The Torso: A Detective Inspector Huss Investigation, Vol. 2 (6 page)

“You’ll have to excuse me but I have food in the oven. We’ll get in touch as soon as someone who is interested shows up,” she said.

 

THE .FOOD was exquisite. Salmon filet baked on a bed of coarse salt, saffron sauce, lightly steamed sugar peas, and a green salad put Irene in a good mood again. Krister had bought a new wine that they were trying.

“Somerton. Australian. Comes in red as well,” he said.

“Fantastic with the salmon.” Irene was no expert but she had learned a great deal from Krister over the years.

“Where are the girls?” she asked.

“Jenny was going to a try out with a band. Katarina was picked up by that kid, Micke. Apparently, he was allowed to borrow his father’s car.”

“As long as he drives carefully. Where were they going?”

“To a party in Askim. A classmate of Micke’s has a birthday.”

“Did Jenny want to be picked up somewhere?”

“No. Pia’s parents were going to drive them.”

“Good. Then we can open another bottle.”

 

THE PHONE rang just before three o’clock. Half awake, Irene heard Krister answer. Then he sat up straight and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

“I understand. I’ll come as soon as I can.”

Heavy with sleep, Irene mumbled, “What was that about?”

“It was Sahlgren Hospital. Katarina and Micke were in an accident. They aren’t seriously hurt but they had to be patched up at the emergency room. It was Katarina herself who called. She wants to be picked up. Micke has to stay overnight for observation. It seems he had a head injury.”

Irene started to come out of her wine-induced sleep. Her heart began to race and, suddenly, she was wide awake. Her daughter had been injured. She quickly got out of bed but then had to sink back down when the floor started moving under her feet. She had probably consumed a bottle and a half by herself, far too much when she was tired to begin with.

Krister said, “Stay here. I’ll go get her. She was able to call so she can’t be hurt that bad. There’s no reason to wake up Jenny. She may wake on her own when we come home.”

He patted Irene on the cheek and dressed. Irene lay down again but now she couldn’t relax. She was wide awake. That something horrible could happen to your kids when they were out on their own was every parent’s worst nightmare! Monika Lind and Isabell, who was missing in Copenhagen, came to mind.

She wrapped herself in her bathrobe and went down to the kitchen. With a heavy snore, Sammie rolled over into the wonderfully warm hollow in the bed that she had vacated.

It would have to be a cup of instant coffee. She warmed the water in the microwave, and while she waited found a package of old rice cakes.
When the coffee was ready, she sat at the kitchen table and chewed listlessly on one of the dry cakes.

Jenny was home, at least. She had been very satisfied with her evening’s performance. The audition had turned out even better than she’d expected. They had asked her to come back and rehearse with them. She had been very excited and had bubbled with enthusiasm as she sat on the end of their bed telling them about the band. Polo, that was the name. Irene was pretty sure that Jenny had said Polo.

Irene had barely had time to finish her coffee when Jenny came downstairs.

“What’s happened to Katarina?” she asked, and yawned.

How did she know anything had happened to her sister? Was it an example of the telepathic contact twins were said to have in certain situations? But wasn’t that only for identical twins, thought Irene.

“I dreamed that Katarina was sad and in pain. And then she had a bandage on her face,” Jenny continued.

Irene tried to hide her surprise. “Pappa has gone to get her at the emergency room. She and Micke were in an accident. It can’t be that bad since she’s allowed to come home.”

The last sentence was mostly to comfort herself. Jenny filled a glass with apple juice and fixed herself a sandwich while they waited.

When they heard steps at the outside door, both of them jumped up and rushed out into the hall. Krister opened the door and let Katarina in. She had a large bandage over her right eyebrow.

Krister smiled broadly. “Everything’s fine. She has a bruised shoulder and a few stitches above her eyebrow.”

 

ON SATURDAY afternoon the Huss family ate a late breakfast. The mood around the breakfast table was uneasy. Katarina complained about pain in her shoulder and neck muscles, but otherwise she felt pretty good.

“How did the accident happen?” Irene asked.

“We were going through an intersection and we had a green light. Then that idiot came and drove right into the side of Micke’s car. Or rather his father’s car. It’s almost new. His father is going to go insane!”

“Was Micke drinking at the party?”

Katarina tried to shake her head fiercely but stopped herself and with a small whimper rubbed the side of her neck.

“No, he had Coca-Cola because he’s scared to death about his new driver’s license. And the car—”

“What about the driver of the other car? Was he sober?”

“Don’t know. I was looking out the window on my side of the car and didn’t see him when he drove into us. There was just a
wham
on Micke’s side of the car. Afterward I was probably in shock and . . . like gone, kinda. I don’t even remember what the other driver looked like. He was bleeding from his forehead like a pig. Apparently, he hit the windshield with his head. I don’t think he was wearing a seat belt.”

“Who called the ambulance?”

“I did. Micke had his cell phone with him, so I called.”

“What time was it when the accident happened?”

“Just before one o’clock.”

“The nurse at the emergency room thought that we should make an appointment at the clinic and have a doctor look at Katarina’s neck and shoulder. There’s a risk of whiplash in these types of accidents,” Krister said.

“What about my training for the National Championship?!” Katarina burst out.

Irene understood how Katarina felt but also realized the injuries could worsen if she started training again too soon.

“You can’t start training before the pains in your throat and neck are gone,” she said sternly.

“Good-bye, National Championship,” her daughter retorted drearily.

“ WE WON’T GET ANYTHING from Stridner until tomorrow, and we still don’t know who the victim is,” Superintendent Andersson said on Monday morning.

All the officers were there with the exception of Birgitta Moberg and Fredrik Stridh, who were busy interrogating Robert Larsson about the murder of Lennart Kvist. Before they entered the interrogation room, Birgitta had told Irene, “Narcotics says that he’s a real bad guy but he hasn’t been arrested in the last seven years. Before that, they had him up for possession and bootlegging. He was interrogated in an assault case but they were never able to prove anything. The witness was frightened into silence. He owns a strip club down by Masthuggskajen called Wonder Bar. The last few years he has expanded into prostitution and right now he is the object of an ongoing investigation into pimping. He doesn’t know about it; one of his girls probably squealed. It isn’t a good idea to rough up your source of income. It might be that girl Laban was with, but that’s just speculation on my part. I don’t know anything for certain.”

“Did Robert abuse her?”

“Yes, apparently quite severely. But it’s the drugs that have really hurt her.”

Irene peered into the interrogation room and a glimpse of the suspect being questioned gave her a strong feeling that breaking Robert Larsson wasn’t going to be easy. He was around thirty, quite tall, and very muscular. His well-trimmed hair was light; long blond hairs covered his powerful arms all the way down to his fingers. His elegant shirt was nonchalantly unbuttoned at the neck and showed a tight carpet of thick golden hair on his chest and climbing up his neck. A heavy gold chain glimmered in the opening. It would have been easy to call him a blond gorilla, but no one who saw his face would have done so. That face could have been used in a shaving commercial. His eyes were a cold, intense blue, and his heavy eyebrows had a slight arch that harmonized well with his straight nose. He had a dimple on the point of his chin, which was covered with heavy reddish blond stubble. His smile was relaxed and charming.

Birgitta and Fredrik took turns asking Robert questions. He reclined in the creaking chair, smiled faintly, and said in a low tone of voice, “Why are you asking me this? I want to speak with my lawyer.”

He cast a preoccupied glance at his heavy gold Tag-Heuer, demonstrating that he was starting to tire of the bullshit that was taking up his precious time.

Irene closed the door and went to work on her own investigation. It was at a complete standstill. They hadn’t found any new sacks, no new information had come in that would lead them to the victim’s identity, and there were no new witness accounts from the people around Killevik about events that could be connected to the black sacks.

Nothing happened during the whole morning. Irene went through a lot of paperwork that had been lying around. She became stiff from sitting for so long at the computer, so she took breaks and went in to chat with colleagues. The truth was that she felt lonely in the office she shared with Tommy Persson. She called him at home to find out how he was doing.

“I’m OK, thanks. It feels good as long as I don’t do any high jumps,” he replied.

“Then maybe you can come to work?” Irene said, hoping.

“Well, I don’t think I can quite keep up with you yet. The hernia was pretty big. They’ve done quite a job.”

“They didn’t take out your appendix since they were already inside?” Irene asked teasingly.

“No. The surgeon was sober.”

After an uninspiring Sausage Stroganoff for lunch in the employee dining room of the nearby building, Irene became restless. She considered heading up to Pathology. Professor Stridner probably wouldn’t be happy but she might let a bit more information slip about the victim. That was what was so frustrating about this investigation—the lack of information.

 

YVONNE STRIDNERwas in the process of inspecting Friday’s findings. The smell was just as nauseating as it had been during Irene’s first visit, but she braced herself. She walked up to the examination table with determined steps. When she saw what was lying on it she regretted this but it was too late. Professor Stridner had already lifted her head and seen her.

“It’s you again?” she said.

Irene tried to steady her voice when she replied. “Yes. I’m one of the officers working on the investigation.”

Stridner nodded. She cut off a piece of the gray flesh and placed it in a labeled test tube. “Just in case,” she muttered to herself.

Irene looked at the lower part of the abdomen, which was lying on the shiny steel surface. The genitalia had been completely removed. No intestines could be seen within the open abdomen. It was just as empty as the upper half of the torso had been. The thighs had been cut off at an angle just below the groin. Stridner looked up from her work.

“I’m almost done. You can go into my office.”

Relieved, Irene obeyed.

 

“THIS IS unusually nasty. We’re dealing with a very gruesome type of murderer, who is probably a sadistic necrophile,” Stridner opined.

They were sitting in her workroom, one flight up. The professor was enthroned on an expensive leather armchair, and Irene was sitting on a lumpy and uncomfortable plastic-covered visitor’s chair. It didn’t matter to her. The main thing was that the pathologist seemed ready to speak to her.

“As you have seen for yourself, all of the internal organs are missing. The chest and buttock muscles on both sides have been cut away and, moreover, the genitals and the rectal opening have been removed. The pubic bone shows signs of substantial trauma. The arms and legs were probably sawed off with a circular saw or similar tool. There is a plenitude of bone splinters in the surfaces of the cuts that point to this. The head was removed between the third and fourth vertebrae. Again a circular saw was used. The separation was not carried out with any great anatomical knowledge: rather, the parts have just been sawed off. But then we have the removal of the body’s internal organs.”

Stridner interrupted herself and looked earnestly at her dark computer screen. For a short while her thoughts seemed to be very far away.

“The incision is a standard autopsy incision and was started at the upper part of the breastbone descending to the pubic bone. The navel is not involved; rather, the incision makes a little curve around it, which is standard in autopsies. Another thing that makes me think about someone familiar with autopsy procedures is the complete removal of all organs inside the abdominal membrane and the removal of the pelvic organs. This is seen during completed autopsies.”

Again she stopped herself before she caught Irene’s eye and said with her sharp voice, “However, the removal of the outer musculature and genitalia is
not
common autopsy procedure!”

“So you think that the murderer is familiar with autopsies?”

“Yes. Or a very skilled hunter. The organs were removed in a highly professional manner.”

“But the head, arms, and legs were not removed in a professional manner?”

“No. Anyone could have done that with a good circular saw.”

She stopped herself and took a deep breath. “But this isn’t just anyone.”

“What kind of person is it?”

“A ghoulish person. He’s looking for a dead body—in order to do that, first he has to kill. And he does.”

“He. You’re saying he. Can’t it be a woman?”