The Torso: A Detective Inspector Huss Investigation, Vol. 2

by Helen Tursten

  IRENE HAD a great deal of admiration for Inez Collin. They were roughly the same age. Superintendent Andersson had always had problems with the female prosecutor and Irene often thought that the reason was that she was not only a woman but schooled in the law as well.

  Inez Collin looked absolutely fantastic, as usual. Today she was dressed in a light dove gray dress with matching shoes. Over the dress she was wearing a sober blazer that was a shade darker than the narrow dress. She had gathered her light hair into a ponytail and fastened it with a large silver clasp. Both her lips and nails were painted a delicious shade of bright red.

  It was always easy to work with her and they finished just before lunch. Andersson was in a hurry to leave the room. Maybe he was afraid that Inez Collin would suggest that they have lunch together, thought Irene.

  The truth was that Andersson wanted to find out if the pathologists had called. He was too impatient to wait for the elevator and started up the stairs instead. On the way he started to regret his impulsiveness. By the time he reached the Violent Crimes floor his face was flushed and he was gasping like a broken bellows. Slowly, he started to make his way down the corridor while trying to get his blood pressure and breathing under control.

  Hannu came out of his office, stopping when he caught sight of his panting boss. He looked at Andersson and assessed the red patches on his face and neck, but as usual made no comment. With difficulty, the superintendent tried to laugh it off. “I guess you shouldn’t go in for sports when you’re almost sixty.”

  Hannu smiled politely but a hint of concern could be seen in his ice blue eyes.

  “Have you gotten hold of the pathologist?” Andersson asked.

  “Yes. Professor Stridner said that they wouldn’t be finished before two o’clock.”

  The color in Andersson’s face darkened. “Two! Is it going to take longer to examine that little piece than it usually takes to cut up a whole body?”

  Hannu shrugged his shoulders without answering. Andersson took a few deep breaths before asking, “Do you know if they’ve found anything else at Killevik?”

  The response was negative. The superintendent gave Hannu an irritated look and disappeared into his office.

  As she entered the corridor Irene heard the last exchange. She smiled at Hannu and said softly, “He’s a bit bent out of shape today. First Inez Collin in the morning and then having to go and wait for news from Yvonne Stridner. . . . It’s just too much.”

  Hannu laughed softly. If the superintendent felt uncomfortable around the coolly elegant prosecutor, then he practically had a phobia about the pathology professor, Yvonne Stridner. She was a colorful woman with a great air of authority and competence, one of the most skillful medical examiners in Scandinavia. Everyone thought so, not least the woman herself.

  “Maybe we can go and eat in the meantime,” said Irene.

  “Unfortunately, I’ve already made plans to meet someone else.”

  The slightest hint of red could be seen across his high cheekbones. Wow! For the first time in the two years Hannu had been working with them, he was showing signs of an emotional life. Irene’s imagination instantly started painting a picture of a romantic lunch date with a secret woman. Or maybe a man? She realized that she had no idea whether Hannu had a live-in girlfriend or a wife, or if he was single. She was insanely curious but at the same time she knew she would never get any information out of Hannu. Maybe one could run an internal investigation? A mean thought, but tempting nonetheless. Without a hint of what was going on inside her head, Irene said lightly, “Too bad for me. I’ll see you around two.”

  The whole thing had been almost too easy. Irene heard Hannu close the door as he left. She stood and peered out the window in her office. Hannu emerged from the police station and walked across the parking lot. He directed his steps purposefully toward a scrubby yellow VW Golf. He opened the door on the passenger’s side and hopped in.

  Irene recognized the car all too well. There weren’t many models from the mideighties still rolling around the streets, but Detective Inspector Birgitta Moberg had one. She took good care of the car and she would never lend it to anyone. There was little doubt that it was Birgitta herself who was driving.

  “ WHA T THE hell does she mean?! Not done yet! It’s two o’clock and she’s had all day!”

  Superintendent Andersson lost all control when the message came from Pathology. Irene had been the one to take the call and tell her boss the news. He glared angrily and accusingly at Irene. She didn’t take it personally because she knew the looks were intended for Professor Stridner.

  Andersson stepped up to the window and looked through the dirty pane at Ernst Fontells Plats. Irene understood from his low muttering that he was thinking. After a while he turned to face her and said, “We’re going up to Pathology. Stridner must be able to tell us something! Then we’ll drive out to Killevik. I want to see where the sack was found.” AS ALWAYS, when he stepped across the threshold of the Pathology Department, Andersson seemed overwhelmed by a strong sense of discomfort. Irene knew how he felt but she acted as though she didn’t notice. His sensations certainly didn’t improve after the blond body-builder of an attendant informed them that the professor was in the examination room. He was familiar with the superintendent’s loathing for autopsies and beamed with a charming but provoking smile. His teeth shone white against his sunburned skin. Though he had been working at Pathology for many years, his appearance, together with his neat ponytail, gave an impression of vitality that was entirely out of place in those surroundings. Irene only knew his first name, printed on his name tag: Sebastian.

  It was the smell that was the worst. Perhaps it was possible to get used to it if you experienced it daily, thought Irene. But when people like her and the superintendent visited only now and then, it hit them with its full effect.

  Andersson stopped just inside the door and, to her surprise, Irene noted that he had pushed her in front of him. So she trotted up to the steel table where Yvonne Stridner was dissecting the upper half of the torso that had been found.

  The pathologist looked up over the edge of her magnifying eyeglasses and knit her eyebrows. “What are you doing here?” she asked sharply.

  Irene felt impelled to answer since the superintendent was silent.

  “We were wondering if you really hadn’t discovered anything . . . useful?”

  Stridner snorted loudly. “I’ll contact you when I’m finished.”

  “You don’t know if it’s a man or a woman?”

  “No. The pectoralis major, the large muscle in the chest, has been almost completely removed on both sides. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “What doesn’t make sense?” Andersson ventured to ask.

  “The mutilation of female breasts is usually limited to the breast glands and fatty tissue. But here they have gone deeper and removed the muscle. Consequently, I can’t say whether it’s a man or a woman. The incisions are elliptical and nearly eleven by seventeen centimeters.2 It appears as though two female breasts have been removed. Yet I need to look more thoroughly. . . .”

  “What’s the cause of death?”

  “Impossible to say. Find the head and maybe that will provide a lead. In this type of case strangulation is the most common cause of death.”

  “You don’t see any marks on the neck?”

  “There is no neck to see any marks on. The head has been removed above the seventh cervical vertebra. All of the internal organs have been removed. No lungs, no heart, no abdominal organs. The chest has been opened all the way up to the throat. The entire sternum has been sawed open.”

  “How long has the body—or the body part—been in the sack?”

  “Can’t say for certain. Based on decay it could be anywhere from two to four months. It was very cold in February and March, which is obviously a factor. There haven’t been any long periods of warm weather from April up to today either. But we have taken the usual samples and, of course, performed toxicology
tests. We’ll have the results in a few days and then we can be more certain.”

  Irene heard the superintendent heading toward the exit behind her. Her brain worked feverishly to come up with an important question she should ask while there was still time. Suddenly, it struck her. “The tattoo. Is it possible to see what the image is?” she asked.

  “Yes. It looks like a small upside-down y with a cross stroke where the fork separates and a cross stroke a bit higher up on the shaft. I think it resembles a Chinese character. There is a dragon wrapped around the sign and it’s biting its own tail. A very attractive tattoo. Actually a real piece of art, in different colors. See for yourself.”

  Stridner twisted the limp grayish green chest so that Irene would be able to see the tattoo. It may have been very beautiful, but now Irene was also starting to feel ill. She pretended to examine the tattoo closely before she thanked Stridner and hurried out of the room.

  THEY TOOK Highway 158 from Järnbrottsmotet toward Särö. It wasn’t until they had turned off at Brottkärrsmotet and headed out to Skintebo that Irene broke the silence.

  “I think we got a lot of information.”

  The superintendent mumbled an answer. Irene thought it sounded like “far too much,” but she wasn’t entirely certain.

  “Are we going to have a case review tonight?” she asked, mostly as a means of changing the subject.

  “No. Nothing is pressing. We’ll take care of it at morning prayers.” Irene drove by Billdal’s Park and after a while she turned onto the little road to Killevik. From there they could see the boat that the marine divers were using. It was swaying listlessly in the lightly rolling seas outside some of the smaller skerries a few hundred meters from the beach. Blue-and-white flags marked the area where the divers were working. In the distance they could hear rumbling from the Harbor Police boat as it searched through every single islet and the countless small islands.

  “Where are all of our people?” wondered Andersson.

  “Supposedly out knocking on doors,” Irene answered.

  Andersson muttered something unintelligible. He took out his cell phone and started rummaging around in his pockets. He finally seemed to find what he was looking for because his grunting sounded less irritable when he pulled out a wrinkled note. Irene was able to make out the words “Harbor Police” written in red ink. A telephone number was listed below. Andersson dialed the number.

  “Hi. Sven Andersson here. Have you found anything?”

  He scowled as the person on the other end replied.

  “Uh-huh. The divers haven’t either . . . ? Oh.” He couldn’t hide the disappointment in his voice. “Call as soon as something comes up . . . I mean . . . if you find anything. Good. Thanks.”

  He did his best to sound normal when he ended the call but Irene knew her boss well enough not to be fooled.

  Andersson leaned toward the windshield and glared darkly out at the three boulders. For a long time he sat still, staring intently at the rocks in the water. Thin gray veils of clouds hid the sun but the light sifted through and sprinkled the waves with silvery glitter. Seagulls circled low over the water’s surface, which reflected the sunlight in silvery white. Andersson was lost in thought and didn’t see how beautiful it was. Irene waited for him to break the silence.

  “How the hell did the sack get there?”

  “I believe in your theory that it was driven between the rocks during a storm. Otherwise we should have found more sacks in the same place or in the surrounding area.”

  “Where did it come from?”

  Irene shrugged her shoulders.

  “No idea. Maybe it came from one of the islands.”

  “Hmm. Styrsö is located straight out. And Donsö. But I don’t know how the currents run out here. Maybe it came from Vrångö. We’ll have to check the currents although it is quite a way for a sack to float.”

  Irene nodded. “I’ll check on it.”

  A thought struck her. “I’ll ask Birgitta if she has a nautical chart. She sails a lot.”

  “It’s almost four thirty. I’ll drive you home. Or is your car parked at the station?” Andersson asked.

  “No. Krister took it today. He doesn’t get off work until after midnight.”

  They could only afford one car, but the system they used worked well. The car was always parked in the Police Department’s parking lot. It was only a five-minute walk from the stylish pub, Glady’s Corner, where Krister worked as master chef. The one who left earliest, usually Irene, would take the car in the morning. If they could ride together they did. The one who worked the latest would drive the car home. For Irene’s part, taking the express bus home from Drottningtorget was fairly quick. But the thought of not having to sit on an overcrowded bus was tempting, so she accepted the superintendent’s offer of a ride.

  They drove back toward Highway 158 through open country that was becoming green. Even though villas and row houses had been built in high concentrations in some areas, there were still parts that were very rural. Irene didn’t comment since she knew her boss was not interested in hearing about idyllic natural scenery right now.

  “Murders with dismemberments are very uncommon. I’ve been a crime investigator for almost twenty-five years and during that time we’ve had three or four cases. I’ve only investigated one murder-mutilation previously. This will be the second,” he said.

  “Who was the victim in the first case?”

  “A drug addict and prostitute. They’re the ones who end up like this. They attract the sickest types. I guess you could call it an occupational hazard. If you happen to be a snake charmer, you have to count on being bitten at some point.”

  “Such girls feel very abandoned.”

  Andersson grunted in response. Irene continued. “Was that body also cut open and emptied of all organs?”

  “No. A confused bastard had killed her during some extra-heated sex game in his apartment. He panicked because he didn’t know how he was going to get rid of the body. So he dismembered her in the bathtub and stuffed the pieces into three suitcases. Then he threw the suitcases in a big Dumpster at a building site in the area.”

  “Did it take a long time to catch him?”

  “Four days. He drank like a pig after the murder and went crazy. He stood on his balcony and shouted, ‘I was the one who cut her up! I was the one who did it!’ After about an hour, the neighbors got tired of it and called us. It was just a matter of driving there and picking him up. He hadn’t even cleaned up properly in the bathroom and the hooker’s clothes were still lying on the floor.” Andersson chuckled at the memory. “But this is something else. Something much worse,” he said and suddenly became serious again.

  “What do you mean?”

  “To murder a human being and then take apart the body piece by piece like a . . . roasted chicken. It’s damned disgusting!”

  “I agree with you. But we don’t know what happened yet. Is this a case of murder or of a necrophile who came across a body and dismembered it for the sake of excitement. . . .”

  Irene stopped herself when she became aware of Andersson’s faint moaning.

  “Goddamn it! Goddamn it!” he said emphatically.

  Irene nodded and decided to drop the subject. Even if both Irene and her boss had worked with murders and murderers for many years, there were still some things that were worse than others.

  B Y CHANCE Irene had happened to see the announcement in GP a week or so earlier: “Welcome to the Hair Center at Frölunda Torg! We’re now open until 8:00 p.m. on Wednesday and Thursday evenings!” She had pounced on the phone and made an appointment. Finally a hairdresser who understood when people had time to do their hair! She had gotten an appointment at six thirty, which suited her. She would have time to make it home and walk Sammie first.

  The twins had their own activities after school. Jenny was very musical and played both guitar and flute. She also sang in two choirs. Today, flute practice was on the schedule. Katarina had a good chance
of winning this year’s Junior National Championship in judo since she had won the year before. Irene herself had become European Champion almost twenty years ago. At that time she was the only woman in Scandinavia who had a black belt, third dan.

  Sammie was sitting just inside the door and welcomed her with big leaps of joy. That was the advantage of having a dog, thought Irene. It was happy no matter what time of day you came home.

  She barely had time to take off her jacket before the phone rang.

  “Irene Huss here.”

  “Hi, Irene. This is Monika Lind. Do you remember me?”

  It took a second for Irene to go through her memory bank to find Monika Lind, but she managed in the end.

  “Of course. We were neighbors for a few years. But hasn’t it been four or five years since you moved to Trollhättan?”

  “To Vänersborg. Five years ago.”

  Monika Lind’s daughter, Isabell, was one year older than the twins. The girls had played together when they were younger, but when the Lind family moved all the way to Vänersborg the contact faded and finally stopped completely. Irene wondered what her former neighbor might want from her.

  “It’s about Isabell. The police don’t care and I have to speak with a sensible police officer!”

  Monika’s voice broke at the last sentence, and Irene realized, to her consternation, that Monika had begun to sob. Irene tried to use a calming tone of voice. “What is it that’s happened? Has Isabell gotten into trouble with the police?”

  “No, but she’s gone! I’ve looked for her . . . but no one cares!”

  Heavy weeping could be heard again.