Helene Tursten - The Torso

“Fredrik is at Financial Crimes. Apparently there’s a good chance of pulling in Robert Larsson for economic fraud. Since we don’t have witnesses anymore we’ll never get him for murdering Laban,” Andersson informed them before they rose from morning prayers.

THE FIRST thing Irene did when she returned to her office was to dial Erik Bolin’s number. There was still no answer. She remembered that he had a family. He might still be at home. After a brief search in the phone book she found Erik, photographer, and Sara Bolin, dental technician, at an address very close to where she lived.

Irene only heard one ring before the phone was answered.

“Sara Bolin,” a strained woman’s voice said in a proper Göteborg dialect.

“Good morning. My name is Irene Huss. I’m looking for Erik Bolin.”

“Who are you?”

Irene was surprised by the question but answered, “I’m an Inspector with the Crime Police and I’ve been in touch with Erik about a case and. .”

“For goodness’ sake! Don’t be so long-winded! Have you found him?”

Irene was dumbstruck and couldn’t come up with anything more intelligent than “Who?”

“Erik, of course! I called early this morning!”

“Wait a second. Has Erik Bolin disappeared?”

It became quiet for a moment before Sara Bolin’s shaking voice could be heard again. “Yes. Didn’t you know?”

“No. I’m looking for him with respect to a case. . a person he knew.”

Now Sara’s voice became guarded. “I understand. Marcus.”

“Exactly. Did you know him?”

“No. I’ve never met him. He was. . Erik’s.”

There was a pause.

“Did I understand you correctly? You have reported Erik missing?” she asked carefully.

“Yes. When I woke up this morning, his bed was empty. He didn’t come home last night.”

“Is he gone overnight occasionally?”

“Yes. But he always calls. And he always calls if he’s going to be late. He often is, at his job.”

“Didn’t you miss him last night?”

“Yes. But he called earlier yesterday afternoon and said that he would be late. So I wasn’t all that worried when it was nine o’clock and he hadn’t come home. I was mostly irritated. I called the studio but he wasn’t there. So I went to bed. I was very tired and must have fallen asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.”

Irene agreed it was worrisome that Erik Bolin was missing. “Do you have a key to the studio?”

“No. Erik has the only key.”

Irene was about to ask why they didn’t have an extra key at home, but realized that was a question she should ask Erik and not his wife.

She made up her mind. “I’ll go to the studio and see if I can get inside.”

“Thanks.”

She almost collided with Hannu on the way out.

“Come on. Erik Bolin has disappeared,” she said quickly.

Without asking any questions, Hannu went to get his jacket.

DURING THE car ride to Kastellgatan, Irene briefly went over what she knew about Erik’s disappearance, which wasn’t all that much.

“He quite simply never came home last night,” she concluded.

“So, according to the wife, he’s often late but always calls home,” Hannu ascertained.

“Exactly.”

“So he has time to meet boyfriends.”

“You mean in the evenings? Before he goes home to his family?”

“Yes.”

Hannu was right. The previous day, Irene had had a strong feeling that she should have dug deeper into Erik Bolin’s relationship with Marcus and Basta. Now she regretted her omission.

“Could it be a triangle drama?” she asked.

Hannu asked, “How so?”

“If Marcus loved Basta and Erik loved Marcus and Basta loved Erik. .”

She stopped and thought the sequence through to see if she had said it correctly. She had. Resolutely, she continued, “. . then maybe Basta murdered Marcus. In order to get Erik.”

Hannu said, “Hardly. Remember Carmen Østergaard. And Isabell and Emil. It doesn’t fit.”

Irene had to admit that he was right. But there was something in the thought that she didn’t want to let go. Would Erik and Marcus have continued their relationship on a friendship basis for several years?

The pictures of Marcus were taken through the eyes of a man in love. And would the man in love let his lover go to have sex with another man behind an old lighthouse? Not on your life. Even if, according to Anders Gunnarsson, homosexuals could sometimes have a more relaxed view of unfaithfulness, they still weren’t immune to jealousy.

Something in Erik Bolin’s story didn’t add up. She had sensed it yesterday but hadn’t really realized it until now. Now she was more concerned and unconsciously increased her speed, despite the heavy traffic.

“Fifty,” Hannu pointed out.

A glance at the speedometer showed sixty-five. Embarrassed, she eased off the gas pedal.

THE OUTER door of the studio was just as it had been the day before. Irene knocked hard and long without any response. Hannu opened the metal lid of the mail slot and peered into the hall. He stood for a long time and looked without saying anything. When he turned toward Irene, he looked very serious.

“We have to call a locksmith,” he said.

Irene pulled out her cell phone and did as he had said. The locksmith would come within half an hour. She ended the conversation and leaned forward in order to see what Hannu had seen.

Inside the door were a lot of newspapers and mail. Glass shards and a piece of a broken silver-coated wooden frame could be seen at the periphery of her field of vision. Several large rust brown stains were visible on the light pinkish-colored floor.

“There’s been a violent struggle in there. It looks like dried bloodstains on the floor. There weren’t any pieces of glass or a broken frame on the floor when I left yesterday around four thirty,” said Irene.

Hannu nodded, expressionlessly, an unfailing sign that he was worried.

While they were waiting for the locksmith, they read the names of the other tenants in the building. The house had five stories, with two apartments on every floor. They decided to wait to question the neighbors until they had more information about what had happened in the studio.

The locksmith arrived and opened the door. He disappeared as quickly as he had shown up.

The light in the hall was on. Both Irene and Hannu stopped in the doorway in order to get an overview of the situation. One of Bolin’s framed gallery photos was lying on the floor, completely broken into pieces. The glass was crushed, the frame was broken into small bits, and the picture itself had been cut into strips. They were wide enough that Irene could make out the shape of an infant’s head against a woman’s chest in one of them. It was the photo of Erik Bolin’s family.

From a door on the left, which had been closed when Irene had been there the day before, a trail of rust red stains led to the outer door.

Hannu saw it first. He gave a start and Irene followed his eyes to a point above her right shoulder. She screamed. The floor rocked.

Erik Bolin’s head lay on top of a hat rack, gazing at them with half-closed eyes.

“Stand still,” said Hannu.

He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and called for backup.

“WELL, WELL. Now Irene is home again and they’re starting to drop like flies here in Göteborg,” said Jonny.

He laughed loudly in order to show that it was a joke but none of the others were smiling. Andersson gave him a dark look that effectively silenced any more such comments. The superintendent turned to Irene and said, “Could you sum up your actions yesterday and today?”

Irene gave an account of her visit to Bolin’s studio. She went to get Manpower from her office since Fredrik Stridh and Birgitta Moberg hadn’t seen it. Then she told them about her conversation with Sara Bolin that morning. She briefly mentioned the visit she and Hannu had made to Björnekulla in order to inform the widow of her husband’s death.