at least eight hours before Emil started dismembering her. Rigor mortis is already fully developed.”
“And Marcus?” asked Irene.
“He was probably dead a shorter period of time. Blokk guessed five hours. As you saw, the leg bent a bit at the knee when Emil picked it up. The jaws and the arms were completely stiff. Blokk said that he was going to analyze the films frame by frame. Then he can see if there is livor mortis and so on.”
Irene realized that it was way past lunchtime but she assumed that the other three didn’t feel particularly hungry either.
“These two videos explain why Isabell and Emil weren’t dismembered. Sawing off the head and the extremities was Emil’s job. He wasn’t there when Isabell was murdered. Certainly, he was there when he was murdered, but not as a mutilator,” Peter said dryly.
“He was indirectly involved in Isabell’s murder. He was the one who tipped off the murderer that I was looking for her, and he must have given him the name of Simon Steiner,” said Irene.
“Emil may have told the murderer his father’s name earlier. But the murderer and Emil must have been in contact directly after Emil spoke with Beate, after your restaurant meeting,” said Peter.
“He couldn’t have known before then that I was looking for Isabell,” Irene agreed.
“Why would he kill an insignificant little whore you were looking for?” Jonny asked.
Before Irene had a chance to answer, Hannu said, “A practical joke.”
It sounded ridiculous, but the more Irene thought about it, the less far-fetched it seemed. Was Bell’s murder a warning from a twisted brain? Or a joke?
“Emil’s accomplice has suddenly become very active. There were two years between the murders of Carmen and Marcus. Then he murders Isabell and Emil within an interval of just a few hours. And a week and half later, Tom is stabbed!” she exclaimed.
“We don’t know if Emil’s partner stabbed Tanaka. It could have been a regular burglar. But as he took the photo in the bedroom, we have to assume that the break-in is connected to everything else,” Peter observed.
“And we can probably assume that it was Emil whom Marcus meant when he spoke about his police officer. The question is, who’s the doctor?” said Irene.
She told them about Pontus Zander’s promise to keep his ears cocked at the next day’s meeting for gays in the health-care field.
“Gays in the health-care system! I’ll be damned if they’re going to look at my ass!” Jonny snorted.
They decided to eat before watching the tapes one more time. Peter wanted a solid lunch because he was planning on driving home directly afterward.
“You’re not going to stay here in Göteborg for one night?” Irene asked.
“No. We’re short-staffed. Jens has had to take over as superintendent for Beate. She’ll be on sick leave a few more weeks.”
He wouldn’t let himself be persuaded. Finally, Irene gave up. She wanted him to leave with a good impression of Göteborg’s pub life so she decided that they would eat at Glady’s Corner. She lifted the phone receiver to reserve a table. If you’re married to the master chef, it should be possible to arrange things on short notice.
THEY WERE given a table but had to wait until two o’clock. Jonny excused himself by saying that he had work piled up, but Irene had the suspicion that it was mostly out of fear that he would have to pay for himself. Glady’s was one of Göteborg’s best pubs, with a star in Guide Michelin , but not the cheapest one.
Irene quickly realized that the three police officers weren’t really dressed for the establishment. Peter might be able to pass as business casual. But since it was after the lunch rush and the dinner guests hadn’t started streaming in yet, there shouldn’t be a problem. The headwaiter was among the snootiest Irene had ever come across; they had never gotten on well. Not that they had that much to do with each other, but sometimes she couldn’t avoid needing to speak with her husband. If the headwaiter happened to be the one who answered the phone, an icy chill soon floated over the wires. Irene suspected that she wasn’t chic enough to be the wife of the golden pub’s master chef, in his estimation.
Now he met them at the door. He wore a black suit and a white shirt, and bowed stiffly to them. Of course, he pretended not to recognize Irene. Surrounded by the scent of his exclusive perfumed aftershave, he showed