The Torso: A Detective Inspector Huss Investigation, Vol. 2 (5 page)

“I don’t think it’s an ordinary tattoo. I don’t think just anyone did it,” said Birgitta.

“Find the tattoo artist in order to find a trail to the victim,” added Fredrik Stridh.

“The best thing would be if we had a photo of the tattoo so that we could show it to all of the tattoo artists in Göteborg,” said Jonny.

“You don’t want to walk around with a picture of what it looks like right now. Believe me!” Irene assured him.

She thought for a bit before she asked, “Could we arrange to have a drawing instead of a photo? A drawing would be much clearer.”

Andersson brightened and nodded. “It’s a good idea. I’ll try and arrange it.”

He turned toward Fredrik. “How is it going with last night’s stabbing?”

“The victim has been identified as Lennart Kvist; in drug circles he’s known as Laban. He’s a guy who has been in trouble for years and has a lot of drugs on his conscience. It was probably the result of some argument over a deal. A witness heard loud cries for help from behind Flora’s Hill. He called the police on his cell phone. The patrol found Laban’s dead body in the park. On the ground under him there was a open bag full of ready-to-sell heroin. Most likely the culprit is a client who hadn’t gotten the credit he wanted.”

“Did the witness see anyone running from the scene?” asked Andersson.

“No. The murderer probably disappeared in the direction of the Big Theater via the park; he may have gone along the canal.”

“OK. You and Birgitta are in charge of that investigation. Get in touch with Narcotics if you haven’t already done so. Irene, Jonny, and Hannu will continue with the murder-mutilation case. We’ll meet this afternoon around five.”

 

SEVEN TATTOO artists had placed advertisements for their services in the Yellow Pages. It was possible to get piercing done at some of the places. Painful treatments, which people subjected themselves to voluntarily, thought Irene. Personally, she hadn’t even dared get her ears pierced.

“There’s no point in running around to tattoo parlors before we have a picture to show them,” said Jonny.

“I’ll find out if Andersson has found an artist and if Stridner has called yet.”

Irene needed to stretch her legs a bit. Neither she nor Jonny had any good ideas when it came to the continued investigation. They needed a way to trace the victim’s identity.

On the way to Andersson’s office she ran into Hannu. He politely held the door open and she curtsied jokingly as she passed through it.

“Do you have to make a fuss about just walking through a door?” the superintendent said sourly.

There was a distinct feeling in the air that nothing of importance had occurred. Irene hurried to ask her question.

“No. No artist. And Stridner hasn’t—” He was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone. He quickly grabbed the receiver. “Superintendent Andersson. Yes. Oh? Hmm.” Andersson listened to the voice on the phone. From his stiff facial expression and the chattering voice that could be heard, the two listeners could tell he was speaking with Stridner herself. The superintendent’s sulky expression was slowly replaced by one of surprise. He hemmed and hawed monosyllabically before he managed to interrupt the sharp voice on the other end of the line.

“We have a slight problem. We need a drawing of the tattoo . . . no, preferably not a photo . . . drawing, yes . . . would be a bit clearer. Oh, really? Great!”

With the last sentence he brightened up and gave both his inspectors a triumphant look.

“Thanks a lot.”

He put down the receiver and unconsciously rubbed his hands together with satisfaction.

“Stridner will arrange for the sketch. One of the autopsy assistants is working on a degree in art. He’s there today. They’ll send the picture over when it’s finished.”

“Do they know if the victim is a man or a woman?” asked Hannu.

“A man. They did a chromosome test.”

Without changing his expression, he took away the top pages in the pile of missing persons information he was carrying.

“That leaves three,” he said.

“Stridner has also measured the skeleton. She says that the victim is a rather broad-shouldered man between twenty-five and thirty-five years of age, and between one hundred and seventy-five and one hundred and eighty-five centimeters in height. The body hair that was left on the chest was relatively dark. The man probably had dark hair, but not black according to Stridner.”

“A foreigner?” suggested Irene.

“Maybe. But he wasn’t dark skinned and didn’t have black hair. Probably brown to dark brown hair.”

Hannu flipped through his papers and placed yet another page farther back in the pile. “That leaves two,” he said calmly.

Irene could not contain her curiosity and asked, “Was it a man you weeded out?”

Hannu nodded. “Seventy-two years old. White haired. Heavy. One hundred and sixty-seven centimeters. Disappeared in Hindås in January. It’s not him.”

“Hardly. But which ones do you have left?” Andersson interrupted impatiently.

“Steffo Torberg. Thirty-two years old. Disappeared during a furlough from Kumla, March 13. In prison for seven years for bank robbery and manslaughter. He had one year left and had handled all of his furloughs excellently up till then. We know that he took a train to Göteborg to visit his family. Has two children down here with his ex-girlfriend. All traces disappear at the Central Station.”

“Didn’t he have some connection with a motorcycle gang?”

“The Brotherhood.”

“Not the best guys to have problems with? Did he?”

“Not that we know of.”

“Description?”

“One hundred and eighty-three centimeters, weighed about one hundred kilos. In good shape. Shoulder-length thick dark hair. Not black. Dark brown.”

“Tattoos?”

“Tons. Over his entire body.”

The superintendent sighed. “He probably looked like a comic strip.” “Probably.”

To Irene’s surprise, Hannu winked mischievously in her direction. Was he teasing the boss? She wasn’t sure, since he immediately returned to his neutral tone of voice.

“The next one has several tattoos and piercings.”

“Piercings? Damn!” Andersson said emphatically.

“He’s too young. Twenty-two years. Pierre Bardi. Has lived in Sweden for three years. The whole time in Stockholm. Disappeared March 22 after a fight with his live-in girlfriend. Pierre packed his bags and said that he was going back to Paris. He took his passport, two suitcases, and left. No one has seen him since. In Stockholm or in Paris.

“Description?”

“One hundred and seventy-six centimeters, in good shape and good health. Shoulder-length dark brown hair with blond highlights. Large tattoo on the left shoulder blade, right shoulder, and above the left nipple, though no dragon. Piercings in the nipples, through the top of the penis, in the right eyebrow, and in the tongue. Several gold rings in both ears.”

Andersson knitted his eyebrows in concentration. Finally he shook his head. “No. It isn’t either of them. Our body part only has one tattoo. He certainly could have had rings in his nipples, but we don’t know anything about that since the entire chest muscles are missing.”

Hannu nodded in agreement.

“So who is the victim? Could it be a foreigner nobody misses? A sailor?”

“No sailors have been reported missing during the last six months,” Hannu said calmly.

“Whoever he is, no one has reported him missing,” Andersson stated.

“We may have to publish the picture of the tattoo in the papers,” Irene suggested.

Andersson muttered to himself for a moment before he answered. “Maybe so. We’ll wait another day or so and see if we find more pieces of the victim.”

 

TWO MORE sacks were found that afternoon by a dog patrol searching the coastline south of Killevik. In a small overgrown bay, an old leaky skiff, turned upside down, was lying a few meters from the water. The dog instantly started for the boat, struggling to get to it. The two policemen carefully turned the skiff on its side. When they saw the sacks, they called in backup from Technical and from the Violent Crimes Unit.

The technicians were already hard at work when Irene and Jonny arrived. Svante Malm stopped photographing in order to greet them.

“Appears as though they belong to the same body we found the day before yesterday,” he said.

“What’s inside the sacks?” asked Irene.

“The lower part of the abdomen in one and the thighs in the other.”

The technician got back to his work with the camera.

Irene and Jonny walked around the discovery site. They had to watch where they put their feet because of the treacherously slippery stones and boulders. It was a gray and overcast afternoon, and the low-lying clouds warned of rain for the evening. Appropriately, a gloomy light shone over the ocean and the police officers on the beach. Beach grass was growing thickly around the skiff.

“Good hiding place,” Jonny pointed out.

“Yeah. No one comes here to swim. It’s too overgrown,” Irene agreed.

“Was the sack with the upper body also deposited here?”

They looked around, trying to answer the question. Finally Irene said, “No. It couldn’t have been under the skiff. There’s no chance that it could have washed out during high tide.”

“So then, there are more hiding places.”

“Yes, but probably close by. How far is it from here to Killevik?”

“As the crow flies I would guess four hundred meters.”

“It’s easy to get here by car.”

They looked up toward the little gravel road that followed the coastline in a north-south line.

“You can get all the way down to Kungsbacka on these roads,” said Jonny.

“It’s just a matter of continuing to search along the ocean and the smaller roads.”

 

“ IT ’ S AFTER six. Go home. You aren’t working this weekend. Fredrik and I are on duty,” said Birgitta.

“But you have the murder behind Flora’s Hill,” Irene objected.

“We’ve actually gotten a tip that Fredrik is checking out. It may be a jealousy killing. That wasn’t what we would have suspected would happen to Laban. Apparently, he had been together with a relatively young girl. Since she is a drug addict and he was a dealer they had a lot in common. Supposedly, the girl’s ex went around telling the world what he was planning on doing to Laban when he got his hands on him. Stabbing him to death was the least of it. We only know the ex’s first name. Robert. Apparently, he is also her pimp.”

“Has Fredrik gone to talk to Robert on his own?” asked Irene.

“No, he’s just going to get a fix on his whereabouts. Then we’ll bring him into the station for interrogation. If we’re lucky we can pull him in over the weekend. So the investigation of Laban’s murder is going forward. But I don’t think anything will happen with the murder-mutilation case in the next few days. Pathology is going to look at the pieces and that usually takes a while. Are they going to continue searching with dogs over the weekend?”

“Yes, and the Harbor Police are searching the coast. Hannu has gone through the register but there isn’t anyone reported missing who matches our victim. Actually, there isn’t a lot we can do right now.”

 

IRENE UNLOCKED the door to her old Saab 99:a. It was twelve years old and was affectionately cared for by the Huss family. They might be forced to buy a new car at any time, and every day that this was put off was valuable. Irene felt lighthearted even though it was raining heavily. Krister had his usual Friday off and she knew that meant good food and good wine. It would have to compensate for his having to work the rest of the weekend. That was the way it went when you were married to someone in the restaurant business. And, for that matter, to someone who worked as a police officer.

 

“ DEAR , COULD you take Sammie out for a walk? The food isn’t quite ready yet.” Krister’s voice could be heard from the kitchen.

Judging by the smell, the food was coming along nicely. Irene suddenly realized how hungry she was. Sammie came down the stairs calmly. He had taken a nap before supper and, just to be different, had slept so deeply he hadn’t heard his mistress come in. But he woke up when he heard the words “out” and “Sammie.” Then he knew it was time for a walk.

Irene put on her rain clothes since it was bucketing down outside. Even when it poured in the spring it never got dark. Despite that, Irene didn’t see anyone until the woman and her dog were almost on top of her. She suddenly became aware of movement out of the corner of her eye. Before she had the chance to turn, she heard a piercing voice say, “Have you found a home for the puppies yet?”

Sammie became excited and threw himself at his black girlfriend. She was reserved but nothing compared with her mistress. The elderly woman looked as though she had just drunk a bottle of vinegar.

Furious, Irene didn’t make any attempt at being friendly. “No. I’ve worked late every evening this week. Police officers usually don’t have time to have a dog, and the others I meet in my line of work aren’t allowed to have them. They are forbidden both in holding cells and prisons.

“Actually, it takes two people to care for a child and that goes for dogs as well. We’ll get in touch if we hear of anyone who is thinking about getting a dog, but you also need to do your part. Put in an ad, for example.”

“That costs money. If you had any idea what I’ve had to pay for the vet and food . . .”

“Even if they’re mixed breed, you’ll still be paid for them. We aren’t going to request a stud fee. A healthy mixed-breed puppy costs fifteen hundred SEK.”*

The pursed look on the neighbor lady’s face lessened a bit.

“That much?”

“Yes. Purebred wheaten terriers cost about seven thousand SEK.”

“That much!”

She was a really boring person to talk with. Irene had to end this conversation before her entire Friday evening was ruined.