Helene Tursten - The Torso

Irene hadn’t noticed his anger until now. He was royally pissed off for some reason. Why? She had the uncomfortable feeling that the anger was directed at her.

“A lot of things have happened here in Copenhagen. Despite the fact that you’ve gone home! But you have left traces. Everywhere!”

Irene heard him pause in order to lower his voice a notch or two before he continued, “I’m sitting here with Tom Tanaka’s cell phone in front of me. There are about twenty numbers programmed into it. One of them has been traced to a cell phone belonging to Marcus Tosscander. Another is your cell phone number. How do you explain that?”

Irene’s pulse began to race from fear.

“What’s happened to Tom?” Her voice rose to a falsetto but she didn’t care. Not Tom! Not Tom! she said desperately to herself.

“He’s lying unconscious at the hospital. He was attacked and severely wounded, stabbed last night.”

“But he never leaves his apartment!” Irene burst out.

“The attack occurred in his apartment,” Metz said dryly.

How was that possible? Irene remembered his code locks and heavy doors. Had he let the perpetrator in himself? She became aware that Jens was speaking again and she straightened up in order to listen.

“Peter is on his way to you. He has two videotapes with him, which we found in Emil’s apartment. They’re very. . interesting. For both you and us. And I can tell you that we’ve identified the owner of the hair you found in one of the sacks with Marcus’s body parts.”

He paused for dramatic effect and Irene realized that she was holding her breath.

“The hair comes from Emil Bentsen.”

“Emil?” Irene repeated, amazed.

Her brain went on strike. Then the wheels began to turn and she managed to say, “But Emil himself was murdered!”

“You’ll have to look at the tapes. Then you’ll understand. The stains on one of the police uniforms were human blood. We’re matching them against that of Carmen Østergaard and Marcus Tosscander. The results will be ready tomorrow morning at the earliest. Peter should be in Göteborg between eleven and twelve. Order a good lunch. It will be a long one.”

After a curt good-bye, Irene put down the receiver. Her thoughts were spinning chaotically. What was she going to do? Her attempt at keeping Tom outside the investigation had failed. He was alive but seriously hurt. And this was plainly her fault.

She made up her mind. She rose and went into the room where her colleagues were still meeting.

When she opened the door, they turned their questioning faces toward her.

“Some dramatic things have happened in Copenhagen, which make it necessary for me to add to my report,” she said decisively.

SUPERINTENDENT ANDERSSON had flown through the roof. Irene was used to it but this fit had lasted longer than usual. When he was done scolding, it was clear Irene had landed in the soup.

The reactions from her other colleagues were largely condemnatory. Tommy was the only one who smiled supportively.

When his irritation had abated, the superintendent decided that Hannu and Jonny should be present during Irene’s meeting with Peter Møller.

“So that we can be sure our Danish colleague walks out of here alive,” Andersson concluded, with a dark look in Irene’s direction.

She restrained herself from answering. Possibly, she hadn’t dealt with things in the best way when she consciously withheld facts. Despite this, she still felt convinced that she would have done the same thing if she had the chance to do it all over again. Her attempt to protect Tom had failed, but she had really tried.

The fact that Jonny was in a terribly whiny mood didn’t help things. His bloodshot eyes and minty-smelling breath gave rise to the suspicion that he was hungover. Had he continued to drink after returning home from Copenhagen? After morning prayers, he whined several times about how unsociable Irene had been in Copenhagen. Finally, her irritation overcame her. She pulled him into her office and closed the door in Hannu’s face. Aggressively, she shoved her face toward his and said in a low voice vibrating with restrained fury, “It’s possible that I’ve dealt poorly with this case and I’ve been thoroughly reprimanded by the boss for my mistakes. But in any case, I’ve tried to do my job as best I can. That’s more than I can say for you! You were loaded from your first step onto Danish soil until we went home! Is that what you call being sociable?”

Jonny was still in shock from being dragged into a room without warning. He couldn’t come up with anything to say in self-defense. But Irene could see dark anger rising in his bloodshot eyes. After a period of silence, the anger was transformed into gushing hatred. Without a word, he turned and tore the door open, almost stomping on Hannu, who still stood outside. Hannu thoughtfully looked at Jonny’s back disappearing down the hallway. Then he turned his gaze on Irene.

“He needed to hear that,” he said.

Her anger left Irene as quickly as it had come. She felt emptied of any strength, both mental and physical. She sank into her chair, exhausted. Hannu came in and closed the door behind him.

“Have you known about Jonny’s drinking problem for long?” she asked.

“I’ve had my suspicions for about a year.”

“I hadn’t really thought about it until the trip to Copenhagen. What made you suspicious?”

“He’s often sick on Mondays or comes in late. Smells of old booze sometimes. On Fridays he disappears early in order to make it to the state liquor store before it closes. He uses a lot of breath spray and cough drops. And he’s always drunk at parties.”

When Irene thought back, everything Hannu cited added up.

“He needs help. What do we do?” she asked.

Hannu shrugged. Irene realized that he was right. What do you do when a colleague has a drinking problem if he refuses to acknowledge it? Jonny would go crazy if they tried to get him help. Talking to the boss wouldn’t do any good. Andersson hated employee problems. What a “fuss,” he would say, and mumble, and pretend they didn’t exist.

With a sigh, Irene decided to leave Jonny’s problems hanging. She had enough of her own to deal with. Peter Møller was expected to show up in two hours.

PETER ANNOUNCED his arrival at the front desk at eleven thirty on the dot. With an unpleasant, tingly feeling in her stomach, Irene took the elevator down to accompany him to their unit. Their meeting was stiff and cold, just as she had expected. The intimacy of the restaurant visit had vanished completely. Had it ever been there or had she just imagined it? Irene was unsure where she stood with him as she breathed in his wonderful scent. His expression was neutral and he displayed no special feelings. Dressed in a thin light gray blazer, dark blue pants, and a chalk white shirt without a tie, he looked like a bank director on his day off. Definitely not like a police officer.

He held a briefcase in cognac-colored leather in his right hand. Expensive. Probably his own, thought Irene.

He greeted Hannu as he entered the office. Jonny hadn’t arrived yet. Irene asked them to be seated. Peter, with the briefcase in his lap, started by saying, “We need a VCR.”

“Not a problem. We have one in the break room,” said Irene.

Peter shook his head. “Not the break room. Someplace where only we can see.”

“I can take care of that,” said Hannu. He disappeared into the corridor.

When he had closed the door, Irene said, “Tell me what’s happened to Tom.”

Her distressed tone of voice didn’t escape Peter’s attention. He observed her closely before he said, “If only I could understand how the two of you ever hooked up.”