Helene Tursten - The Torso

“Basta. Bastu. Bastuklubb!” Jonny grinned. “Steamy! Like a bath-house.”

“Maybe he’s strict. Basta could refer to that,” Birgitta suggested.

“There could be something there. Marcus was evidently a masochist. Basta could mean a strict enforcer,” Irene agreed.

Hannu spoke up. “I’ve been thinking about the location where they dismembered Marcus. On the video you can see a window high up on the wall. Twice you can see blinking lights that are moving. It’s dark outside. The lights can clearly be seen. I’ve contacted a friend who is an air traffic controller and have shown it to him. He says that the first light you can see is that of a helicopter taking off and the other is an airplane that’s landing.

“That’s a clue. But which airfield can it be? Landvetter?” Andersson wondered.

“No. The plane is small. It must be Säve. That’s the only one with enough traffic for there to be two light aircraft in ten minutes. I’m thinking about checking to see if there are any interesting locations nearby,” said Hannu.

Irene thought this seemed soundly reasoned. They had to start looking for the location and this was a start. Everyone else had been completely focused on the macabre scene that had played on the television screen. As usual, Hannu had been thinking for himself.

“And we’ll return to our lists,” Irene pointed out and nodded at Birgitta.

“It’s probably safest that way. To have you here in the station,” the superintendent muttered.

IRENE PUTa red mark next to the names of people she couldn’t contact and those she thought would be interesting to meet face to face. She had gone through over twenty names and put a red mark next to five of them. If Basta wasn’t among these five, then she would have to go back to the list and go through more names. It was boring and time consuming. There wasn’t much police action, drama, or glamour in this kind of thing. But that was how you solved a crime: you didn’t set aside any project until it had been thoroughly checked and judged to be exhausted.

Just as she was stretching her hand out to make the twenty-fifth call, her phone rang.

“Inspector Irene Huss,” she answered.

“My name is Hen. . Henning Oppdal,” said a soft man’s voice.

Irene couldn’t decide if the man was stammering because of a speech impediment or just because he was nervous. She sensed a faint Norwegian accent. The name didn’t mean anything to her.

“What can I help you with?” she asked in a friendly manner.

“I know Pontus. He said that I should. . should call you.” Pontus? Irene needed to think before she recalled him.

“Ohh, you know Pontus Zander. Do you also work in the health field?”

“Yes. I’m an X-ray technician.”

This was followed by silence. Each was waiting for the other to continue.

“Why did Pontus think you should contact me?” Irene finally asked in order to move the conversation along.

“I told him about something. A terrible thing I experienced over the winter. Pontus had apparently spoken with you about the mur. . murder of Marcus Tosscander. And you had talked about some sick things. Like nec. . necrophilia and stuff like that.”

“That’s right. We know that Marcus’s murderer is involved with things like that. Did you know Marcus?”

“No, I’ve never met him.”

“But you’ve experienced something that may have a connection to necrophilia. Have I understood you correctly?”

“Yes. At the end of January I met a guy at a bar at the Central Station. We met and, well, we were attracted to each other. After a while he thought we should leave to. . together. We walked along Stampgatan. I thought we were going to go home to his place, but it wasn’t like that.”

“Sorry for interrupting, but what did he look like? Did he say his name?”

“He was tall and in good shape. Shoulder-length hair pulled back in a ponytail. I don’t know his real name. He just said that his name was B …Basta.”

Irene felt her pulse rate increase but didn’t say anything. Henning continued. “At the cemetery that is right next to Sta. . Stampgatan, he said, ‘We’ll go in here. I have a really cozy place here.’ I thought it sounded strange and it was below freezing that night. But I went along anyway. It was dark and terrifying! But he walked straight to a large mausoleum with an iron door. Then he took out a key and unlocked it. I was scared to death. I turned and rushed toward the ga. . gates. As luck would have it, he had left them open.”

“Did he run after you?”

“I don’t know. I’m a long-distance runner. I run several mi. . miles a week. He wouldn’t have had a chance if he had tried to catch me.”

You should thank your lucky stars for that. You’ve probably never been that close to death before, thought Irene. She said aloud, “Where was the mausoleum located? In the cemetery itself, I mean.”

“Straight ahead. Maybe a hundred meters from the entrance.”

There was every reason to investigate the mausoleum. Stampen’s old burial ground was known for lavish graves and mausoleums. At the last moment, Irene remembered that she wasn’t allowed to go out alone. It would be best to ask a colleague to accompany her.

“Is it possible for you to come to the police station? I have a photo I would really like you to take a look at,” she said.

“I cou. . could probably do that. I’m off work tomorrow.”

“Can you come around nine o’clock?”

“That would be fine.”

Irene thanked him for calling and put down the receiver.

Wow! Basta had been cruising on his own in January, without Emil. Or hadn’t he planned to kill Henning? Was the cemetery just a morbid place to have sex that attracted Basta? Thank God they’d never know, since Henning got away. But maybe she could find evidence there, maybe someone hadn’t been so lucky?

Irene decided to check out the grave right after lunch.

BIRGITTA AND Irene had eaten a good lunch at the Central Station’s restaurant. The bustle of people outside contrasted with the turn-of-the-century atmosphere of the restaurant. The dark wood paneling on the walls made for a calm atmosphere even if the restaurant was completely full. The daily special, pasta marinara, was definitely approved. While they were eating, Irene described Henning’s phone call.

Birgitta listened without interrupting. When Irene was finished she said, “We need to take a look at the mausoleum, if we can find the right one. We’ll probably have to check out several of them.”

Irene nodded. “What do we do?” she asked. “How should we proceed?”

Birgitta took out her cell phone and said, “We’ll call Hannu. He’ll know.”

She speed-dialed a number. “Hi, sweetie. Where are you?”

It sounded strange to Irene to hear Birgitta call Hannu “sweetie.” But maybe one gets used to it, she thought.

Birgitta said, with a look at Irene, “Of course. But first you have to help us with something. We need to look in some mausoleums at Stampen’s old cemetery. No, not dig up. These are the kind of graves that have doors and walls. Like little houses. Irene got a tip today that has to do with Basta. Do you know who to talk to when you need to have those doors unlocked?”

She listened and nodded before she said, “OK. Call if it works out.” Birgitta handed the phone to Irene.

“Hi, Irene. I asked Birgitta to see if you can come along when I question Sara Bolin. But there won’t be enough time today. Can you come with me tomorrow morning?”

“No. I’m going to meet the witness who provided the tip about the graveyard. But after eleven will be OK,” said Irene.

“Then I’ll get in touch with Sara and make an appointment after eleven.”