Helene Tursten - The Torso

The superintendent interrupted her, irritated. “That’s what your protected informant told you. What is this nonsense? Why can’t we know his identity? The police uniform was found at Emil’s, and you said yourself that a lot of evidence points to Emil masquerading as a police offi cer.”

“But we don’t know for sure. That’s why I need to keep my informant’s identity a secret. Especially after what happened to Isabell and Emil,” Irene said obstinately.

Andersson snorted. “And what would happen if you told us here in Göteborg? Do you think one of your colleagues here-”

He was interrupted by a noise at the door. Jonny opened it and entered. He looked sober and smelled of soap but he couldn’t do much about his bloodshot eyes.

“Hi. I’ve sorted through the photocopies I brought from Copenhagen from the investigation of Isabell Lind’s murder. Jens Metz will send the final autopsy report when it’s done.”

Without difficulty he went up to Andersson’s desk and put the pile of paper onto the stained desktop.

Andersson looked at Jonny bitterly. Then he sighed loudly and turned to Irene. “OK. I can understand your misgivings.”

GETTING HOMEwas wonderful. Krister had made the rounds of the market and stocked up. He was off work the next day and wouldn’t return until Saturday afternoon. When Irene stepped over the threshold he was busy seasoning pork chops with garlic and spices. Jenny was standing next to him, looking dissatisfied. She didn’t comment on her father’s choice of food. Instead, she continued to fill her greased pan with sliced tomatoes and squash. Katarina was chopping iceberg lettuce, which she put in a bowl together with corn and cucumbers.

Sammie, as usual, was the first to greet Irene and did so with unreserved joy. But her husband and children weren’t far behind.

Katarina was depressed. The doctor had told her that she couldn’t train for at least two months. No damage to her skeleton was visible on the X-rays but pain and limited mobility in her neck and back were still troublesome.

“There’s a risk of chronic pain if I’m not careful,” she said.

“What treatment did he recommend?” Irene asked, concerned.

“Acupuncture and physical therapy, which I’m already doing.”

“She was referred to an orthopedist who specializes in whiplash injuries,” Krister said.

“What if I can never compete again! As it is now, I don’t even have the energy to train,” said Katarina. She was on the verge of tears.

“You can devote yourself to walking the dog. Dogs are wonderful exercisers. And it looks like we’ll soon have Sammie’s son in the house,” said Krister.

“What? No! I don’t have the energy for two dogs,” Irene groaned.

“ You don’t have the energy?! You’re never at home,” said Jenny.

This stung. Weakly Irene said, “Never home. . it’s not that often that I have to go to Copenhagen or anywhere else. It’s just with this case-”

Jenny interrupted her, “You’re never home anyway. It’s always work, work, work. But the rest of us really want to have a little puppy. He’s so adorable!”

“I haven’t said that I would really like to have a puppy,” Krister protested.

Both of his daughters looked at him meaningfully. Jenny said pointedly, “And who was it who was completely beside himself yesterday when we went to look at him? ‘Oh, so cute and cuddly’!”

“You went to look at the puppy yesterday?” asked Irene.

“The lady called. She wants to get rid of him by the end of next week or the beginning of the week after. Then he’ll be eight weeks old. None of us have found someone who is interested. . so the girls and I went to look at him,” Krister said apologetically.

“And of course he was adorable,” Irene sighed.

“Adorable!” her family said in unison.

“SOMETIMES YOU fall into your own trap,” said Tommy Persson.

He didn’t try to hide his joy. They were sitting in the office they shared, taking an extra cup of coffee to get the Friday morning started. Irene had just given him the short version of what had happened in Copenhagen. And summed up with the fact that the Huss family would probably have to take one of the puppies.

“Everything at our house revolves around the puppy who’s coming. Sara has bought food dishes and chewing toys and God knows what all,” Tommy said, defeated.

“I hadn’t thought about starting over with a puppy again. Vet visits, raising them, and training. Yuck! It’s like having kids again.” In order to change the subject, Irene asked, “How is it going with Jack the Ripper?”

“OK. I have a theory that I’m working on. Two of his victims talked about a certain smell he had. Now the last girl has come up with what it was.”

Tommy stopped and paused dramatically before he slowly said, “Food.”

“Food?”

“Yes. Kitchen odor. The smell seems to come from his clothes or maybe his hair. My theory is that Jack works in the kitchen of a restaurant. The pubs usually stop serving food around twelve. It takes at least one and a half and sometimes two hours to get the kitchen in order. You know that seeing as how you’re married to someone in the business.”

Irene nodded. Krister was rarely home before two when he worked evenings.

“All four times, Jack has made his move between one thirty and three in the morning. Always in Vasastan. I’m thinking about taking a look at the pubs in the area. Especially the kitchen staffs.”

“You can eliminate Krister right away. He’s too big and fat to match the description. And too old. Jack is around thirty if I remember correctly.”

“Krister isn’t the first person I would suspect in this case,” Tommy said.

IRENE SPENTthe rest of the day in front of her computer. The only interruption was lunch at the employee cafeteria of the nearby insurance office. The chicken casserole wasn’t too bad, but Irene thought longingly about the lunches in Copenhagen. Jens and Peter were probably sitting at a nice pub with an ice-cold beer in front of them right now. Suddenly her light beer felt very thin.

The report she had to write about events in Copenhagen turned out to be a long one. She mentioned the photo of Marcus that hung above Emil’s bed. It was too important to leave out. But she sneaked in the little lie she had served the superintendent and Hannu earlier that morning, namely that she had recognized Marcus from the pictures in the photo album that they had found in his apartment. Even if some of the pictures had been naked studies, they weren’t in the same league as that framed photo. It occurred to her that it might be useful to try to locate the photographer. He must be well known. But who could provide information about a photographer who took these kinds of photos? Irene had to get copies of the photos from Copenhagen before she could attempt to find him.

She called Jens Metz. As luck would have it, he was in his office. He promised to arrange to send her a copy of the photo over Emil’s bed.

“Do you need it in the original size?” he asked.

“Not necessarily. But not too small.”

“OK. I’ll take care of it.”

Before they hung up, Irene thanked him again for the friendly treatment she and Jonny had received in Copenhagen, and Jens countered politely by inviting her down again.

After some hesitation Irene took out her cell phone and called Tom Tanaka. It rang several times before he answered. When she heard his hoarse voice she realized that she had awakened him.

“Tom speaking.”

“Hi. Irene Huss. Sorry to wake you.”

Tom mumbled something unintelligible in response. Irene decided to keep the phone call short.