“What’s the cause of death?”
“Impossible to say. Find the head and maybe that will provide a lead. In this type of case strangulation is the most common cause of death.”
“You don’t see any marks on the neck?”
“There is no neck to see any marks on. The head has been removed above the seventh cervical vertebra. All of the internal organs have been removed. No lungs, no heart, no abdominal organs. The chest has been opened all the way up to the throat. The entire sternum has been sawed open.”
“How long has the body-or the body part-been in the sack?”
“Can’t say for certain. Based on decay it could be anywhere from two to four months. It was very cold in February and March, which is obviously a factor. There haven’t been any long periods of warm weather from April up to today either. But we have taken the usual samples and, of course, performed toxicology tests. We’ll have the results in a few days and then we can be more certain.”
Irene heard the superintendent heading toward the exit behind her. Her brain worked feverishly to come up with an important question she should ask while there was still time. Suddenly, it struck her. “The tattoo. Is it possible to see what the image is?” she asked.
“Yes. It looks like a small upside-down
Stridner twisted the limp grayish green chest so that Irene would be able to see the tattoo. It may have been very beautiful, but now Irene was also starting to feel ill. She pretended to examine the tattoo closely before she thanked Stridner and hurried out of the room.
THEY TOOK Highway 158 from Jarnbrottsmotet toward Saro. It wasn’t until they had turned off at Brottkarrsmotet and headed out to Skintebo that Irene broke the silence.
“I think we got a lot of information.”
The superintendent mumbled an answer. Irene thought it sounded like “far too much,” but she wasn’t entirely certain.
“Are we going to have a case review tonight?” she asked, mostly as a means of changing the subject.
“No. Nothing is pressing. We’ll take care of it at morning prayers.” Irene drove by Billdal’s Park and after a while she turned onto the little road to Killevik. From there they could see the boat that the marine divers were using. It was swaying listlessly in the lightly rolling seas outside some of the smaller skerries a few hundred meters from the beach. Blue-and-white flags marked the area where the divers were working. In the distance they could hear rumbling from the Harbor Police boat as it searched through every single islet and the countless small islands.
“Where are all of our people?” wondered Andersson.
“Supposedly out knocking on doors,” Irene answered.
Andersson muttered something unintelligible. He took out his cell phone and started rummaging around in his pockets. He finally seemed to find what he was looking for because his grunting sounded less irritable when he pulled out a wrinkled note. Irene was able to make out the words “Harbor Police” written in red ink. A telephone number was listed below. Andersson dialed the number.
“Hi. Sven Andersson here. Have you found anything?”
He scowled as the person on the other end replied.
“Uh-huh. The divers haven’t either. .? Oh.” He couldn’t hide the disappointment in his voice. “Call as soon as something comes up. . I mean. . if you find anything. Good. Thanks.”
He did his best to sound normal when he ended the call but Irene knew her boss well enough not to be fooled.
Andersson leaned toward the windshield and glared darkly out at the three boulders. For a long time he sat still, staring intently at the rocks in the water. Thin gray veils of clouds hid the sun but the light sifted through and sprinkled the waves with silvery glitter. Seagulls circled low over the water’s surface, which reflected the sunlight in silvery white. Andersson was lost in thought and didn’t see how beautiful it was. Irene waited for him to break the silence.
“How the hell did the sack get there?”
“I believe in your theory that it was driven between the rocks during a storm. Otherwise we should have found more sacks in the same place or in the surrounding area.”
“Where did it come from?”
Irene shrugged her shoulders.
“No idea. Maybe it came from one of the islands.”
“Hmm. Styrso is located straight out. And Donso. But I don’t know how the currents run out here. Maybe it came from Vrango. We’ll have to check the currents although it is quite a way for a sack to float.”
Irene nodded. “I’ll check on it.”
A thought struck her. “I’ll ask Birgitta if she has a nautical chart. She sails a lot.”
“It’s almost four thirty. I’ll drive you home. Or is your car parked at the station?” Andersson asked.
“No. Krister took it today. He doesn’t get off work until after midnight.”
They could only afford one car, but the system they used worked well. The car was always parked in the Police Department’s parking lot. It was only a five-minute walk from the stylish pub, Glady’s Corner, where Krister worked as master chef. The one who left earliest, usually Irene, would take the car in the morning. If they could ride together they did. The one who worked the latest would drive the car home. For Irene’s part, taking the express bus home from Drottningtorget was fairly quick. But the thought of not having to sit on an overcrowded bus was tempting, so she accepted the superintendent’s offer of a ride.
They drove back toward Highway 158 through open country that was becoming green. Even though villas and row houses had been built in high concentrations in some areas, there were still parts that were very rural. Irene didn’t comment since she knew her boss was not interested in hearing about idyllic natural scenery right now.
“Murders with dismemberments are very uncommon. I’ve been a crime investigator for almost twenty-five years and during that time we’ve had three or four cases. I’ve only investigated one murder-mutilation previously. This will be the second,” he said.
“Who was the victim in the first case?”
“A drug addict and prostitute. They’re the ones who end up like this. They attract the sickest types. I guess you could call it an occupational hazard. If you happen to be a snake charmer, you have to count on being bitten at some point.”
“Such girls feel very abandoned.”
Andersson grunted in response. Irene continued. “Was that body also cut open and emptied of all organs?”
“No. A confused bastard had killed her during some extra-heated sex game in his apartment. He panicked because he didn’t know how he was going to get rid of the body. So he dismembered her in the bathtub and stuffed the pieces into three suitcases. Then he threw the suitcases in a big Dumpster at a building site in the area.”
“Did it take a long time to catch him?”
“Four days. He drank like a pig after the murder and went crazy. He stood on his balcony and shouted, ‘I was the one who cut her up! I was the one who did it!’ After about an hour, the neighbors got tired of it and called us. It was just a matter of driving there and picking him up. He hadn’t even cleaned up properly in the bathroom and the hooker’s clothes were still lying on the floor.” Andersson chuckled at the memory. “But this is something else. Something much worse,” he said and suddenly became serious again.
“What do you mean?”
“To murder a human being and then take apart the body piece by piece like a. . roasted chicken. It’s damned disgusting!”
“I agree with you. But we don’t know what happened yet. Is this a case of murder or of a necrophile who came across a body and dismembered it for the sake of excitement. . ”
Irene stopped herself when she became aware of Andersson’s faint moaning.
“Goddamn it! Goddamn it!” he said emphatically.
