Irene whirled around and tried to keep Beate away but she had glimpsed enough and rushed past Irene. Bentsen stopped by the bed as if frozen in place and stood stock-still without making a sound. Irene hurried to stand beside her.
Emil lay with his hands and feet bound. Rope this time, instead of handcuffs, Irene registered automatically. He was naked. The killer had left his mark on Emil’s abdomen. Beate Bentsen began moaning; soon her moans had risen to a hysterical scream. “It’s gone! He’s taken. . It’s gone. . .”
Irene also saw that body parts were missing. The murderer had mutilated his victim.
IT WAS along night. Irene didn’t get back to the Hotel Alex until just before 4:00 a.m.
I’m never going to fall asleep, she thought. She didn’t remember anything after that until she was awakened by the telephone at eight thirty. Half asleep, she fumbled the phone to her ear. She came awake after she heard Superintendent Andersson’s booming voice. “Naturally, I called the police station to talk to you since you’re supposed to be there working. But I didn’t get you or Jonny so I had to try and understand a gruff-speaking Dane. At least I’ve understood that you found another dismembered victim! What the hell are you doing?”
Irene felt offended and tried to protest. “I’m not the one going around killing people!”
Andersson ignored her objection and continued. “And where are you and Jonny? You’re lying in bed at the hotel sleeping!”
Irene was finally awake enough to get angry.
“I was there last night when the latest victim was found, and I didn’t get to bed until five o’clock!” she hissed angrily. She added an hour while she was at it because it sounded better. Andersson wouldn’t be able to refute this information. There was a short silence on the phone before the superintendent started speaking again. In a considerably calmer tone, he said, “You were there?”
“Yes.”
“Who was the victim?”
“Superintendent Bentsen’s son.”
The silence that followed was very long, but she knew her boss and was preparing for another explosion. “What the hell are you saying? Bentsen’s son! It can-”
She interrupted him. “This murder bears the signature of our killer. His victim was bound, split open, defiled and mutilated.”
When the superintendent’s voice could be heard again, it sounded serious and sensible. “Irene. He’s working close to you. He’s probably still in Copenhagen and he has struck again at someone connected to you.”
“That’s not entirely certain,” said Irene. “The medical examiner reported that Emil Bentsen has probably been dead for a week. The murderer could already be back in Goteborg or wherever it is that he lives.”
“So this victim was killed at the same time as that girl, Isabell?”
“Yes. The murders are connected. Jonny and I have to stay here another night.”
“Why? Can’t the Danes report to us as to what their investigation turns up?”
“I found a business card on Emil Bentsen’s bulletin board in his bedroom. It was hanging pinned under another piece of paper and only one corner was sticking out. But I recognized the corner. It was Marcus Tosscander’s business card. You know, the one that has Tosca’s Design on it.”
She could hear Andersson gasping for breath. Irene worried that he was going to have a heart attack but he sounded relatively normal and collected by the time he spoke again.
“OK. Look for more connections to Marcus today. But you’re coming home tomorrow! This is getting expensive. We can’t pay for two police officers to stay in Copenhagen. . ”
He stopped himself and Irene realized that a thought had struck him.
“Was Jonny with you last night when you found Bentsen’s son?”
“No.”
“Where was he?”
Irene hesitated about telling the truth, which was
“No idea. I was with Beate Bentsen. She was worried because Emil hadn’t been in touch for so long and I agreed to go with her to his apart-”
The superintendent interrupted her. “So Jonny wasn’t there when you discovered the murder. What excuse does he have for not working?”
Irene chickened out again. “Don’t know.”
“I’ll call his room and ask. And Irene. . be careful.”
“Of course. I’ll call tonight.”
A RED-FACED and hungover Jonny Blom entered the breakfast room when Irene had almost finished eating. He sank down in the chair across from her and sighed. “Andersson called. He was in a horrible mood. Why was he jabbering about my not being with you last night? What corpse was he ranting about?”
“Go and get some food and I’ll tell you.”
In a pedagogic tone, Irene explained what had happened during the night.
When he heard that they had found Emil’s body and in what condition, Jonny sat up straight in his chair and seemed completely sober. The look he gave Irene was full of doubt.
“Is it true? Beate Bentsen’s son?”
Irene nodded.
“That’s the damnedest thing I’ve ever heard! How’s she holding up?”
“She had to be taken to the hospital. Had a complete breakdown. It wasn’t a pretty sight. The killer cut away his penis, one chest muscle, and one buttock.”
Jonny looked at the remainder of his ham sandwich with distaste. He set it aside on his plate. “What a sick bastard!”
For once, the two of them were in agreement.
“I’ve booked us for one more night. We can keep the rooms we have and, Jonny. .” She leaned forward over the table and said seriously, “. . I would be very grateful if you could stay sober this last day. Andersson was right when he said that the murderer is working close to me. And you’re close to me. For your own safety, you should-”
Jonny’s face turned red, and he got up so quickly that he knocked over his half-full cup of coffee. “You’re no damn chief or boss over me! You have no say in what I do!”
Furious, he stormed out of the breakfast room. Irene sighed loudly. It looked as though it was going to be yet another day of schnapps drinking.
JUST AS Irene had thought the night before, it really was beautiful when the sun shone in through the multicolored glass windows in the stairwell. But she couldn’t enjoy the play of colors on the walls when she and her three male colleagues stepped out of the elevator and walked up to the door of Emil’s apartment. Jonny looked at the blue ceramic sign in surprise and bent over in order to check out the pigs. He mumbled something but he didn’t comment out loud.
He had ignored Irene on the car ride over to Emil’s apartment. Her appeal for restraint with respect to alcohol had not gone over well.
When they inspected the crime scene during the night, Irene had realized that the other door on the landing belonged to the rental portion of Emil’s apartment. It was made up of two large rooms with a communal kitchen, hall, and bathroom. Neither of the rooms seemed to be rented currently. A large door in the kitchen that was locked led to Emil’s bedroom.
The rooms were almost identically furnished; each held a wide bed, a large fancy dresser with a mirror above it, and a leather recliner with a floor lamp next to it. On the floor were worn but beautiful folk art rugs. The closets were empty as well as the dressers. Everything was covered by a thick layer of dust, which indicated that no one had lived in the rooms for several weeks, maybe even months. The only thing that made the rooms different was the color scheme. One of them was decorated blue, the other green. Both the rooms had wonderful views of the Botanical Gardens.
The kitchen and the bathroom were dusty and dirty, but not as filthy as Emil’s. There was actually a certain
