The Torso: A Detective Inspector Huss Investigation, Vol. 2 (31 page)

“You gave him Emil’s address?”

“Yes.”

“But then you knew where Marcus was living in Copenhagen.”

For the first time something that could be interpreted as a smile crossed Pahliss’s face.

“We didn’t know. Marcus went around and asked everyone he knew about places to stay in Copenhagen. He was loaded down with addresses when he left. He was going to stay at a hotel the first few days and then let us know when he had decided on a permanent address.”

Hans Pahliss suddenly seemed to discover his mug on the desk and took a large gulp of the lukewarm coffee.

“But he never did?”

“No.”

They finally had an explanation for how Marcus had ended up at Emil’s. Irene’s thoughts were interrupted when Hannu asked, “Who gave you Emil’s address?”

For the first time, Pahliss looked uncertain. But when he realized that the police officers had noticed his hesitancy, he said with assurance, “Actually one of my exes. Before you ask: yes, Anders knows him and we hang out as friends.”

His tone of voice sharpened.

“Who?” Hannu repeated.

“Pontus Zander.”

“How did he know Emil Bentsen?”

“No idea.”

“How can we reach Pontus Zander?”

“The emergency room at Sahlgren Hospital. He’s a nurse. Otherwise he lives on Kungshöjd.”

Pahliss gave them Zander’s address and telephone number.

Irene quickly asked the next question. “You were in Copenhagen in February and March of 1997. Did you return there at the end of May that year?”

Pahliss shook his head with emphasis. “No. I didn’t return until just before Christmas 1997.”

“Did you live with Emil Bentsen then?”

“No. It was just for four days. Anders was with me. We stayed at a hotel.”

“Did you keep in touch with Emil after you had moved?”

Pahliss looked uncertain again. “No. I sent a Christmas card that year but there was nothing else.”

“Did you spend time with Emil while you were living there?”

Now Pahliss became irritated. “I didn’t live with him. I rented an apartment from him. We hardly saw each other. During the two months I stayed there I was rarely home before ten. Then I stumbled into bed and slept. Research is not a nine-to-five job.”

“What did you think about Emil?”

“Nothing. As I said, we didn’t spend any time together.”

He stopped and looked sharply at Hannu. “Why are you asking about Emil Bentsen?”

Irene was the one who revealed Emil’s murder. Hans Pahliss didn’t interrupt her. When she was finished, he sat in silence. Finally he whispered, “What is happening? First Marcus and now Emil . . .”

Irene tried to choose her words. “There have been two other murders that bear the signature of this murderer. But those victims were women. It is the dismemberment and . . . a few other things that indicate it’s the same killer. Our medical examiners say that the killer’s method points to a strong familiarity with autopsy procedures,” she said.

Irene paused dramatically in order to see Pahliss’s reaction. There was none. She continued, “We think that both Marcus and Emil knew the killer. There is a possibility that you and Anders also know him. You happen to be a doctor and may also know others who could—”

“No! None of the doctors I know could do such a thing! Doctors don’t do that sort of thing!”

“You aren’t aware of any rumors about a colleague who has particular tendencies?” Irene asked calmly.

Pahliss was still upset. His temper was hidden beneath a calm surface but his voice was filled with rage when he answered.

“No! Absolutely not!”

He squeezed his interlaced hands so tightly that the knuckles turned white.

Hannu said in an expressionless voice, “We’re searching for a terrifying killer. He’s going to kill again. And he’s probably in your vicinity.”

The effect on Hans Pahliss was like that of a bucket of ice-cold water. First he sat frozen, then he slowly loosened up. He crumpled up in his chair and put his hands over his face. Neither Irene nor Hannu said anything. After some time he took his hands away and looked at both officers. He was teary eyed. He said, “It’s possible that he is close to me. I just don’t know who he is. Marcus was drawn to men with, as you say, particular tendencies. He had other men as well. I guess you could say that they were more normal. But it never lasted. He was driven by his search for the . . . exotic. If he stayed with someone a longer time it was always one of these special types.”

“Did you notice any signs that might point to Marcus’s being drawn to necrophilia?”

Pahliss gave a start. His terror wasn’t for show. “No! Never.”

“Would you like to tell us more precisely what preferences he had?”

“Odd men. A lot of sadomasochism. But he never discussed his sexual adventures with me and Anders. We knew him only as a very good friend.”

Anders Gunnarsson had known him as more than a friend. But according to Gunnarsson that relationship had ended after only one week. That’s what Gunnarsson had said. Irene decided to speak with the dentist one more time.

“Do you know if Marcus was ever together with a doctor?” she asked.

The virologist thought for a moment. Then he shook his head. “Not that I know of.”

As he spoke he stiffened and gazed up at a point above Irene’s head. In a strained voice, he added, “Last summer . . . we were picnicking at Marstrand. We were a group of about ten people drinking wine and eating good food. I remember that Marcus got pretty drunk and started talking about a new guy he had just met. ‘He’s great. He’s my new personal physician,’ or something along those lines. Then he started laughing as if he had said something very funny.”

“He never mentioned that guy again?”

“No.”

Assurance was growing inside Irene. The doctor existed. And he was here in Göteborg.

 

HANS PAHLISS had gone and the feeling of the coming weekend began to descend over the offices on their floor. People had started going home; soon only the people on call would be left. A few hours of relative calm would engulf the station and then the weekend would start. Sirens would start blaring after darkness covered the city. It never got completely dark at the end of May, and the evening was warm. Teenagers who felt the end of the term drawing near would go out partying and let out a whole year’s worth of frustration. The adults, feeling “continental,” would congregate at the city’s restaurants and bars with outdoor seating. Together with the usual weekend quota of robberies and assaults, it pointed to a difficult night for the Göteborg police.

“How did it occur to you to ask Pahliss if he had been in Copenhagen?” Irene asked, curious.

Hannu shrugged his shoulders. “Just a whim. I thought about his conference in Paris. If he had been to Paris, then he could also have been to Copenhagen,” he said.

“We should try and talk with this Pontus Zander as soon as possible,” Irene thought out loud.

Hannu nodded. “I’ll look for him.”

Irene couldn’t keep from saying teasingly, “You’re not in a hurry to get home to the wife?”

Hannu’s bottomless gaze passed quickly over her face before he answered, “She’s staking out the strip club until ten tonight.”

In an attempt to brush her silly comment aside, Irene said, “How is it going? Will they be able to get Robert Larsson for laundering money through the club?”

“Maybe.”

When would she learn that you couldn’t get Hannu to make any personal comments? This man made Greta Garbo look like an exhibitionist.

To change the topic, she asked, “Are you on call this weekend?”

“No.”

“I am. If you get Pontus Zander, arrange a good time and place with him. Put a note on my desk and I’ll take care of the questioning.”

“I will if I can’t meet him tonight. If I can, I’ll take it myself,” said Hannu.

“OK. Have a good weekend.”

“You, too.”

THE NOT WAS LYING in the middle of the desk. It was the first thing Irene saw when she stepped across the threshold of her office on Saturday morning. She put the coffee mug down on the desk with a yawn and read:

It was an unusually wordy message for Hannu. Irene hoped that he was right. Zander could be the breakthrough they had been waiting for, the explanation as to how the clues from Göteborg and Copenhagen came together.

 

IRENE WAS deeply engrossed in routine duties that had been piling up when the intercom beeped and reception announced that a Pontus Zander wanted to see her. She turned off the computer and took out her authorization card.

She immediately knew who Pontus was when she stepped out of the elevator and looked through the glass wall toward the reception area. He was tall and blond, and looked a lot like Anders Gunnarsson. Apparently Pahliss was attracted to a certain type. The difference was that Pontus had longer hair, pulled together in a neat ponytail at the back of his neck.

Pontus stood talking with two uniformed police officers. They were laughing and seemed to know each other, which wasn’t all that surprising since Pontus worked in an emergency room. Irene cleared her throat lightly before saying, “Pontus Zander?”

He stopped in the middle of his conversation and smiled at Irene. “Yes, and you must be Irene Hysén?”

“Huss.”

They approached each other. His handshake was warm and firm. The two patrolmen said good-bye and went out through the main entrance door.

Irene made a stop at the coffee machine when they got to the fourth floor. With a steaming mug in each hand, she led Pontus into her office. She placed one mug on the desk next to her chair and the other in front of the visitor’s chair.

“Please sit down,” she said and gestured toward the chair.

Pontus Zander sat. The sun shone on his blond hair and a ray was reflected in his steely blue eyes, which were framed by thick dark eyelashes.

“I don’t know if my colleague had time to tell you what we wanted to ask you about,” Irene started.

She intentionally allowed her question to hang in the air. Pontus answered immediately, “No, I was very stressed when he called. We got a guy with hemorrhaging varicosities in his throat at the same time as five people injured in a minivan accident. Plus the usual bunch of emergencies that had been sitting and waiting for several hours. It was tough last night. God!”

He rolled his eyes and sighed. Irene was not absolutely certain as to what bleeding varicose-something was but she decided not to pursue the matter.

“As you know, we’re investigating the murder of Marcus Tosscander. Did you know him?” she asked instead.

“Not very well. We met at a party that Anders and Hans had. And at their wedding, of course. But otherwise I actually haven’t spent any time with Marcus.”

“You two never dated?”

Pontus looked genuinely surprised. “No, as I said, we didn’t know . . .” “Marcus wasn’t always diligent about getting to know his partners . . . beforehand. Are you absolutely sure that you were never together?”

Now Pontus had a mischievous look on his face. He smiled when he answered, “To be honest, I actually tried flirting with him at the wedding but he wasn’t interested. He only had eyes for a big dark-skinned American named Leon. A real motorcycle-and-leather queen.”

“Does Leon live in Göteborg?”

“No, Los Angeles. He’s a doctor. A virologist, just like Hans. That’s how they met and became good friends. Leon’s research concerns various HIV viruses, and Hans works with the herpes virus.”

“Do you know if Hans and Leon have been more than friends?”

“I actually don’t think they’ve ever been together. They aren’t each other’s type.”

“But Marcus and Leon were?”

Pontus pursed his lips and thought before he replied. “Leon was Marcus’s type. That much I can say.”

“But you weren’t.”

“No.” Pontus sighed lightly.

It was about time to discuss Copenhagen. In a neutral tone of voice, Irene said, “Exactly when did you live in Copenhagen?”

He looked surprised. “How do you . . . Almost three years ago.” “When exactly?”

“In October ’96.”

“What did you do there?”

“We have an exchange program within the union. You trade jobs and living quarters with a colleague in another Nordic country. Loads of fun!”

“How long were you in Copenhagen?”

“One month. But what does this have to do with Marcus—”

“How did you end up at Emil Bentsen’s?”

Now Pontus looked confused. “What does that matter? Isn’t it Marc—”

“I’ll get back to that. Could you please answer my question?”

“OK. The colleague who I was going to trade with was named Lise. Lise called two weeks before I was going to leave for Copenhagen and she was completely distraught! There had been a fire in her building and it wasn’t possible to stay in her apartment because of smoke and water damage. But she promised to arrange a place where I could live and she did. I know that she put an ad in the paper and got some replies. She decided on Emil Bentsen’s apartment and that’s where I stayed the whole time.”

“I understood from Hans Pahliss that you recommended that others rent from Emil when they needed a place to stay in Copenhagen.”

“Yes. The location and the rent are excellent.”

“What did you think of Emil?”

“He’s a little . . . strange. I didn’t see much of him. I was out on the town when I wasn’t working. But he was weird.”

“Weird? What do you mean?”

Pontus sat for a moment searching for words. Finally he said, “He played strange heavy metal at the highest volume. Completely incomprehensible music. It seemed to me that he was sneaking around. A few times I had the feeling that someone had been in my room while I was out, and sometimes I heard someone moving on the other side of the door in the kitchen. It led into Emil’s apartment. And one time I clearly saw and heard the door pulled shut when I came out into the kitchen early in the morning. God! He was scaring me half to death!”