Helene Tursten - The Torso

Irene saw how close she was to bursting into tears. In order to distract her, Irene threw the picture of Manpower on top of the photo of Marcus.

“Do you recognize this man?” she asked.

For a second, Sara Bolin looked confused. Hesitantly, she picked up the picture of Basta and examined it. Then she lowered it and looked at Irene again.

“Of course I recognize the picture itself. It was part of the exhibition and it looked like this. But I have no idea who the man is.”

“Erik never said anything about this man or mentioned his name?”

“No.”

Irene saw that several nice pictures were hanging on the walls. A thought struck her. She pointed at the photos on the table and said, “I see you are displaying many of Erik’s photographs on the walls. Is it possible that the enlargement of one of these two photos is hanging somewhere in the house?”

Sara’s voice was harsh when she replied, “No. I decide what is going to hang on the walls!”

She was interrupted by a child’s cry. She rose and said apologetically, “Kristian is awake. He’s crying for me to come and change his diaper. It’s always so wet when he’s been sleeping and. .”

The last part of the sentence faded away as she entered the hall. Irene turned to Hannu and said teasingly, “The parents of small children have such interesting conversational topics.”

Hannu raised his eyebrows a fraction of a millimeter and said, “Really.”

She was close to saying, “Just wait and see when it’s your turn,” but she stopped herself. Hannu would never sit and discuss his child’s diaper status with anyone.

They got up at the same time and started toward the glass doors. Sara Bolin came out of a door a little farther down the corridor. In her arms she was carrying a baby, still warm with sleep, who had thrown his chubby arms around her neck and burrowed his dark head under her chin.

“Thanks for letting us stop by,” said Irene.

Sara Bolin tried to smile bravely. “Naturally, I’m interested in seeing my husband’s murder solved. Of course, I’ll help any way I can.”

The little one in her arms became conscious of the strangers in the house. He turned and looked at Irene. Her throat tightened when she looked into Erik Bolin’s amber eyes.

HANNU CALLED Birgitta on the cell phone and they decided on a time to meet outside the station house. Fifteen minutes later, he and Irene picked her up in an unmarked police car. During the ride, Irene and Hannu had decided to eat lunch at the Göteborg City Museum. Birgitta had enthusiastically talked about the restaurant on the ground floor several times, but Irene had never been there despite repeated urgings. Now it would actually happen.

After circling for several minutes they managed to find a parking spot on Packhuskajen. It was a ways to walk but that was a bonus in the gorgeous weather.

Hannu held the door open for the ladies and invited them to step into the eighteenth century. Irene’s eyes had a hard time adjusting to the half darkness under the restaurant’s stone arches. The staff’s clothes-rough homespun skirts and stiff white aprons-were reminiscent of bygone centuries.

“It wouldn’t surprise me if today’s lunch is cold herring with dill and chives and mashed rutabaga,” Irene whispered to Birgitta.

They managed to get an empty table and ordered from the menu, which offered three lunch alternatives. Irene took a Creole brochette with potato wedges, and a light beer. Both Hannu and Birgitta chose the haddock in a white wine sauce with scalloped potatoes. Typical of newlyweds to choose the same thing, thought Irene.

The food was very good and Irene realized how hungry she was. Even if it wasn’t the cheapest lunch special she had ever had, it was worth the money.

During the meal they sat and chatted about everything but the current investigation. The big news that neither Irene nor anyone else in Violent Crimes had heard-was that Birgitta and Hannu were in the process of renovating an older house in Västra Bodarna. An explanation of the location established that the house was a few kilometers southwest of Alingsås and not in Dalsland, which Irene had originally thought.

“We’ll be moving at the beginning of August,” Birgitta chirped.

It wasn’t possible to overlook her happiness; it haloed her.

Had Irene felt that way when she and Krister moved into their row house twelve years earlier? Maybe something approaching it but not quite as strong. The twins had just turned four and were particularly active. Irene thought it was wonderful not to be squeezed into two rooms and a kitchen on Smörslottsgatan. Out in Fiskebäck they could let the girls run free on the lawn and in the playgrounds but, of course, under some parental supervision. The young Huss girls had been very adventurous and often ran off on their own adventures.

“And the property is three thousand square meters,” Birgitta bubbled enthusiastically.

Irene raised her eyebrows and turned to Hannu.

“Riding lawn mower?” she asked.

He smiled faintly and shrugged. That could mean anything from “probably” to “who cares?”

During coffee Birgitta changed the subject and said, “Svante Malm and some technician from Copenhagen inform each other of all their findings and clues. It’s saving double work. And Svante is sending some samples for testing directly to Copenhagen. The noose is tightening around Basta.”

“I wish it would. And that we could identify him at some point,” sighed Irene.

“He’s killed too many times and left too many clues. We’ll get him,” said Hannu.

WHEN IRENE opened the door to her home at nearly six o’clock, she couldn’t detect the slightest smell of food. Yet the whole family appeared to be at home, gathered in the kitchen. Laughter could be heard and something that sounded suspiciously like baby talk. Irene stood in the doorway but no one took any notice of her. Not even Sammie. Everyone’s attention was concentrated on the fuzzy little bundle who was chasing Sammie and trying to nip his leg hairs and dignified whiskers. The result of his romance with the poodle champion had arrived.

Pappa Sammie was very upset. A dignified middle-aged man shouldn’t have to put up with this sort of thing. He wasn’t fond of youngsters either! Hyper-irritated over his obtrusive son’s bad habits, he growled and laid the puppy out flat on the floor. The fur ball immediately turned up his almost hairless round stomach.

“Oooooh, he’s sooooo cuuuuute!” Katarina crooned.

“How long has he been here?” Irene asked.

Now the family discovered that she had arrived.

“The old bag brought him over as soon as Jenny and I came home from school. She must have been standing outside, lying in wait,” said Katarina.

“But she actually gave us a leash.” Jenny tried to smooth things over.

“And he has all the vaccinations he needs,” Krister added. He energetically waved a veterinary certificate to back up his statement.

“Uh-huh. And you think it’s going to work with Sammie. He’s used to being everyone’s darling and the center of attention. I think he’s too old to get used to living with a puppy,” Irene sighed.

Krister brushed off her protests with the paper he was holding in his hand and said, “Oh! Now you’re being pessimistic, kiddo. He’ll get used to it. It’ll be fun for him not to have to be alone when we aren’t home.”

“What do you think we should name him?” asked Katarina.

Irene looked at the little creature and then said acidly, “What about Tinkler? And do you see what he’s doing under the kitchen table right now?”

THE MORNING AFTER THE first night, it was clear to the Huss family that it was going to take a while for Tinkler to become house-trained and acclimated to his new environment. Sammie had openly shown his distaste toward the ill-mannered rascal. Tinkler adored his father even if it was doubtful that the dogs had a clear idea of the relationship. The result was that Sammie had desperately tried to crawl under the beds and hide in the recliner while Tinkler thought that it was a very funny game and stubbornly followed him. When Sammie became really annoyed and barked at Tinkler, the little one had been scared out of his wits and become sad. He had sat whining and crying in the darkness, abandoned. No one in the Huss family had slept many hours that night.