Helene Tursten: The Torso

Hannu nodded.

They went to get Birgitta and trooped across the street. The insurance office building’s restaurant was serving pan-fried breaded fish with cucumber mayonnaise and potatoes, which was usually very good.

“A witness has appeared who says that he saw a tall, well-built man enter Bolin’s Commercial Photography Company at around six o’clock on the evening that Erik Bolin was murdered. The witness is an older man who lives a few blocks farther down. He was out with his dog when he saw the man open the door. He noticed the ponytail in particular. Apparently he really dislikes ponytails on men,” said Birgitta.

“Does he remember how the man was dressed?” asked Irene.

They spoke quietly, since not everyone in the lunchroom was a police officer.

“Black jacket, black jeans, and a small shoulder bag. I asked specifically about the size of the bag. We agreed that it was about nine by fourteen, or somewhat larger,” said Birgitta.

“Big enough to hold a good-sized knife and some sliced-off muscle tissue. Too small for a head,” Hannu said dryly.

“You think that’s why he left the head on the hat rack,” Irene clarified.

“Yes.”

Irene tried to suppress the image of Bolin’s dull eyes behind half-closed lids.

“Did the witness see a car that the black-clad man might have gotten out of?” Irene continued.

“No. I tried several times to refresh his recollection but he doesn’t remember a car. Just a man walking into the building at the time in question. His description matches that of Sebastian Martinsson,” said Birgitta.

“He probably arrived by car and left a few hours later without anyone noticing,” said Irene.

“We’ve connected him to all of the murders. Now it’s just Basta himself who’s missing,” Birgitta concluded.

“Sometimes I think that he’s hidden himself here in the city and is laughing at us. And sometimes I think he has no idea that we are so close to him and he’s walking around carefree on the streets of Copenhagen or somewhere else,” Irene sighed.

“Just as long as we get him before he commits another murder,” said Birgitta.

JEN SMETZ had been trying to reach her while she was out to lunch. Irene felt hopeful when she caught sight of the message to phone him. Had they found Sebastian? She quickly dialed Jens’s direct number.

“Inspector Metz.”

“Irene Huss here. You called me.”

“Yes. We’ve gotten hold of Martinsson’s address. Unfortunately, we haven’t gotten hold of Martinsson himself, but we’ve put his apartment under surveillance.”

“Great! Do you know if he’s in Copenhagen?”

“Probably. The art school is called Krøyer Academy, not Kreuger Academy. It had closed but we managed to reach the director’s secretary. She found his address in her records. She also said that the school is about to reopen and he is listed as an instructor for a summer course that starts today and lasts for three weeks.”

“Then you can pick him up at the school?”

“That’s what is really strange. He didn’t show up for the beginning of the class. All the instructors were supposed to meet their students at the first morning lesson. But Martinsson never came. The secretary was very irritated but also confused. According to her, Martinsson had been so happy when he got the job. And then to screw up on the first day!”

“Then maybe he’s left town. Maybe he suspected something and cleared out.”

“The risk is there. We’ve sent inspectors to his address. His apartment is located here, on Istedgade. I have a hunch that he’s here in the neighborhood. If he is, we’ll get him.”

“Have you been inside his apartment?”

“Not yet. It’s better if he walks into the trap without suspecting anything. But if he hasn’t shown by the evening, we’ll go in.”

“That sounds good. I hope you get him.”

“If he’s here, we will. I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”

“Thanks.”

Irene felt her pulse pounding in her temples. Finally they were closing in on Sebastian!

IRENE DIDN’T SLEEPWELL that night. In a dream, she ran after a fleeing shadow, through dark alleys and deserted streets. She kept growing closer, certain she would catch the black silhouette. But when she rounded the corner of a house she ran into a soft, formless mass. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a sturdy knife blade glimmer and realized that she was going to die. Her arms were leaden and she didn’t have the strength to raise them to protect herself. The knife flew right in front of her face and, suddenly, in a lightning-quick arc, it dove down toward her heart.

Krister woke her and asked why she was screaming. When the question was repeated for the third time, she gave up and went down to the kitchen. A mug of milk warmed in the microwave and a piece of hard bread with cheese put her in a better mood. The clock read 4:10 a.m. when she crawled back under the covers, but it was impossible for her to fall asleep again.

“IRENE! COPENHAGEN on the line for you!” Tommy yelled.

Irene was on her way out to fill her coffee mug but she ran back to her chair. Expectantly, she pulled the receiver toward her.

“This is Irene. Have you found him?”

“Yes. But I need to ask a few questions first.”

Jens Metz sounded very official and proper. Irene realized immediately that something wasn’t right. Oh no! Not Tom! Not Tom! echoed inside her. Like an answer to her thoughts, Metz asked, “Have you had any contact with Tom Tanaka recently?”

Something in his tone of voice and the way he asked the question made Irene sense danger. She knew she must be careful about what she said.

“Tom called me a few days ago and thanked me for the flowers I had sent by Peter Møller,” she said.

Irene was well aware of how easy it was to trace a cell phone call.

Metz’s voice revealed real surprise when he exclaimed, “Did Peter take flowers to that. .?” He stopped himself before he had finished his sentence but Irene already knew how he felt about Tom.

“Yes. I asked him to,” she said.

“Did he only thank you for the flowers?”

Why was Metz asking this? Now she was on full alert. With feigned ease, she answered, “Yes. Apparently he loves orchids. He also said that he had just come home and wasn’t fully recovered.”

Irene sensed Jens’s silent misgivings flood toward her through the receiver. Finally, he asked, “You never mentioned Sebastian Martinsson’s name to Tom, or that he was in Copenhagen?”

“No.”

Irene’s heart was beating fast. Tommy seemed not to notice anything as he was deeply engrossed in a text on his computer screen.

“Are you absolutely sure? You never said anything about Sebastian Martinsson?”

With a struggle, Irene controlled her voice as she answered, “No. I never spoke with Tom about Sebastian Martinsson.”

She knew that if they ever pressured Tom on this point he wouldn’t give a truthful answer. She was good at lying but he was a master at keeping quiet.

“We’ve found Sebastian Martinsson. Dead,” Metz told her.

“Dead?” Irene repeated, surprised.

“Yes. We entered his apartment at around nine o’clock last night. He was lying on his bed dead, wearing a muzzle, his hands and feet bound. His stomach was cut open and his intestines were lying on top of his chest. According to the pathologist, Martinsson had been lying there, looking at his own intestines, for several minutes before he died.”

Irene’s head was spinning. She felt ready to faint. Her mouth was bone dry and she only managed to croak, “Oh my God!”

“It was one of the worst things I’ve ever seen,” Metz said.