“Tom. Prepare yourself for horrible news. Emil Bentsen was found dead in his apartment last night. Murdered. Based on the evidence so far, he was killed a week ago. His body carries the signature of our killer. The signature of Marcus and Isabell’s killer.”
She watched for Tom’s reaction. At first nothing happened; he sat immobile, like a massive gray stone. Slowly, a dull moaning sound rose toward the ceiling. Even though Irene had expected a reaction, she was still surprised. The hair on the back of her neck rose. Tom’s plaint sounded wordlessly and terribly through the room, traveled desperately out into the hall, and died away in the far reaches of the apartment. He began rocking his large body back and forth. His moaning decreased in intensity until finally it ended. But he continued to rock his enormous body back and forth.
Irene was about to continue when he hissed, “That devil! You have to catch him!”
“I’m going to try but I need your help.”
Tom nodded. Irene pointed at the framed photographs on the wall and said, “Why didn’t you tell me that these are photos of Marcus?”
Tom looked sincerely surprised. “I didn’t think about it actually. And he’s only in one of the photographs. The other model is a friend of his.”
Irene took a closer look at the two pictures and realized that he was right.
Marcus was sitting right at the edge of the water. The sun glistened on the droplets on his young sunburned body. He was smiling into the camera. The wind was playfully blowing the hair above his forehead. He was resting his hands on his knees, which were slightly bent and very wide apart. His condition was amazing. The photo had been taken from the water’s edge, looking up, and the whole picture breathed sensual joy and acceptance of one’s own sexuality. Irene had to admit to herself that it was one of the most exciting pictures of a naked person she had ever seen.
The other model was standing in profile, leaning against a rugged stone wall, which seemed to be part of a building. He appeared to be muscular and well built. The picture was taken against the sun so it was impossible to make out his face. Irene could see that his long hair was combed back and had been put in a thick ponytail. The photographer had managed to create the illusion that the sunbeams originated from the top of his erect penis.
Irene had to admit that the photographer was talented.
Suddenly, she had a strong feeling that she recognized the man. She stepped closer but her memory failed her. The direct light pulled his face into darkness, yet she definitely recognized the man. But where had she seen him?
“Do you know who the friend is?”
“No, he never said.”
“You’ve never met him?”
“No.”
“Did Marcus give you these photos?”
“Yes, right before he left. Framed and ready. I just needed to hang them up.”
“Do you know who took them?”
“A photographer in Goteborg, but I don’t know his name.”
“Did you know that Emil also had this same kind of photo of Marcus over his bed? Not the same pose, but it is Marcus.”
Tom gave a start. “No. I didn’t even know that they were that well aquainted.”
“But you knew that they knew each other?”
“Yes. The first time I saw Marcus, he came into the store with Emil. Marcus came up to me right away and started talking. Emil bought some things and didn’t participate in our conversation. I never got the feeling that they were. . together. They seemed more like friends. That’s the only time I saw them together.”
“Marcus never spoke about Emil?”
“No.”
“And you never asked?”
“No.”
“Did Emil ever speak about Marcus?”
“No. Never.”
“You don’t know very much about the personal lives of either Emil or Marcus? You never asked?”
For the first time, Irene felt a reserve on Tom’s part. His tone of voice was icily neutral when he replied, “No.”
“Why not?”
“If you don’t ask any questions, then you don’t have to answer any.” That was as close to the truth as you could get; Irene realized that she wasn’t going to get any personal information out of Tom.
“But Marcus spoke of ‘my police officer’ and said that he lived with a police officer, right?”
“Yes.”
“We found two police uniforms at Emil’s place. And Emil had a rental unit that was part of his apartment. Do you think Emil could have been the policeman Marcus was staying with?”
Tom sighed. “Good God. . Emil! It could have been Emil. I sold him a police uniform about a year ago.”
“Do you remember when?”
“It was right in the beginning when I had just taken over the store. Almost two years ago. It was the first time we met.”
“He only bought one? Not two?”
“One.”
Irene said, after some hesitation, “Emil found out from his mother that I was looking for Isabell Lind. When I left Beate Bentsen at the restaurant, it was eight thirty. Emil came in just after that. He couldn’t have known, then, until eight thirty. I saw him here with you around ten o’clock. At about the same time, a man named Simon Steiner called Scandinavian Models and requested Isabell Lind be sent to the Hotel Aurora, a stone’s throw from your store. Who would Emil have had time to tell that I was looking for Isabell?”
A loaded silence ensued. Finally, Tom answered, “He must have called the killer from his cell phone. Can’t you trace calls from cell phones as well?”
“I don’t know if it’s possible at this point. I don’t even know if they found his cell phone. Do you have his number?”
Tom shook his head. “No.”
A thought struck Irene. “Did Emil have your number?”
“No.”
“Did Marcus?” A hint of a smile could be seen in one of the corners of Tom’s mouth, when he answered. “Of course.”
“And you gave it to me.”
Tom raised his massive head and looked her straight in the eye. “I trust you,” he said.
An unspoken question lingered above their heads: did she trust him? Irene looked at the massive figure in front of her, seated on the edge of the bed. He had known both Marcus and Emil. As a police officer, this fact should cause her to be on her guard. He was a grotesque figure in the eyes of many people: frightening and at the same time inviting ridicule. But Irene had felt his sincere grief over Marcus’s murder. She had also seen his lust for vengeance and realized that he was dangerous. He had meant what he’d said when he’d asked her to catch Marcus’s killer.
“I trust you, too. Without you we wouldn’t have identified Marcus as quickly, and you have always answered my. . close questions truthfully.”
Tom hid his smile when he heard Irene search for the English word for “intrusive”; it became instead “close questions.” Irene understood English much better than she spoke it. He knew what she meant and he hadn’t corrected her. He hadn’t done that a single time during their sometimes stumbling conversations.
“I’m doing everything I can to help you,” he said.
Irene looked at the clock and saw that it was high time she went on her way.
“Can you call me a cab?”
“Sure.”
Tom reached for the telephone on the nightstand and pushed a speed-dial button. He instantly got an answer
