The Torso

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?”

“To get a discussion started. When people start talking, you should keep your ears cocked and try and remember what is said. Maybe someone has had a run-in with a doctor who turned out to be dangerous. It may be worth a try.”

Irene was aware that she was appealing to him, but if it could get them closer to the doctor’s identity, it would be a real break. Everything depended on whether or not Pontus would go along with the suggestion.

His forehead wrinkled as he stared through the heavy glass windowpane in Irene’s office. He nervously straightened the already smooth hair on the top of his head with the palm of his hand, then took his hand away, turned from the view over the gloomy dark brown brick building of the Insurance Office, and said, “OK. I’m willing to give it a try for Marcus and Emil’s sake.”

“That’s very kind of you,” said Irene. “I’m going to give you some phone numbers where you can reach me.”

“DO YOU think we should release more details to the press about Marcus’s murder?” asked Irene.

Superintendent Andersson muttered, “The vultures have gotten enough information.”

Andersson had stopped by around lunchtime, not because he was on duty over the weekend but because Irene suspected he didn’t have anything better to do. Maybe he felt lonelier than his staff thought. He looked more unkempt than usual today, in worn brown pants and a washed-out, wrinkled shirt. At some point it had probably been forest green but over time it had taken on a faded, military green hue.

Irene continued, patiently coaxing, “I’m thinking about the fact that Marcus was in Göteborg for one or two days at the beginning of March. We know that because he called Anders Gunnarsson. And the neighbor lady saw that he had been home and watered his plants while she was in the hospital. We’ve asked the other neighbors but none of them recalls having seen him. I’m wondering if he might have been spotted somewhere else in the city. Maybe at a club or something.”

Andersson considered this suggestion. Finally he said, “Didn’t he tell that dentist that he didn’t have time to drive out to Alingsås to get the camera he wanted to borrow?”

“Yes.”

“Then I think he was in a hurry.”

“You mean you think he came home to Göteborg, packed some clothes for the trip to Thailand, and left again right away? Maybe he didn’t even stay overnight in the apartment?”

“Exactly. There weren’t any sheets on the bed. But we’ve checked departures to Thailand from Sweden, Norway, and Denmark during the first week of March. Marcus Tosscander wasn’t on any of the passenger lists. He should have been if he was booked on a flight.”

After the last sentence, Irene had goose bumps all over her body.

“That means Marcus was tricked. The murderer never intended to take him to Thailand. He had decided to kill Marcus from the very beginning,” she concluded.

Andersson nodded grimly.

“It seems that way.”

Irene forced herself to continue, “Then the big question is, where was he murdered? And then where was he dismembered? It doesn’t necessarily have to be the same place.”

“No. The technicians have checked the bathtub and the drain in his apartment, but there were no traces of human tissue or blood.”

“Do you know what the analysis of the trash bags and the tape have shown?”

“It’s the most common type of black trash bag on the market. It can be purchased at every hardware store and every gas station and so on. The tape is regular masking tape that you use when you paint. It can also be purchased anywhere. The only interesting thing the technicians found was traces of rice powder on the tape and inside the bags.”

Irene nodded. “That’s what we suspected all along. The murderer must have worn latex medical gloves. How commonly is rice powder used, compared to regular talcum powder, on medical examination gloves these days?”

“No idea. We’ll have to ask the technicians. But the murderer has actually left a clue behind or, rather, two.”

At first Irene was genuinely surprised. This murderer seemed more like a malicious being than a human who might leave a trail. Of course he was in fact a tangible person, and, as such, it was possible to trace him through the evidence he had left behind. Even if the leads in this case were very few. But at some decisive moment he would expose himself. Irene had been waiting for it to happen. Perhaps he was, reluctantly, beginning to reveal himself now. Anticipation caused her pulse to quicken as she leaned over the desk and looked at the superintendent.

“What kind of evidence?”

Andersson smiled contentedly when he saw her restrained excitement.

“Hairs. Two of them. They were in the sack, under the lower part of the body. And they don’t belong to Marcus Tosscander because they’re too light. Svante has sent one of them to his colleagues in Copenhagen. It will be a direct hit if they’ve found hairs from the same person at one of their crime scenes.”

“Have they found rice powder at the crime scenes in Copenhagen or in connection with Carmen Østergaard?” Irene asked.

“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Svante. He’s in touch with Copenhagen.”

IRENE FOUND police technician Svante Malm in the Forensics break room. He was sitting, his eyes closed and his back leaning up against the wall. At first Irene thought that he was asleep, but when she hesitantly approached, he opened his eyes slightly. A happy smile crossed his long freckled face. He quickly ran his fingers through his carrot red hair in a futile attempt to make himself presentable. Wisps of hair stood up on the top of his head. He looked like he had just awakened.

“Now you caught me red-handed,” he said.

“Sorry if I woke you.”

“Not at all. I was meditating.”

He smiled again and got up to get some coffee from the pot on the hot plate. Irene had just had three cups of coffee after lunch, so, just to be different, she declined his offer. When he had seated himself at the table with his aromatic-smelling mug, Irene asked how much data he had on the murders in Copenhagen. She had copied the information with respect to Carmen Østergaard herself, but she hadn’t had a chance to read it over.

“As far as the murder of Carmen is concerned, it has been determined that the murderer was wearing rubber gloves there as well. They found talcum powder on both the body parts and in the sacks.”

“Talc? Not rice powder?”

“No, regular talc. Because of allergies they’ve recently begun to use rice powder, instead of talc, on examination gloves.”

“Did the sacks reveal anything?”

“The body parts of each corpse were found in the same type of black trash bag. The only difference is the way they were sealed. Marcus’s sacks were taped with masking tape. Carmen’s were tied together with nylon string. According to my Danish colleagues, strong string of the household kind was used. Unfortunately, that type of string is very common and is used throughout both Sweden and Denmark.”

“But Andersson said that you had found two hairs in one of Marcus’s sacks.”

“Yes. I sent one of them to Copenhagen, but haven’t heard anything yet.”

“It’ll probably take a while. Isabell Lind was murdered in an old hotel room. Naturally there were a lot of hairs.”

“Yikes. Then we’ll have to bet on the other crime scene where that guy was found.”

“It was also very dirty.”

“Were you there?”

“Yes. I was there when he was found.”

An image of Emil’s desecrated corpse suddenly flashed before Irene’s eyes. The scene was crystal clear. She started talking about the murders of Isabell and Emil in order to dispel the agonizing picture.

Svante Malm absorbed her information. Finally, he said, “Strange. The murders of Carmen and Marcus are almost identical. Just like the murders of Isabell and Emil. The medical examiner is still convinced that we’re dealing with the same murderer. What kept the killer from completion? From cleaning out the bodies of the victims and dismembering them?”

Malm had put his finger on exactly the question that was gnawing at Irene. Why hadn’t he finished the dismemberment? Incomplete. Irene remembered that word had come to mind earlier.

“One theory is that for some reason he didn’t have access to the circular saw he had during the last two murders. Another reason could be lack of time,” she said.

“Maybe so. A third factor could be the lack of a suitable place to carry out the dismemberment. Remember, it’s a messy procedure. To avoid being caught, he’d have to have the ability to clean up afterward.”

Malm fell silent as he thought.

“The internal organs and heads of the mutilated victims were never found. What did he do with them? And with certain muscles that were removed.”

Irene replied, “Yvonne Stridner thinks that he’s a cannibal. That he’s eaten the muscles. Apparently, this occurs with necrosadism. Have you run across anything like it before?”

Malm shook his head heavily. “No. The closest is probably a woman who was suffering from postpartum depression. She put her newborn baby in the oven and baked it. But she didn’t eat it. Damn! That was one of the worst things I’ve seen.”

Irene was happy that she had already finished her lunch, even though it was trying to come up again. Normally, after so many years in the field, she was hardened, but this was so disgusting that she had no defense against it. Cannibalism. The most forbidden and repulsive act.

She quickly changed the subject. “I actually came here to ask you about something completely different. Is it possible to make decent enlargements of Polaroid photos?”

“You should ask one of the photo guys about that. But I don’t think there are any problems if the initial picture is sharp.”

She would have to depend on Tom’s skill as a photographer. Thinking of skill as a photographer reminded her that she should start looking for the person who had taken the pictures of Marcus and his friend.

IRENE FLIPPED randomly through the Yellow Pages. Lots of different photographers and studios were listed. Who could have taken the pictures of Marcus and his friend? She put the phone book aside with a sigh and decided to wait until later to make inquiries, until after photos from Tom had arrived. If she was lucky, they would be on her desk with the morning mail on Monday.

It was five o’clock and time to go home. Since Krister had the night off, she was looking forward to a nice dinner, just the two of them, for a change.

Katarina was going out with Micke, and Jenny had a gig at the student union with her band. Polo. Strange name for a pop group. But it was going well for them. That evening’s gig would be the biggest yet. Jenny had been feverish with excitement all week and could speak of nothing but the approaching performance. Krister had cautiously wondered if parents were allowed to come and listen, but at this hint Jenny had thrown a fit. It was the most embarrassing thing she had ever heard! Her old parents were going to stand there and bring the average age in the place up several notches! How awkward could it get!

It would have to be a cozy night at home for the old fogies. They could always entertain themselves by petting the dog.

Irene smiled at her thoughts. The truth was that she wanted to do nothing more on Saturday night than eat a good dinner. But afterward she was definitely planning on petting something other than the dog.