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

by Helen Tursten

  “Perfect. Then we’ll have time for coffee before we go.”

  RUSH-HOURtraffic was already heavy. The flex-time system meant that the bells of freedom starting ringing around lunchtime on Friday for lots of people.

  Irene managed to find a free parking space on Storgatan. “This should be a good omen. I need one, especially when I consider how crazy this investigation has been,” she sighed.

  They found the entrance to Anders Gunnarsson’s office without any problems. He shared the space with two colleagues. According to the shiny brass sign, they were Rut and Henry Raadmo, probably a married couple.

  Irene called on the house phone. Almost instantly a scratchy male voice came over the speaker. “Who are you looking for?”

  “Dentist Anders Gunnarsson. We have an appointment at three o’clock,” said Hannu.

  “Welcome. Second floor.”

  The entry lock buzzed and Hannu opened the heavy door. A broad, short flight of red marble steps led up to the stairway. Those who were brave could step into the rickety elevator, which dated back to the early years of the twentieth century. Since Irene and Hannu didn’t want to risk getting stuck for the rest of the afternoon, they took the stairs.

  Anders Gunnarsson had opened the door to his office and stood there, waiting to greet them. Irene recognized him from the wedding photographs as the tall blond one of the couple. His hair was a bit longer than it had been in the pictures. He stretched out his hand in greeting and smiled a bright white smile. His handshake was dry and firm. Then he showed them inside.

  They entered a sober waiting room whose color scheme was light gray and old-fashioned rose. At once Irene suspected that Marcus Tosscander had helped decorate the room. When they came into the employee’s lounge her suspicion was confirmed. There was a small kitchen area done in steel and black, with a floor of polished cherrywood and a dining set in the same style as Tanaka’s. Everything looked clean and fresh. The whole office appeared to be newly renovated.

  “Please sit down and I’ll put on some coffee. We’re all alone in the office. Everyone else goes home around two o’clock on Fridays,” said Gunnarsson.

  Irene and Hannu sat in the creaking leather chairs. They still smelled new.

  Gunnarsson was in the process of measuring the coffee when he stopped and looked at Hannu. “Why did you want to speak with me?” he asked.

  “Marcus Tosscander,” Hannu said shortly.

  “Has something happened to him?”

  Concern was evident in the dentist’s voice. His blue eyes glided between Irene and Hannu. It was Irene who answered. “We have reason to suspect so.”

  A deep sigh escaped Gunnarsson. “Hans and I were speaking about him last week. We thought it was odd that he hadn’t been in touch. We actually joked that he had decided to stay there in Thailand.”

  “Thailand? He was in Copenhagen. . . .”

  “Of course. But he called me and said that he was just home for a quick visit in order to pack some summer clothes in a suitcase. He had suddenly been invited to go on a trip to Thailand. Apparently, one of his cameras was broken so he wondered if we could lend him one. But when he found out that it was at home in Alingsås he lost interest. He said that he wouldn’t have time to come all the way to our place that evening. I advised him to buy a cheap one in the duty-free shop.”

  Irene felt her heart skip a beat. Finally, a bit of a scent out of all the false leads!

  “When did he call you?”

  Gunnarsson wrinkled his brow and thought about it. Finally he said decidedly, “It had to have been at the beginning of March. Right at the beginning. We spoke about the renovation here. It was almost complete.”

  “Did Marcus design the office?” Irene asked even though she already knew the answer.

  “Yes. You have no idea how much it needed freshening up.”

  He stopped abruptly and looked sharply at Irene. “What has happened to Marcus?”

  Evasively, Irene said, “We aren’t entirely sure. After this talk with you we hope that additional pieces will fall into place.”

  Hannu broke into the conversation. “How did you know Marcus?” “We have been friends for several years.”

  “How long?”

  Gunnarsson thought for a moment before he answered. “Six years.” “Good friends?”

  Gunnarsson smiled. “It started with a short relationship between the two of us. An intense week, but I realized that it wasn’t possible to have a relationship with Marcus. He is very . . . flighty. I wanted something more stable and understood that Marcus wasn’t the man for me. Shortly thereafter I met Hans and we are still together.”

  “But you kept in touch with Marcus,” Hannu prompted.

  “Of course! We get together often and we have many of the same friends. He is an amazingly kind and pleasant person. The best friend you could have—” Gunnarsson interrupted himself and seemed to be searching for words to explain what he meant. Uncertainly, he said, “Marcus is a warm-hearted person. He is charming and thoughtful. But when it comes to relationships, he is . . . artificial. He can’t be faithful and quickly gets turned on by new guys. The longest relationship he’s had was with Hassan, an Egyptian who was a guest researcher at the university here in Göteborg. I think it lasted for three months and that’s an absolute record for Marcus.”

  “Was that a long time ago?”

  “Four years. I remember because they were at our engagement party.”

  “Hans isn’t bothered by the fact that you and Marcus were together?” Anders Gunnarsson gave Hannu an appreciative look and smiled. “When you have entered into a partnership, as Hans and I have, naturally you have to discuss how you both feel about infidelity. Fidelity is important to Hans and to me. Hans has never been jealous of Marcus since our relationship ended before Hans and I got together.”

  Irene asked, “Who was Marcus’s partner before he moved to Copenhagen?”

  She got a shrug of the shoulders in response.

  “No idea. We last met at the Glögg party that he held on the Eve of St. Lucia, before he moved. That was the last time we saw each other. I don’t know if he was ‘with’ anyone.”

  “You didn’t think any of the people present might have been his partner?”

  “No. It could have been anyone or no one. When it comes to Marcus, nothing is obvious. And he has actually gotten into trouble before.”

  “What do you mean? How so?”

  Gunnarson searched for the right words. “He is drawn to the . . . dangerous ones. And puts himself in danger. That Hassan was an example. A pretty nasty type who definitely leaned in the direction of sadism. Marcus came over to my place one time wearing a turtleneck sweater when it was twenty degrees* outside! He is always so fashion savvy that I asked why he was walking around in a turtleneck. In response, he pulled down the collar and showed deep marks from a rope on his throat. Somehow he . . . managed to joke about it.”

  “Is Hassan still in Sweden?”

  “No. He’s dead. He was killed by a lunatic at a gay club in San Francisco two years ago. Nine people died and Hassan happened to be one of them.”

  “I remember that. The killer was a prostitute. He had been subjected to things at the club that made him crazy for revenge,” said Irene.

  Gunnarsson arched his eyebrows and nodded. “That’s right. That’s the kind of club Hassan hung out at and that says everything about him.”

  “And about Marcus,” Hannu added.

  “He didn’t frequent those types of clubs but he was drawn to that type of man. I think that describes it as exactly as possible.”

  In her mind, Irene saw the contours of a colossal sumo wrestler. Odd, maybe dangerous.

  The dentist took a deep breath and stared at Irene. “Now you have to tell me what has happened to Marcus!”

  Irene nodded. “Yes. But first I need to ask one last question. Do you have Marcus’s address in Copenhagen?”

  “No. He said that he would call when he had decided o
n where he was going to live.”

  “But he never called and gave you his new address?”

  “No.”

  “It seems strange that you didn’t wonder why he hadn’t been in touch. And why didn’t you miss Marcus before now if he’d left for Thailand at the beginning of March? That’s two and a half months ago.”

  “As I said, we started wondering a few weeks ago. But that’s the way it is with Marcus. Long periods of time can go by without hearing anything from him. Especially when he is working intensely or has a new relationship going on. It’s happened several times. He’s disappeared with some new love and then appeared later as though nothing has happened.”

  “How long have these episodes lasted?”

  “Anywhere from two days to two weeks.”

  “But never as long as over two months.”

  “No. But when he called at the beginning of March he said that he didn’t know how long they would be gone.”

  “They? Who did he go with?”

  “He didn’t want to say. He just laughed when I asked and said I would never be able to guess.”

  “Never be able to guess. . . . That would mean that you know this per son.”

  “Maybe. But I have no idea.”

  “Exactly what did Marcus say when he called at the beginning of March?”

  “We started by talking about the renovation and about how it had progressed. I invited him for dinner the next night but he declined. He was going to go to Thailand with a friend, but he didn’t say who the friend was. Then he asked about borrowing a camera. Then he said that he had to end the phone call and pack the things he needed for the trip.”

  “Did he say where they were traveling from?”

  “No. But I assumed that it had to be Landvetter since he was here in Göteborg. But maybe he was only here because he had to pack his summer clothes.”

  “Could he have been traveling with a woman?”

  “When he was younger he went about with girls . . . to keep up appearances for his parents. He told me about that. And personally I’ve seen how women are drawn to him. But he stopped that in the last few years. He doesn’t need women as his alibi any longer.”

  “Did he have sex with women?”

  Gunnarsson shook his head. “No. Never. He is gay through and through. Those are his own words.”

  Irene decided that it was time to tell Anders Gunnarsson the truth. She started by asking, “Did Marcus talk about a tattoo he had done in Copenhagen?”

  “No.”

  The dentist shook his head but then stopped suddenly. “Actually . . . maybe. I asked how things were going for him in Copenhagen. Then he said he had something that would show what an indelible impression the city had left on him. Then he laughed mysteriously. Indelible could refer to a tattoo.”

  “We happen to know that Marcus had a unique tattoo done in Copenhagen . . .” Irene explained about the dragon tattoo and the murder-mutilation victim in Killevik. Anders Gunnarsson burst into tears. His sorrow seemed deep and real. Neither Irene nor Hannu knew how to comfort him, so they let him finish crying. His sobs began to diminish after a while. He got up and went to get a Kleenex and dried his eyes. With bent head and closed eyes he took deep breaths. When he had calmed himself, Irene said, “I understand that this must be a terrible shock for you.”

  Gunnarsson nodded. His eyes, shiny with tears, reflected sincere grief and pain.

  “When is Hans getting back from France?”

  “On Thursday, the twenty-seventh.”

  “Is he in Paris?”

  “Yes.”

  “Could you be so kind as to inform him that he should come to the station on Friday? He can call and ask for an appointment with me or Hannu Rauhala.”

  They rose and thanked him for the coffee and the information. Gunnarsson followed them to the outer door. When he shook hands Irene felt his hand trembling faintly, which hadn’t been the case when they had greeted each other. Impulsively, she took his hand in both of hers and said, “Will you be OK? Do you want us to call someone or drive you somewhere?”

  Gunnarsson shook his head. “No, thank you. It’s very kind . . . no, thank you.”

  Irene pulled a calling card from her pocket. “Call my home number if you come up with anything else that could be important. I’ll be there all weekend.”

  Gunnarsson took the card and stuffed it into his shirt pocket without looking at it.

  * Twenty degrees Celsius is equivalent to sixty-eight degrees Fahrenheit.

  On their way back to the station, Hannu asked Irene, “Could it be a sex game that got out of control?”

  “It’s not impossible. But why dismember and clean him out? And take away certain muscles? It seems very . . . well planned.”

  “Well planned?”

  “Yes. A suitable place must have been chosen in advance to enable the murderer to do all that he did to the body. So he must have decided to kill his victim beforehand.”

  When Hannu agreed, Irene felt an ice-cold chill. That was what was so terrible. Carmen Østergaard, Marcus Tosscander, and Isabell Lind had never had a chance. The murderer had already decided. Beforehand.

  Chapter 10

  FOR ONCE KRISTER DIDN’T have to work over the weekend. Irene’s mother and her significant other, Sture, were invited for dinner on Whitsunday in order to give a full account of their wine trip to the Moselle Valley. Krister was looking forward to it with eager expectation because, naturally, he was hoping for some really exciting samples from the wine district.

  Mamma Gerd radiantly handed over two bottles to her son-in-law. Irene saw an expression of disappointment pass over his face but he quickly regained his composure. He warmly thanked his mother-in-law and gave her a big hug. Then he turned the bottles so that Irene could read the labels: Ockfener Scharzberg. Even she knew the brand was available at the state liquor store. But little Mamma didn’t know that. She rarely went there since she hardly drank any alcohol.

  Sture wasn’t very familiar with wines, either which Irene realized when he smiled and said, “Gerd and I made a find. We bought a whole case of these bottles in a grocery store for twenty-five D-marks. Amazingly cheap!”

  “But didn’t you drive around to different wineries? To do wine tastings and so on . . . ?”

  “Of course, but those wines were so expensive,” chirped Mamma Gerd.

  Irene pretended not to notice her husband’s low moan.

  There were seven of them for dinner since Katarina had invited Micke to join them. He, too, was still feeling the effects of the accident so they had chosen to join the quiet family dinner at home instead of going to a big party with friends. Perhaps they just wanted to spend some time alone. Irene’s watchful eye noted their warm looks and stolen touches. It really seemed to be serious. They had been together for almost two months, a new record for Katarina.

  Jenny was going out later that night. Her band was playing at a newly opened club with her as the lead singer! Irene’s daughter was in seventh heaven and seemed to be somewhere else. Out of pure distraction she almost put a piece of steak on her plate. At the last second she realized what she was about to do—meat!—and quickly put it back on the serving dish.

  Krister had put together a wonderful menu for Pentecost. It was perhaps a bit too heavy for Whitsuntide, but Irene and Katarina had been allowed to request their favorite dishes. As an appetizer, they had crab Thermidor, crabmeat baked in a wonderfully spicy wine sauce, served in the shells.

  Jenny ate pale celery sticks that she dipped in spicy tomato salsa.

  Without revealing what he really thought, Krister served the wine his mother-in-law had brought, along with the first course.

  The steak was sliced and covered in dark gravy. Cooked cauliflower, asparagus, lightly steamed sugar peas, peeled tomatoes, and Hasselback potatoes were the main course.

  Krister had chosen Clos Malvern to go with the main course and, according to him, the wine had a heavy bouquet, a strong burned and smoky taste
, and hints of both chocolate and sun-drenched berries. The hot sun and winds of South Africa had left their mark on this strong dark red wine.

  “The wines are so full bodied and flavorful because they fertilize the wineries with elephant dung,” Krister announced with the utmost seriousness.

  His mother-in-law and Sture opened their eyes wide and said to each other, “Really! Just imagine!”

  But Irene knew her husband well and shook her finger at him. He arched his eyebrows innocently and toasted his wife.

  IRENE HAD taken the bus into the city. They were on a holiday schedule since it was Whitmonday. She hadn’t thought about that when she and Jonny had made their appointment, and now she was almost twenty minutes late.

  Jonny was standing outside the police station, huddled against the bitter wind. Based on the sour expression on his face, he had been standing and waiting for quite some time.

  “Hi. Sorry, but the buses . . .”

  “You knew that it was a holiday. Women and time!”

  Sour was Mr. Blom’s first name today, thought Irene. Obviously he was annoyed about having to come home from Stockholm a day earlier than planned and she was the one who was going to suffer because of it. Then again, though she had arrived late, at least she had apologized. If only she had been allowed to go to Copenhagen on her own.

  “We should try and get there by eight at the latest, in time for a late dinner and a big bier,” she said briskly.

  “Bier?”

  “Beer. A big Danish beer.”

  “Oh.”

  That was their entire conversation as they drove the length of Halland’s coast. Since Irene was acquainted with Jonny’s driving, she had insisted on getting behind the wheel of the bureau car. For the most part, Jonny sat dozing with his head hanging. He didn’t wake up until they had driven onto HH-Ferries in Helsingborg. But he was first in line at the cafeteria. A large draft beer, and bread with a chunk of coarsely ground liver pâté with pickles, made him thaw out considerably. Irene went for the coffee and a plate of shrimp. She wasn’t able to finish the slice of bread under it.