Hannu came in with the videotape in hand. He had put the cassette back in the cover.
“It’s The New York Ripper,” he said.
Everyone looked puzzled, and finally he realized that he would have to explain himself.
“It’s illegal. It shows real murders.”
“A snuff movie?” Fredrik asked.
“Yes.”
“But aren’t those just tall tales? I was under the impression that it was never proved that there were actual murders in the films,” said Birgitta.
“I know the names of three of them that show actual killings. One of them is The New York Ripper,” Hannu said firmly.
Irene turned toward Jonny.
“Was this the only movie with this kind of content?” she asked.
Jonny nodded sullenly.
“Was there any element of sadistic sex in the other films?”
“Yes. Sick types with leather whips and several guys on top of one guy and that sort of thing. Disgusting!”
“They’re not very different from heterosexual porn films,” Irene said dryly.
“Of course, you’re very familiar with those,” Jonny sneered.
“Yes. As everyone is well aware, I’ve spent a good deal of time in Vesterbro. You don’t need to see the films. It’s enough just looking in the display windows,” she countered coldly.
Jonny snorted but didn’t continue the dispute.
“I’ll leave this with the technicians,” Hannu said and disappeared again with the video cover in a careful hold.
“Maybe I should try and call Copenhagen? It would be interesting to know if The New York Ripper is among Emil’s videos,” said Irene.
The superintendent nodded.
“Do that. And inform them about this latest murder.”
He turned toward Fredrik Stridh.
“Take some guys and start knocking on doors as soon as possible. This bastard has had incredible luck but it has to run out at some point. And this time the trail is fresh and we can go after him quickly.”
Irene nodded. “And he has actually left evidence behind. He must have been panicked when he destroyed the photo of Bolin’s family. Why? Well, the picture he wanted wasn’t in the studio. Because it’s standing here.”
She pointed at Manpower, which was leaning against the wall just inside the door.
“Do you think that picture is so important that he’s willing to kill for it?” Andersson objected skeptically.
“Yes. Think about what happened to Tom Tanaka. There are probably only two enlargements of Manpower. Marcus had one of them. He deposited it, along with the picture of himself, at Tom Tanaka’s before he left for his supposed vacation. For some reason he let the other picture of himself leaning against the pillows hang in Emil’s apartment. Either Emil got it from Marcus or he took it after Marcus was dead. But Basta found out where Manpower was, probably through Emil. And he knew that Erik Bolin had the other enlargement along with some small pictures and negatives. But there wasn’t as much of a hurry with Bolin. Basta probably didn’t think that we would find out who had taken the pictures.”
“According to the preliminary report from Stridner, Bolin has been dead for more than twelve hours. That means the murderer must have arrived pretty early in the evening. Someone may have seen him,” said Birgitta.
Irene wasn’t so sure about that. Kastellgatan was relatively quiet and calm, without many shops. But there was always a possibility.
PETER MØLLER answered the telephone despite the fact that it was after six o’clock. Irene couldn’t hear any guardedness in his voice; instead, it sounded as though he thought it was nice that she was calling. She started by asking if The New York Ripper was among Emil’s films. Peter promised to find out. When she had relayed the day’s discovery of the latest murder he became very serious.
“He’s following you,” he said.
That wasn’t what Irene wanted to hear. The short hairs rose up on her neck and she shivered, despite the summer heat. Peter wasn’t the first one to point this out. And she had thought about it herself many times lately. The murderer was close by.
“How’s Tom?” she asked in order to change the subject.
“He’s conscious but very tired. The doctor said that he had to be sewn up with over a hundred stitches. Your friend Tom is beautifully embroidered.”
Irene’s heart ached in sympathy. Poor Tom, who was so appearance conscious. She remembered the silver threads he had twisted around his hair knots and his blue nail polish.
“Could you please say hello to him from me? Actually, can you buy a bouquet of flowers from me? I’ll send money.”
“Buy flowers! If I could understand what you and that . . . OK. I’ll do it.”