“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.”
“Would you like to tell us more precisely what preferences he had?”
“Odd men. A lot of sadomasochism. But he never discussed his sexual adventures with me and Anders. We knew him only as a very good friend.”
Anders Gunnarsson had known him as more than a friend. But according to Gunnarsson that relationship had ended after only one week. That’s what Gunnarsson had said. Irene decided to speak with the dentist one more time.
“Do you know if Marcus was ever together with a doctor?” she asked.
The virologist thought for a moment. Then he shook his head. “Not that I know of.”
As he spoke he stiffened and gazed up at a point above Irene’s head. In a strained voice, he added, “Last summer . . . we were picnicking at Marstrand. We were a group of about ten people drinking wine and eating good food. I remember that Marcus got pretty drunk and started talking about a new guy he had just met. ‘He’s great. He’s my new personal physician,’ or something along those lines. Then he started laughing as if he had said something very funny.”
“He never mentioned that guy again?”
“No.”
Assurance was growing inside Irene. The doctor existed. And he was here in Göteborg.
HANS PAHLISS had gone and the feeling of the coming weekend began to descend over the offices on their floor. People had started going home; soon only the people on call would be left. A few hours of relative calm would engulf the station and then the weekend would start. Sirens would start blaring after darkness covered the city. It never got completely dark at the end of May, and the evening was warm. Teenagers who felt the end of the term drawing near would go out partying and let out a whole year’s worth of frustration. The adults, feeling “continental,” would congregate at the city’s restaurants and bars with outdoor seating. Together with the usual weekend quota of robberies and assaults, it pointed to a difficult night for the Göteborg police.
“How did it occur to you to ask Pahliss if he had been in Copenhagen?” Irene asked, curious.
Hannu shrugged his shoulders. “Just a whim. I thought about his conference in Paris. If he had been to Paris, then he could also have been to Copenhagen,” he said.
“We should try and talk with this Pontus Zander as soon as possible,” Irene thought out loud.
Hannu nodded. “I’ll look for him.”
Irene couldn’t keep from saying teasingly, “You’re not in a hurry to get home to the wife?”
Hannu’s bottomless gaze passed quickly over her face before he answered, “She’s staking out the strip club until ten tonight.”
In an attempt to brush her silly comment aside, Irene said, “How is it going? Will they be able to get Robert Larsson for laundering money through the club?”
“Maybe.”
When would she learn that you couldn’t get Hannu to make any personal comments? This man made Greta Garbo look like an exhibitionist.
To change the topic, she asked, “Are you on call this weekend?”
“No.”
“I am. If you get Pontus Zander, arrange a good time and place with him. Put a note on my desk and I’ll take care of the questioning.”
“I will if I can’t meet him tonight. If I can, I’ll take it myself,” said Hannu.
“OK. Have a good weekend.”
“You, too.”
Chapter 13
THE NOT WAS LYING in the middle of the desk. It was the first thing Irene saw when she stepped across the threshold of her office on Saturday morning. She put the coffee mug down on the desk with a yawn and read:
Pontus Zander is coming at 11:00. He worked the late shift last night. Didn’t have a chance to ask him anything on the phone. P.Z. seems to be our link between Marcus and Emil.
Hannu
It was an unusually wordy message for Hannu. Irene hoped that he was right. Zander could be the breakthrough they had been waiting for, the explanation as to how the clues from Göteborg and Copenhagen came together.
IRENE WAS deeply engrossed in routine duties that had been piling up when the intercom beeped and reception announced that a Pontus Zander wanted to see her. She turned off the computer and took out her authorization card.
She immediately knew who Pontus was when she stepped out of the elevator and looked through the glass wall toward the reception area. He was tall and blond, and looked a lot like Anders Gunnarsson. Apparently Pahliss was attracted to a certain type. The difference was that Pontus had longer hair, pulled together in a neat ponytail at the back of his neck.
Pontus stood talking with two uniformed police officers. They were laughing and seemed to know each other, which wasn’t all that surprising since Pontus worked in an emergency room. Irene cleared her throat lightly before saying, “Pontus Zander?”
He stopped in the middle of his conversation and smiled at Irene. “Yes, and you must be Irene Hysén?”
“Huss.”
They approached each other. His handshake was warm and firm. The two patrolmen said good-bye and went out through the main entrance door.
Irene made a stop at the coffee machine when they got to the fourth floor. With a steaming mug in each hand, she led Pontus into her office. She placed one mug on the desk next to her chair and the other in front of the visitor’s chair.
“Please sit down,” she said and gestured toward the chair.
Pontus Zander sat. The sun shone on his blond hair and a ray was reflected in his steely blue eyes, which were framed by thick dark eyelashes.
“I don’t know if my colleague had time to tell you
what we wanted to ask you about,” Irene started.
She intentionally allowed her question to hang in the air. Pontus answered immediately, “No, I was very stressed when he called. We got a guy with hemorrhaging varicosities in his throat at the same time as five people injured in a minivan accident. Plus the usual bunch of emergencies that had been sitting and waiting for several hours. It was tough last night. God!”
He rolled his eyes and sighed. Irene was not absolutely certain as to what bleeding varicose-something was but she decided not to pursue the matter.
“As you know, we’re investigating the murder of Marcus Tosscander. Did you know him?” she asked instead.
“Not very well. We met at a party that Anders and Hans had. And at their wedding, of course. But otherwise I actually haven’t spent any time with Marcus.”
“You two never dated?”
Pontus looked genuinely surprised. “No, as I said, we didn’t know . . .” “Marcus wasn’t always diligent about getting to know his partners . . . beforehand. Are you absolutely sure that you were never together?”
Now Pontus had a mischievous look on his face. He smiled when he answered, “To be honest, I actually tried flirting with him at the wedding but he wasn’t interested. He only had eyes for a big dark-skinned American named Leon. A real motorcycle-and-leather queen.”
“Does Leon live in Göteborg?”
“No, Los Angeles. He’s a doctor. A virologist, just like Hans. That’s how they met and became good friends. Leon’s research concerns various HIV viruses, and Hans works with the herpes virus.”
“Do you know if Hans and Leon have been more than friends?”
“I actually don’t think they’ve ever been together. They aren’t each other’s type.”
“But Marcus and Leon were?”
Pontus pursed his lips and thought before he replied. “Leon was Marcus’s type. That much I can say.”
“But you weren’t.”
“No.” Pontus sighed lightly.
It was about time to discuss Copenhagen. In a neutral tone of voice, Irene said, “Exactly when did you live in Copenhagen?”
He looked surprised. “How do you . . . Almost three years ago.” “When exactly?”
“In October ’96.”
“What did you do there?”
“We have an exchange program within the union. You trade jobs and living quarters with a colleague in another Nordic country. Loads of fun!”
“How long were you in Copenhagen?”
“One month. But what does this have to do with Marcus—”
“How did you end up at Emil Bentsen’s?”
Now Pontus looked confused. “What does that matter? Isn’t it Marc—”
“I’ll get back to that. Could you please answer my question?”
“OK. The colleague who I was going to trade with was named Lise. Lise called two weeks before I was going to leave for Copenhagen and she was completely distraught! There had been a fire in her building and it wasn’t possible to stay in her apartment because of smoke and water damage. But she promised to arrange a place where I could live and she did. I know that she put an ad in the paper and got some replies. She decided on Emil Bentsen’s apartment and that’s where I stayed the whole time.”
“I understood from Hans Pahliss that you recommended that others rent from Emil when they needed a place to stay in Copenhagen.”
“Yes. The location and the rent are excellent.”
“What did you think of Emil?”
“He’s a little . . . strange. I didn’t see much of him. I was out on the town when I wasn’t working. But he was weird.”
“Weird? What do you mean?”
Pontus sat for a moment searching for words. Finally he said, “He played strange heavy metal at the highest volume. Completely incomprehensible music. It seemed to me that he was sneaking around. A few times I had the feeling that someone had been in my room while I was out, and sometimes I heard someone moving on the other side of the door in the kitchen. It led into Emil’s apartment. And one time I clearly saw and heard the door pulled shut when I came out into the kitchen early in the morning. God! He was scaring me half to death!”
“Was anyone else living there aside from you?”
“No, but I was only paying for one room.”
“Were you ever inside Emil’s apartment?”
“No. I kept my distance from him. I don’t really know what it was, but I didn’t like him.”
“Yet you recommended his place to others?”
“Of course. It’s impossible to find a cheaper place at such a good location. And you don’t have to hang out with Emil if you don’t want to. He didn’t make any attempts at getting to know me, except for that strange sneaking around.”
“Who else have you recommended Emil to?”
“Hans Pahliss and a guy at work named Sven. Emil asked me to put up a notice in a good place about his room for rent. He gave me some flyers with little strips at the bottom that you can tear off. Emil’s name and address were on the strips. I put one up at work and the other in the union offices. And I put one up at a club. Are you familiar with the Sodom and Gomorrah Club?”
Irene was very well acquainted with Göteborg’s largest gay club. If Pontus had put up the flyer there three years ago, it would be hopeless trying to track down everyone who might have taken a strip.
“Could you please tell me why you’re asking about Emil and Copenhagen?” Pontus requested.
Irene described the connection between Marcus’s murder and Emil Bentsen’s. Pontus was visibly shocked when she spoke of Emil’s murder. There had only been a little article about it in the Swedish papers, with no mention of a name.
Pontus sat quietly for a long time after Irene had finished her account. Finally he said, “It feels horrible that two people I know have been murdered by the same person, and because I recommended Emil to Hans and, in turn, he recommended him to Marcus . . . I know it sounds silly but I feel responsible.”
Irene admitted they shared that feeling. Her guilt after Isabell’s death would not go away.
She leaned back in her chair and looked at Pontus’s beautiful face, which reflected anguish. Up to now he had seemed very sincere. Yet he could be a skillful liar who was concealing the truth. Had he been closer to Marcus than he was willing to admit? With these thoughts in the back of her mind, she asked, “Since you work in the health-care field, do you happen to know if Marcus was in a relationship with a doctor during the summer and fall of last year?”
Pontus shook his head. “As I said, we didn’t know each other that well. I haven’t seen Marcus except for the few times I’ve already told you about.”
“Have you heard any gossip about a doctor who has somewhat odd preferences?”
“Odd?”
For the first time Pontus looked suspicious. Carefully, Irene said, “The kind that Marcus was drawn to. Sadomasochism. Maybe even necrophilia?”
“Necro . . . absolutely not!”
He was very upset. Soothingly, Irene said, “I’m asking because of the way in which Marcus was dismembered. Our medical examiner believes that Marcus’s murderer is a sadistic necrophile. The way in which he was dismembered points to someone who is familiar with autopsy procedures. Marcus is said to have referred to a doctor he knew, who could be dangerous. And Hans Pahliss heard Marcus talk about his ‘personal physician.’ ”
A faint hint of red suffused Pontus’s cheeks. His distress could be heard in his unsteady voice. “Just because you’re gay, people think you’re perverse! I don’t know of any gay person who does the things you’re talking about!”
“You knew Marcus.”
Pontus took some deep breaths in order to calm himself. “I’ve just told you that I barely knew Marcus. I guess there was a reason he wasn’t interested in me and was attracted to Leon instead.”
He took one more deep breath before continuing, “Of course there are guys and girls who like different things, but I don�
�t know of anyone who is even remotely in the vicinity of necrophilia. I’ve never heard of anyone either. Obviously, I know that there are necrophiles but sadistic necrophilia ... it sounds terrible! I don’t actually think I know what it means, but thinking of the horrific thing that happened to Marcus . . .”
He left the sentence unfinished and shook his head again.
“So you haven’t heard any rumors about a doctor who likes what I just mentioned?”
“No. Of course there are gays on the medical staff, and one or two maybe . . . but I’ve never heard anything like that. Which I would. We actually have an organization for gays in the health-care field of which I’ve been a member for several years and know almost everyone in it. If there was such a rumor, then I would have heard it.”
Irene was about to ask if lesbians were allowed to join but upon consideration, decided that they probably had their own group. If not, then it was probably the same in the homosexual world as it was everywhere else, where men were the norm and women the exception. The question was interesting but there was hardly a reason to ask Pontus about it, thought Irene.
But an idea was forming in her head.
“How often do you have meetings of this organization?”
“The first Monday of every month.”
Irene leaned forward and looked at her desk calendar. “The next meeting will be this Monday,” she said.
“Exactly.”
Irene looked up from the calendar and made eye contact with him. “I’d like you to discuss what you heard from me today with the people at this meeting. Tell them that Marcus may have been in a relationship with a man who’s a doctor. Mention that you became very upset when I started asking about someone with sadomasochist interests who leans toward necrophilia. Tell them how angry you became and that you gave me an earful about people’s prejudices,” she said.
Pontus looked completely uncomprehending. Finally, he stammered, “But . . . but . . . oh God . . . why?”
The Torso: A Detective Inspector Huss Investigation, Vol. 2 Page 24
