“The photo above Emil’s bed. . the model is Marcus Tosscander,” Irene said. “I wasn’t sure when I saw it the first time, his face is so fuzzy. But I’ve seen other similar pictures of Marcus. The picture in the bedroom and the calling card on Emil’s bulletin board clearly point to their having known each other. The car in Emil’s parking spot confirms it. I also think we can go ahead and assume that Emil was the one Marcus was staying with during his time in Copenhagen.”
“Quite possibly.”
“Both of them fell victim to the same killer. That must mean that they knew him.”
“That’s what we think as well. But the question is, why didn’t Emil report Marcus missing? And why did he let that nice car stand there in the garage?”
“Maybe he didn’t have a driver’s license?”
“Maybe. I’ll check into that. But then why did he have a parking space? And where is
“Have you heard anything from the medical examiner yet?”
“Yes. Emil had been dead a week, just as we thought. The exact time of death is difficult to pinpoint but Blokk says that it was either late Wednesday night or Thursday during the early morning. He was strangled with a noose. Probably a very thick rope, judging by the marks on his neck. Isabell Lind had an identical strangulation mark.
“Have you found the rope?”
“No. There wasn’t one at the Hotel Aurora or in Emil’s apartment. We haven’t found the instrument the murderer used on their pelvises either. Blokk thinks it’s some sort of a hard baton. In the preliminary report he actually says ‘a baton of ordinary or large police issue.’ ”
The police officer, again. Irene’s skin crawled. It made her ask, “Before I forget, when was Peter Moller in South Africa?”
“In April for three weeks. Why?” Jens Metz sounded very surprised.
“I apologize; it is not relevant. I asked about his vacation yesterday and he seemed so unwilling to talk about South Africa, I felt embarrassed. It’s not that strange to be interested in an unusual vacation destination and want to ask about it, is it?”
Irene hoped that Jens would accept her half lie and leave it at that.
“It’s not strange that he didn’t want to talk about it,” Metz said dryly. He went on, “We’ve sent both of Emil’s uniforms to the technicians. Several dark stains could be seen on one of them that looked very suspicious.”
“Blood?”
“Could be.”
Irene came up with something. “It’s odd that all of Marcus’s belongings seem to have disappeared. As if someone wanted to remove all traces of him. Where are his clothes? After all, he went home to Goteborg at the beginning of March to pack his summer clothes for the trip to Thailand. Why aren’t his winter clothes still in Emil’s closets? And where are his work things? We know that he had brought them with him to Copenhagen because he did several jobs while he was there.”
“We’re in the process of searching the rest of Emil’s building, the attic, and the basement. Maybe his things are hidden somewhere.”
“Please call as soon as something interesting shows up.”
“I’ll do that. Take care.”
Irene went into Andersson’s office. The newly made coffee smelled wonderful. Hannu Rauhala was also there. Irene congratulated him on his change of status.
“So there was no honeymoon right after the wedding?”
“No.”
Had it been anyone else, Irene probably would have asked when they were going to take one, but she knew that it wouldn’t do any good with Hannu. If he didn’t want to tell, he wouldn’t. She would have to ask Birgitta when she got a chance.
“I’ve just spoken with Hans Pahliss. He’s coming here tomorrow at around four o’clock,” said Hannu.
Irene made a mental memo to be there for the questioning. It would be very interesting to hear what the virologist had to add.
They poured the freshly brewed coffee and Irene started on her long report.
Neither the superintendent nor Hannu interrupted her. Her presentation still took almost two hours. Andersson pressed the tips of his fingers together and hummed. Hannu fixed his gaze on a spot just past her left ear. Both showed signs of deep concentration.
Finally the superintendent said, “Since Emil and Marcus knew each other, we have to assume that they knew the murderer. The question is whether he’s in Goteborg or Copenhagen.”
“Both places,” said Hannu.
“He has clearly murdered in both cities, but I’m asking where he lives,” Andersson clarified.
“Both places,” Hannu repeated.
Was he teasing the superintendent? Irene looked at Hannu in surprise, before the lightbulb went on.
“You mean that the murderer is actually a resident of both cities?” she said.
“At the least, he has strong connections to both of them.”
“Marcus talked about his doctor in Goteborg. He indicated that he could be dangerous. At another point, he said that the police officer in Copenhagen could be almost as dangerous.”
The superintendent interrupted her, irritated. “That’s what your protected informant told you. What is this nonsense? Why can’t we know his identity? The police uniform was found at Emil’s, and you said yourself that a lot of evidence points to Emil masquerading as a police offi cer.”
“But we don’t know for sure. That’s why I need to keep my informant’s identity a secret. Especially after what happened to Isabell and Emil,” Irene said obstinately.
Andersson snorted. “And what would happen if you told us here in Goteborg? Do you think one of your colleagues here-”
He was interrupted by a noise at the door. Jonny opened it and entered. He looked sober and smelled of soap but he couldn’t do much about his bloodshot eyes.
“Hi. I’ve sorted through the photocopies I brought from Copenhagen from the investigation of Isabell Lind’s murder. Jens Metz will send the final autopsy report when it’s done.”
Without difficulty he went up to Andersson’s desk and put the pile of paper onto the stained desktop.
Andersson looked at Jonny bitterly. Then he sighed loudly and turned to Irene. “OK. I can understand your misgivings.”
GETTING HOMEwas wonderful. Krister had made the rounds of the market and stocked up. He was off work the next day and wouldn’t return until Saturday afternoon. When Irene stepped over the threshold he was busy seasoning pork chops with garlic and spices. Jenny was standing next to him, looking dissatisfied. She didn’t comment on her father’s choice of food. Instead, she continued to fill her greased pan with sliced tomatoes and squash. Katarina was chopping iceberg lettuce, which she put in a bowl together with corn and cucumbers.
Sammie, as usual, was the first to greet Irene and did so with unreserved joy. But her husband and children weren’t far behind.
Katarina was depressed. The doctor had told her that she couldn’t train for at least two months. No damage to her skeleton was visible on the X-rays but pain and limited mobility in her neck and back were still troublesome.
“There’s a risk of chronic pain if I’m not careful,” she said.
“What treatment did he recommend?” Irene asked, concerned.
“Acupuncture and physical therapy, which I’m already doing.”
“She was referred to an orthopedist who specializes in whiplash injuries,” Krister said.
“What if I can never compete again! As it is now, I don’t even have the energy to train,” said Katarina. She was on the verge of tears.
“You can devote yourself to walking the dog. Dogs are wonderful exercisers. And it looks like we’ll soon have Sammie’s son in the house,” said Krister.
“What? No! I don’t have the energy for two dogs,” Irene groaned.
