Tommy and Fredrik who haven’t heard the big news.”
Andersson paused for the sake of effect.
“Birgitta and Hannu are getting married tomorrow.”
Fredrik and Tommy’s faces clearly showed that it was news to them. Before they could gather their thoughts the superintendent continued, “The Copenhageners have been in touch. A young Swedish prostitute has been found murdered, and apparently the murder bears the signature of the murder-mutilator, though she wasn’t completely dismembered. In any case, Irene and Jonny are driving down to Copenhagen on Monday to get more information. Today, Hannu and Irene will continue to inquire into the names that have arisen during the investigation concerning Marcus Tosscander. We’ll release his identity after the weekend.”
Hannu asked permission to speak. “I’ve found Hans Pahliss and Anders Gunnarsson. They live in Alingsas.”
“Try and get ahold of them. Fredrik and Birgitta, how is it going with the investigation into Robert Larsson?”
Fredrik still hadn’t really recovered from the big news, but Birgitta gave an account of the results to date.
“He isn’t trying to hide the money. Instead, he’s trying to show it. That is to say, to launder the dirty money. We’ve had Wonder Bar under surveillance for three days. The number of customers has been noted and we have looked into what it costs to get into the club. If the entrance fees declared by Robert Larsson on his tax forms are correct, then an average of two hundred people visit the club every day. It can’t possibly be that many. We make it an average of sixty-three. But we are going to keep an eye out for a few more days before we bring him in again.”
“Speak with the prosecutor first,” Andersson advised.
“We will.”
“How is it going with Jack the Ripper?” Andersson asked and turned toward Tommy.
“Still no new information. Today I’m going to question his latest victim again. She was too upset when I spoke with her the first time. It doesn’t feel right that we aren’t getting any tips. There were long articles in both
“He only strikes on the weekends and downtown. Mostly around Vasagatan and its side streets,” Andersson concluded.
“Does that provide any clues?” Irene asked.
Tommy nodded and shrugged his shoulders at the same time. This could be read as both a yes and a maybe.
Hannu and Irene went into Irene’s office to continue planning.
“What do you think about my driving out to Pappa Tosscander’s this morning while you contact Pahliss and Gunnarsson?” said Irene.
“Sounds good. Then we can speak with them this afternoon.”
Irene called Emanuel Tosscander. He was still listed as “senior physician” in the phone book. According to Jonny he had been retired for a few years.
“Tosscander,” a deep man’s voice answered.
If Irene hadn’t known about his previous profession, she would have guessed him to have been a high-ranking military officer.
“Good morning. My name is Irene Huss. I’m a police inspector-”
“I’ve already spoken with one policeman. Marcus is in Copenhagen. You’ll have to look for him there.”
The voice was ice-cold and dismissive.
“We have good reason to believe that Marcus has been the victim of a crime,” Irene said calmly.
After a split second, the question came like a gunshot, “What kind of crime?”
“That’s what I need to speak with you about. I’ll be there in half an hour. Good-bye.”
Before Tosscander had time to protest, Irene hung up the phone. She grabbed a cup of coffee on her way out for extra strength.
THE LARGEone-story brown brick house was located only a five-iron shot away from Hovas golf course. The whitebeam hedge around the house was several meters high, and only the flat roof of the house could be seen from the street. Irene turned in through the gap in the hedge and bumped onto the poorly maintained driveway. Both the house and the yard were characterized by slight decay.
The front door was opened before she had time to stretch her hand out and knock with the heavy bronze knocker shaped like a lion’s head.
“Criminal Inspector Irene Huss.” Irene held out her hand. Emanuel Tosscander responded with a short, firm handshake.
He was the same height as Irene. His body was slim and fit, his hair thick and silver-white. Marcus had inherited his beautiful eyes from his father. His face was deeply tanned and surprisingly wrinkle free. Emanuel Tosscander was a very handsome man.
“Senior phys-Emanuel Tosscander,” he said. He stepped aside and halfheartedly gestured her inside.
The hall was gloomy, with a dark tile floor and moss green woven tapestry hangings. Irene followed Tosscander’s straight back into an enormous living room. Large picture windows ran along the long side of the room. But no sunlight could squeeze through the heavy vegetation in the backyard. The entirety of the large room was filled with a dusky half-light. The furniture was big and heavy, made of dark wood and dark brown leather. There were large Oriental rugs in reddish brown tones on the floor. Not even the paintings on the walls could cheer up the room. They were sober landscapes and dim portraits. Not a single plant sat in the windows.
“Please sit down,” Tosscander said mechanically. As for himself, he remained standing.
Irene sank down onto an uncomfortable rock-hard leather chair. “Thanks. I’d like it if you would sit down, too,” said Irene.
At first he looked like he wanted to protest, but something in Irene’s voice made him obey. He sat on the edge of the sofa and observed her coldly. But Irene could sense some concern behind his frosty demeanor.
It was just as well to inform him of what had happened to Marcus since it would be in the papers in a few days anyway. Irene got right to the point. “It was good of you to see me. I have something serious to tell you. First, I need an answer to a question. Did Marcus contact you during the first week of March?”
“No.”
“Are you absolutely certain?”
“Yes.”
“When was the last time you spoke with each other?”
“That’s none of your business!”
“Yes, it is. We’re investigating a crime.”
“What kind of crime?”
“Murder.”
Irene looked him straight in the eye. He was the first to glance away. He stared at his overgrown yard for a long time, then he turned toward her. “We haven’t spoken with each other since the first week of December.”
“Why not?”
“We. . had a fight.”
“Why?”
“That’s really none of your business!”
“Again, I’ll have to remind you that we are investigating a murder.”
“Of whom?”
“My condolences, but it has to do with Marcus.”
Slowly, all color disappeared from the handsome face. The even sunburn took on a sick yellowish tone. Right in front of Irene’s eyes, Emanuel Tosscander aged ten years in as many seconds. He sank backward onto the sofa without taking his eyes off her. Finally, he was able to whisper, “It. . can’t. . be true.”
“Unfortunately, it is. Marcus had a very unusual tattoo made in Copenhagen. The body we found a few weeks
