The Torso

Chapter 9

YOU SHOULDN’T EAT JANSSON’S Temptation right before you go to bed, especially if you have problems that can affect your night’s sleep. Irene lay awake and tried to digest her agonizing thoughts and that anchovies-in-cream-sauce dish until the early hours of the morning. When dawn broke, she fell into an uneasy slumber.

The alarm clock buzzed at six thirty on the dot. Irene felt as if she had spent the night in a clothes dryer. Her body was stiff, and she was reluctant to get up. There was only one sensible thing to do. She went down to the laundry room and put on her newly washed jogging suit, tying her jogging shoes on the way out.

An early-morning chill was still in the air, and the sky was covered by thin gray veil-like clouds, but they looked as though they would blow away during the day. She started at a pretty high speed in order to get her pulse rate up. As usual, she took the turn down toward Fiskebäck’s small boat harbor and up along the back roads toward Långedrag. A short run of five kilometers would have to be enough. It was best not to be too late for the morning prayers since she was already in disfavor with the superintendent.

THE OTHER were already seated when Irene steamed in. She mumbled something apologetically about the car not wanting to start. Since everyone knew Irene’s almost-thirteen-year-old Saab, they didn’t question her excuse.

“Now that everyone is here, we can start. Jonny is on vacation but he was briefed before he left. So it’s just Tommy and Fredrik who haven’t heard the big news.”

Andersson paused for the sake of effect.

“Birgitta and Hannu are getting married tomorrow.”

Fredrik and Tommy’s faces clearly showed that it was news to them. Before they could gather their thoughts the superintendent continued, “The Copenhageners have been in touch. A young Swedish prostitute has been found murdered, and apparently the murder bears the signature of the murder-mutilator, though she wasn’t completely dismembered. In any case, Irene and Jonny are driving down to Copenhagen on Monday to get more information. Today, Hannu and Irene will continue to inquire into the names that have arisen during the investigation concerning Marcus Tosscander. We’ll release his identity after the weekend.”

Hannu asked permission to speak. “I’ve found Hans Pahliss and Anders Gunnarsson. They live in Alingsås.”

“Try and get ahold of them. Fredrik and Birgitta, how is it going with the investigation into Robert Larsson?”

Fredrik still hadn’t really recovered from the big news, but Birgitta gave an account of the results to date.

“He isn’t trying to hide the money. Instead, he’s trying to show it. That is to say, to launder the dirty money. We’ve had Wonder Bar under surveillance for three days. The number of customers has been noted and we have looked into what it costs to get into the club. If the entrance fees declared by Robert Larsson on his tax forms are correct, then an average of two hundred people visit the club every day. It can’t possibly be that many. We make it an average of sixty-three. But we are going to keep an eye out for a few more days before we bring him in again.”

“Speak with the prosecutor first,” Andersson advised.

“We will.”

“How is it going with Jack the Ripper?” Andersson asked and turned toward Tommy.

“Still no new information. Today I’m going to question his latest victim again. She was too upset when I spoke with her the first time. It doesn’t feel right that we aren’t getting any tips. There were long articles in both GP and the Götesborgs Tidningen the day before yesterday, but no one has called in. And soon it will be the weekend again.”

“He only strikes on the weekends and downtown. Mostly around Vasagatan and its side streets,” Andersson concluded.

“Does that provide any clues?” Irene asked.

Tommy nodded and shrugged his shoulders at the same time. This could be read as both a yes and a maybe.

Hannu and Irene went into Irene’s office to continue planning.

“What do you think about my driving out to Pappa Tosscander’s this morning while you contact Pahliss and Gunnarsson?” said Irene.

“Sounds good. Then we can speak with them this afternoon.”

Irene called Emanuel Tosscander. He was still listed as “senior physician” in the phone book. According to Jonny he had been retired for a few years.

“Tosscander,” a deep man’s voice answered.

If Irene hadn’t known about his previous profession, she would have guessed him to have been a high-ranking military officer.

“Good morning. My name is Irene Huss. I’m a police inspector-”

“I’ve already spoken with one policeman. Marcus is in Copenhagen. You’ll have to look for him there.”

The voice was ice-cold and dismissive.

“We have good reason to believe that Marcus has been the victim of a crime,” Irene said calmly.

After a split second, the question came like a gunshot, “What kind of crime?”

“That’s what I need to speak with you about. I’ll be there in half an hour. Good-bye.”

Before Tosscander had time to protest, Irene hung up the phone. She grabbed a cup of coffee on her way out for extra strength.

THE LARGEone-story brown brick house was located only a five-iron shot away from Hovås golf course. The whitebeam hedge around the house was several meters high, and only the flat roof of the house could be seen from the street. Irene turned in through the gap in the hedge and bumped onto the poorly maintained driveway. Both the house and the yard were characterized by slight decay.

The front door was opened before she had time to stretch her hand out and knock with the heavy bronze knocker shaped like a lion’s head.

“Criminal Inspector Irene Huss.” Irene held out her hand. Emanuel Tosscander responded with a short, firm handshake.

He was the same height as Irene. His body was slim and fit, his hair thick and silver-white. Marcus had inherited his beautiful eyes from his father. His face was deeply tanned and surprisingly wrinkle free. Emanuel Tosscander was a very handsome man.

“Senior phys-Emanuel Tosscander,” he said. He stepped aside and halfheartedly gestured her inside.

The hall was gloomy, with a dark tile floor and moss green woven tapestry hangings. Irene followed Tosscander’s straight back into an enormous living room. Large picture windows ran along the long side of the room. But no sunlight could squeeze through the heavy vegetation in the backyard. The entirety of the large room was filled with a dusky half-light. The furniture was big and heavy, made of dark wood and dark brown leather. There were large Oriental rugs in reddish brown tones on the floor. Not even the paintings on the walls could cheer up the room. They were sober landscapes and dim portraits. Not a single plant sat in the windows.

“Please sit down,” Tosscander said mechanically. As for himself, he remained standing.

Irene sank down onto an uncomfortable rock-hard leather chair. “Thanks. I’d like it if you would sit down, too,” said Irene.

At first he looked like he wanted to protest, but something in Irene’s voice made him obey. He sat on the edge of the sofa and observed her coldly. But Irene could sense some concern behind his frosty demeanor.

It was just as well to inform him of what had happened to Marcus since it would be in the papers in a few days anyway. Irene got right to the point. “It was good of you to see me. I have something serious to tell you. First, I need an answer to a question. Did Marcus contact you during the first week of March?”

“No.”

“Are you absolutely certain?”

“Yes.”

“When was the last time you spoke with each other?”

“That’s none of your business!”

“Yes, it is. We’re investigating a crime.”

“What kind of crime?”

“Murder.”

Irene looked him straight in the eye. He was the first to glance away. He stared at his overgrown yard for a long time, then he turned toward her. “We haven’t spoken with each other since the first week of December.”

“Why not?”

“We. . had a fight.”

“Why?”

“That’s really none of your business!”

“Again, I’ll have to remind you that we are investigating a murder.”

“Of whom?”

“My condolences, but it has to do with Marcus.”

Slowly, all color disappeared from the handsome face. The even sunburn took on a sick yellowish tone. Right in front of Irene’s eyes, Emanuel Tosscander aged ten years in as many seconds. He sank backward onto the sofa without taking his eyes off her. Finally, he was able to whisper, “It. . can’t. . be true.”

“Unfortunately, it is. Marcus had a very unusual tattoo made in Copenhagen. The body we found a few weeks ago outside Killevik had the same tattoo. There are also other things that add up.”

“No! Not murdered and dismembered!”

Anguish could be heard in his voice and seen in his eyes. He slowly rose from the sofa. In an almost normal tone of voice, he asked, “Will Marcus’s name be published in the press?”

“Yes. We have to do so in order to find possible witnesses.”

“My name. .! What are people out here going to say? You must understand. I forbid you to publish his name in the newspapers!”

He got to his feet upset and pointed an accusing finger at Irene. She was getting angry. Sharply she said, “Sit.”

The command word usually worked on Sammie and it also did on the surprised Tosscander.

“Marcus probably came home to Göteborg during the first week in March. That’s when he met his killer. A killer who we have good reason to believe has murdered before. There is a significant risk that he will continue. That’s why we must find him. You should also be anxious to catch your son’s murderer.”

Tosscander looked as though he had just been boxed on the ear. “Why were you not getting along?” Irene repeated.

He didn’t answer.

“My guess would be that he told you he was gay. Is that what happened?” The jaundiced look of Tosscander’s face gave way to a blush that spread up from his throat.

“That’s not true! It was just a passing fixation. I don’t know how many girlfriends he brought home over the years! He isn’t gay!”

“How many girlfriends has he brought home over the years?”

“What business. . I don’t know.”

“Try and count.”

Tosscander glared at Irene but looked like he was thinking. Finally he said, “Four or five.”

“Four or five girlfriends in thirty years. Can you give me their names?”

“No. Just one. The others I only met once or twice. Angelica Sandberg was a kid from the neighborhood with whom he was together for several years.”

“When was that?”

“Well. . it was probably about ten years ago. She’s married now. Lives in the States.”

“But her parents still live here?”

“Yes.”

Irene wrote the name in her notebook. There were reasons for trying to get in touch with Angelica.

“He never brought any male friends here?”

Tosscander stiffened. Guardedly he said, “No. Not the last few years. When he was younger he did, of course. . but not since he moved away from home.”

“Was he always alone when he came to visit?”

“Yes.”

“He never spoke with you about a male friend?”

“No.”

“No name ever came up?”

“No.”

Tosscander sat crumpled on the sofa as if he had given up the battle. It seemed as though the truth had begun to sink in.

“Mr. Tosscander, I need to ask a few routine questions. Is that all right?”

He nodded weakly.

“How old are you?”

“Sixty-nine.”

Irene would never have guessed. He looked considerably younger. “Where were you senior physician before you retired?”

“I was an ear, nose, and throat specialist at Sahlgren Hospital.”

That kind of a specialist couldn’t be all that familiar with autopsy methods, thought Irene.

“Does Marcus have any siblings or half siblings?”

“No.”

“I understand that your wife died. .”

“Ten years ago. Breast cancer.”

Suddenly, he stood up and looked sharply at Irene. “Now I’m glad that she’s dead so she doesn’t have to experience this. . disgrace!”

That’s how he felt about his only son’s death. It was a disgrace to him.

THE VISIT to Emanuel Tosscander depressed Irene. Since Hovås wasn’t that far from Fiskebäck, she decided to drive home for lunch.

It was strange to come home in the middle of the day to an empty house. The mailbox was overflowing with advertisements. She almost threw out a card along with them, but just before she dropped the whole pile into the paper recycling bag she saw a glimpse of it inside a double-folded advertisement for Hemglass ice cream. Curious, she took a closer look at the colorful card. It was a picture of the familiar view of Copenhagen with the Little Mermaid in the foreground and glittering water behind. The message itself as well as Irene’s name and address, was written with a black India ink pen. The street and postal code were perfectly correct.

The Little Mermaid is dead.

That’s all it said. The card had been postmarked in Copenhagen two days earlier. Irene quickly dropped the card onto the table. Normal mail handling had probably resulted in a lot of fingerprints on the card but there could still be something useful left.

What did it mean? Was it a warning or a threat? Who had sent it? The answer had to be Isabell’s killer. No one else would send that message.

But why? Several police officers were working on the case, both here and in Copenhagen. Why had the murderer chosen her?

She got an envelope and carefully placed the card inside.

A thought struck her. The message was in English. Maybe it was from Tom Tanaka, who was trying to contact her. The idea seemed rather far-fetched but she decided to pursue it anyway. Yet when she took a closer look at the handwriting, it didn’t have any resemblance to Tom’s elegant script in the message she had received at the Hotel Alex. The style on the postcard was heavy block letters. Still, she would leave the card with the technicians at the police station, together with the earlier message from Tom. She had saved it.

She took out her cell phone and found Tom’s number. He answered almost immediately.

“Hi, Tom. This is Irene Huss.”

“Hi. I suppose you are calling because of Isabell.”

“Yes. But first I need to ask you a question. Did you send me a postcard?”

“Absolutely not. I never send postcards.”

“That’s what I thought, but I had to check. I’ve received a postcard from Copenhagen with-”

She had to stop herself for a moment and think about the word for mermaid in English, but in that moment she remembered that it was written on the postcard.

“A photo of the Little Mermaid. On the back it says, ‘The Little Mermaid is dead.’ Nothing more. I don’t know how I should interpret the card.”

Tom was quiet for a long time. She could hear his heavy breathing. Finally, he said, “It’s a warning. The murderer knows exactly where you are. The murder of Isabell Lind is also a warning to you. I told you that when she disappeared.”

“Do the police know that you called your contact at the Hotel Aurora and asked about Isabell?”

“No. He came here when her body was found and was completely hysterical. I managed to calm him down. We were lucky because a girl had called the hotel and asked about Isabell just after my call. The police only know that one of the girls at the escort service called because Isabell didn’t come back after her job at the hotel. That’s why the police think my contact’s questioning the hotel staff resulted from the call by the girl at Scandinavian Models.”

“I think it’s important that the police in Copenhagen not know about you and Marcus. I haven’t revealed your identity to my Swedish colleagues.”

“Good.”

“No one seems to have realized how. . close you were, you and Mar cus.”

“No. We were very discreet. For different reasons. Marcus didn’t want the policeman he was living with to know about our relationship.”

“And you haven’t told anyone about the two of you?”

“No. Just you.”

“I’m coming down to Copenhagen on Monday night and have booked a room at Hotel Alex again. Unfortunately, I’m going to have a colleague with me. A male colleague. It means that I can’t move around as freely.”

“I understand. We’ll be in touch.”

“Yes. Good-bye.”

“Be careful. Good-bye.”

Irene had a vague feeling of concern after the phone call. Was Tom in danger too? She couldn’t rule out the possibility.

POLICE TECHNICIAN Svante Malm took both the cards and promised to do a graphological comparison and look for fingerprints as soon as possible.

Hannu was sitting in his office waiting for her. Irene told him about the postcard. He reflected, then said, “Are you really going to go to Copenhagen?”

“You mean it could be dangerous?”

“Maybe.”

“He knows my address, and he can easily get to me here! And as far as we know, the murderer could just as well be in Göteborg as Copenhagen.” She took a deep breath and then said with conviction, “I have to catch him.”

Hannu nodded. He knew Irene well enough to realize that this killer had good reason to feel hunted.

“What have you found on Pahliss and Gunnarsson?” she asked.

“Hans Pahliss is a doctor. Researcher. Virologist. He is in France right now at a conference. I reached Anders Gunnarsson. Dentist. He’s willing to see us. He has a private practice by Vasaplatsen. On Fridays he finishes early. He could meet us around three o’clock.”

“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 on 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.