A day was more than enough time to get a copy of the key made.
“Thank you so much for taking the time to answer my questions,” Irene concluded.
“No problem. Don’t hesitate to contact us again if there’s anything else,” Danielsson said.
IRENE DEVOTED several hours to writing a report of Friday’s questioning of Sabine Martinsson and the discovery of the possible dismemberment location out in Save. At the end she also described her conversation with the funeral director while it was still fresh in her mind. Nowadays, police investigators had to waste time sitting at a keyboard for hours in order to produce a report. Formerly, civilian office workers had done that job. And the officers had been able to devote themselves to investigating crime.
Office work always put her in a bad mood. Now that mood improved slightly when Hannu stuck his head in and informed her that the technicians had found traces of human tissue in the old garage drain in Save. The samples were being sent to Copenhagen and would be matched against Marcus Tosscander’s DNA profile. The risk was that the material had decayed so much over time that no DNA could be extracted.
“It’s amazing that the Danes can do DNA tests and other analyses in just a few days. While in Sweden the same tests take several weeks!” Irene exclaimed.
“The forwarding address for Martinsson’s mail is a post office box in Copenhagen. Have you heard anything from our colleagues there?” Hannu asked.
“No. They were going to locate the Kreuger Academy today and try and track down Sebastian’s address.”
“It’s supposedly difficult to find housing in Copenhagen.”
“For sure. That’s probably why he rented from Emil Bentsen in the beginning. My theory is that he couldn’t put up with Emil’s messiness. It was almost as dirty in his apartment as it was at Sabine Martins son’s.”
“I’ve spoken with Social Services in Trollhattan. Sabine has been an alcoholic since Sebastian was little.”
Since Social Services maintained absolute secrecy of its records, even in a police investigation, if no prosecution had started-and they only released information if the prosecution was of a very severe crime in which the penalty was more than two years in prison-Hannu must have had a contact inside the Trollhattan agency. Irene wasn’t a bit surprised. “It couldn’t have been fun growing up in a home with an alcoholic mother. Maybe his obsessive cleanliness is a reaction against the mother’s slovenly habits. I’m thinking of his obsessively clean apartment.”
Hannu nodded.
They went to get Birgitta and trooped across the street. The insurance office building’s restaurant was serving pan-fried breaded fish with cucumber mayonnaise and potatoes, which was usually very good.
“A witness has appeared who says that he saw a tall, well-built man enter Bolin’s Commercial Photography Company at around six o’clock on the evening that Erik Bolin was murdered. The witness is an older man who lives a few blocks farther down. He was out with his dog when he saw the man open the door. He noticed the ponytail in particular. Apparently he really dislikes ponytails on men,” said Birgitta.
“Does he remember how the man was dressed?” asked Irene.
They spoke quietly, since not everyone in the lunchroom was a police officer.
“Black jacket, black jeans, and a small shoulder bag. I asked specifically about the size of the bag. We agreed that it was about nine by fourteen, or somewhat larger,” said Birgitta.
“Big enough to hold a good-sized knife and some sliced-off muscle tissue. Too small for a head,” Hannu said dryly.
“You think that’s why he left the head on the hat rack,” Irene clarified.
“Yes.”
Irene tried to suppress the image of Bolin’s dull eyes behind half-closed lids.
“Did the witness see a car that the black-clad man might have gotten out of?” Irene continued.
“No. I tried several times to refresh his recollection but he doesn’t remember a car. Just a man walking into the building at the time in question. His description matches that of Sebastian Martinsson,” said Birgitta.
“He probably arrived by car and left a few hours later without anyone noticing,” said Irene.
“We’ve connected him to all of the murders. Now it’s just Basta himself who’s missing,” Birgitta concluded.
“Sometimes I think that he’s hidden himself here in the city and is laughing at us. And sometimes I think he has no idea that we are so close to him and he’s walking around carefree on the streets of Copenhagen or somewhere else,” Irene sighed.
“Just as long as we get him before he commits another murder,” said Birgitta.
JEN SMETZ had been trying to reach her while she was out to lunch. Irene felt hopeful when she caught sight of the message to phone him. Had they found Sebastian? She quickly dialed Jens’s direct number.
“Inspector Metz.”
“Irene Huss here. You called me.”
“Yes. We’ve gotten hold of Martinsson’s address. Unfortunately, we haven’t gotten hold of Martinsson himself, but we’ve put his apartment under surveillance.”
“Great! Do you know if he’s in Copenhagen?”
“Probably. The art school is called Kroyer Academy, not Kreuger Academy. It had closed but we managed to reach the director’s secretary. She found his address in her records. She also said that the school is about to reopen and he is listed as an instructor for a summer course that starts today and lasts for three weeks.”
“Then you can pick him up at the school?”
“That’s what is really strange. He didn’t show up for the beginning of the class. All the instructors were supposed to meet their students at the first morning lesson. But Martinsson never came. The secretary was very irritated but also confused. According to her, Martinsson had been so happy when he got the job. And then to screw up on the first day!”
“Then maybe he’s left town. Maybe he suspected something and cleared out.”
“The risk is there. We’ve sent inspectors to his address. His apartment is located here, on Istedgade. I have a hunch that he’s here in the neighborhood. If he is, we’ll get him.”
“Have you been inside his apartment?”
“Not yet. It’s better if he walks into the trap without suspecting anything. But if he hasn’t shown by the evening, we’ll go in.”
“That sounds good. I hope you get him.”
“If he’s here, we will. I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”
“Thanks.”
Irene felt her pulse pounding in her temples. Finally they were closing in on Sebastian!
Chapter 21
IRENE DIDN’T SLEEPWELL that night. In a dream, she ran after a fleeing shadow, through dark alleys and deserted streets. She kept growing closer, certain she would catch the black silhouette. But when she rounded the corner of a house she ran into a soft, formless mass. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a sturdy knife blade glimmer and realized that she was going to die. Her arms were leaden and she didn’t have the strength to raise them to protect herself. The knife flew right in front of her face and, suddenly, in a lightning-quick arc, it dove down toward her heart.
Krister woke her and asked why she was screaming. When the question was repeated for the third time, she gave up and went down to the kitchen. A mug of milk warmed in the microwave and a piece of hard bread with cheese put her in a better mood. The clock read 4:10 a.m. when she crawled back under the covers, but it was impossible for her to fall asleep again.
“IRENE! COPENHAGEN on the line for you!” Tommy yelled.
Irene was on her way out to fill her coffee mug but she ran back to her chair. Expectantly, she pulled the
