he came here for the last time. They were ready to hang. Without asking me, he took down the two paintings I had on the wall and put up h
is instead. He said that they should hang there while he was gone so that I wouldn’t forget him.”

  To her surprise, she suddenly heard a man’s voice say something in the background. She also heard Tom say, “Soon.” Who was with him? A vague feeling of concern overcame her. It could be heard in her voice when she said, “You’re being careful, right?”

  “Absolutely. You, too.”

  After he’d hung up, she was unable to free herself from her feeling of concern.

  She spent the time until four o’clock finishing the report, then turned off the computer with a feeling of liberation. Her body felt stiff. Her neck and shoulders popped when she stretched. She would have to take a really long run tonight to chase the stiffness from her body. Not to mention the high living in Copenhagen, which had settled around her stomach. Her jeans had felt tight this morning. But her period would be coming in two days, so that might also be the reason. In any case, she needed some serious workouts over the weekend.

  On the way to Hannu’s office she picked up two cups of coffee. When she pushed open his door with her foot, she could see that there was a man sitting at the desk, but it was Hans Pahliss, not Hannu. Irene recognized him from the pictures in Marcus’s photo album. He looked up from the pile of papers he had been reading.

  A sharp brown gaze focused on her over the edge of lowered reading glasses. His dark hair was a little too long and hung untidily across his forehead. It looked as though he had run his hand through it several times. His face was pale, with sharp lines, and showed heavy blue-black beard stubble. His body seemed to be thin. Irene got the impression that Pahliss was several years older and significantly shorter than his partner, Anders Gunnarsson.

  Irene smiled and said, “Inspector Irene Huss. I brought some coffee. Would you like milk or sugar?”

  “Milk, please.”

  “Then I’ll go and get one with milk. Hannu can take this one.”

  She placed both steaming cups on the desk and went out again. She caught sight of Hannu at the far end of the corridor. He had just reached his office when she returned with Hans Pahliss’s coffee.

  The virologist was packing his papers into a large briefcase. His thin hands, with their long, sensitive fingers, nervously closed all the locks and set the combination numbers. If she hadn’t known his profession she would have guessed he was a pianist. He folded up his frameless reading glasses and put them in the chest pocket of his suit jacket, clasped his hands in front of him on the desk, and looked challengingly at Irene.

  “Well,” said Hans Pahliss.

  There was no question in his voice. It was a command to start the conversation.

  “Anders Gunnarsson has probably talked to you about what has happened,” Irene started.

  Hans Pahliss nodded.

  “How well did you know Marcus?”

  “We were good friends.”

  “Did you speak with Marcus when he called at the beginning of March?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I wasn’t home.”

  “Did Anders tell you that he had called?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did Anders say?”

  “What did he say? That Marcus had called. That he was in a hurry because he was going to pack for a trip to Thailand.”

  “Did Marcus say who he was going to travel with?”

  “No. We speculated a bit about it.”

  “Did you come up with who it could be?”

  “No. It could have been anyone.”

  “Were you aware that Anders and Marcus had been together?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did that affect your feelings toward Marcus?”

  “It didn’t affect me at all.”

  “Not at all?”

  “No.”

  Pahliss hadn’t touched his coffee mug. He maintained eye contact with Irene. A quick thought about the unfairness of nature flickered through Irene’s brain. Long eyelashes like that should not belong to a man. The next thought that struck her was how different Anders Gunnarsson and Hans Pahliss were. The dentist had been open and talkative while the virologist seemed to be his exact opposite.

  Hannu had been sitting quietly during Irene’s preliminary questions but now he leaned forward suddenly and said, “Have you been to Copenhagen?”

  Pahliss looked both surprised and irritated when he answered. “Of course.”

  “As a tourist or for a longer period of time?”

  “I was a guest researcher for two months at the state hospital.”

  Irene realized that she had been holding her breath. Hannu continued without showing that he noticed. “When was that?”

  “February and March 1997.”

  “Where did you live?”

  “What does it matter? What does this have to do with Marcus-” He stopped, struck by a thought.

  “Of course. I understand. Naturally, Marcus also stayed with Emil,” he said shortly.

  Irene’s pulse rate increased so much that her ears hummed. Did she have a predisposition to high blood pressure, like the superintendent? Her voice was almost shaky when she asked, “Did you live with Emil Bentsen when you were in Copenhagen?”

  “Yes. I got his address from an acquaintance here in Göteborg. His rooms were centrally located, cheap and good. I gave the address to Marcus when he asked me about places to live in Copenhagen.”

  “You gave him Emil’s address?”

  “Yes.”

  “But then you knew where Marcus was living in Copenhagen.”

  For the first time something that could be interpreted as a smile crossed Pahliss’s face.

  “We didn’t know. Marcus went around and asked everyone he knew about places to stay in Copenhagen. He was loaded down with addresses when he left. He was going to stay at a hotel the first few days and then let us know when he had decided on a permanent address.”

  Hans Pahliss suddenly seemed to discover his mug on the desk and took a large gulp of the lukewarm coffee.

  “But he never did?”

  “No.”

  They finally had an explanation for how Marcus had ended up at Emil’s. Irene’s thoughts were interrupted when Hannu asked, “Who gave you Emil’s address?”

  For the first time, Pahliss looked uncertain. But when he realized that the police officers had noticed his hesitancy, he said with assurance, “Actually one of my exes. Before you ask: yes, Anders knows him and we hang out as friends.”

  His tone of voice sharpened.

  “Who?” Hannu repeated.

  “Pontus Zander.”

  “How did he know Emil Bentsen?”

  “No idea.”

  “How can we reach Pontus Zander?”

  “The emergency room at Sahlgren Hospital. He’s a nurse. Otherwise he lives on Kungshöjd.”

  Pahliss gave them Zander’s address and telephone number.

  Irene quickly asked the next question. “You were in Copenhagen in February and March of 1997. Did you return there at the end of May that year?”

  Pahliss shook his head with emphasis. “No. I didn’t return until just before Christmas 1997.”

  “Did you live with Emil Bentsen then?”

  “No. It was just for four days. Anders was with me. We stayed at a hotel.”

  “Did you keep in touch with Emil after you had moved?”

  Pahliss looked uncertain again. “No. I sent a Christmas card that year but there was nothing else.”

  “Did you spend time with Emil while you were living there?”

  Now Pahliss became irritated. “I didn’t live with him. I rented an apartment from him. We hardly saw each other. During the two months I stayed there I was rarely home before ten. Then I stumbled into bed and slept. Research is not a nine-to-five job.”

  “What did you think about Emil?”

  “Nothing. As I said, we didn’t spend any time together.”

  He stopped and looked sharply at Hannu. “Why are you asking about Emil Bentsen?” />
  Irene was the one who revealed Emil’s murder. Hans Pahliss didn’t interrupt her. When she was finished, he sat in silence. Finally he whispered, “What is happening? First Marcus and now Emil. .”

  Irene tried to choose her words. “There have been two other murders that bear the signature of this murderer. But those victims were women. It is the dismemberment and. . a few other things that indicate it’s the same killer. Our medical examiners say that the killer’s method points to a strong familiarity with autopsy procedures,” she said.

  Irene paused dramatically in order to see Pahliss’s reaction. There was none. She continued, “We think that both Marcus and Emil knew the killer. There is a possibility that you and Anders also know him. You happen to be a doctor and may also know others who could-”

  “No! None of the doctors I know could do such a thing! Doctors don’t do that sort of thing!”

  “You aren’t aware of any rumors about a colleague who has particular tendencies?” Irene asked calmly.

  Pahliss was still upset. His temper was hidden beneath a calm surface but his voice was filled with rage when he answered.

  “No! Absolutely not!”

  He squeezed his interlaced hands so tightly that the knuckles turned white.

  Hannu said in an expressionless voice, “We’re searching for a terrifying killer. He’s going to kill again. And he’s probably in your vicinity.”

  The effect on Hans Pahliss was like that of a bucket of ice-cold water. First he sat frozen, then he slowly loosened up. He crumpled up in his chair and put his hands over his face. Neither Irene nor Hannu said anything. After some time he took his hands away and looked at both officers. He was teary eyed. He said, “It’s possible that he is close to me. I just don’t know who he is. Marcus was drawn to men with, as you say, particular tendencies. He had other men as well. I guess you could say that they were more normal. But it never lasted. He was driven by his search for the. . exotic. If he stayed with someone a longer time it was always one of these special types.”

  “Did you notice any signs that might point to Marcus’s being drawn to necrophilia?”

  Pahliss gave a start. His terror wasn’t for show. “No! Never.”