prints on the cover. But there were only two prints on the video itself, Emil’s and that of an unknown. We’ve secured the unknown thumbprint. And it matches perfectly with the thumb on the stamp!”
Irene stared at Svante and exclaimed, “I’ll be damned! He’s been smart, and had incredible luck, but he hasn’t realized how dangerous a series of small mistakes are, when put together!”
“He has become too arrogant and self-confident. A bit sloppy. If you catch him, we’ll definitely be able to nail him. Even if he denies it.” Svante sounded very pleased.
“You haven’t gotten anything in on Erik Bolin yet?”
“No. Several samples will come from the autopsy today. Stridner’s assistant called. That young girl, what’s her name? Britt! Britt Nilsson called from Pathology and said that they had found a skin scraping under Bolin’s nails. Apparently the body also has injuries that are indicative of a serious struggle.”
Something clicked, but when Irene couldn’t grasp it, she tossed it off as her imagination, and asked instead, “So Erik Bolin fought with his killer?”
“The evidence points to it. But you’ll get a preliminary report today.”
“Probably.”
“The bloodstains on the police uniform in Copenhagen are from Marcus Tosscander but those on the baton turned out to be significantly older. They came from a prostitute who was killed two years ago.”
“Carmen Østergaard! You mean that her blood was still on the baton after two years?”
“Apparently. There were traces of blood in the hole for the leather strap and on the leather itself. Most of the blood had been wiped or rinsed off, but there was still enough for a positive test. According to our colleagues in Copenhagen, it can’t have been used after the murder.”
“Wasn’t there a baton with the other uniform?”
“No.”
“And no signs of bloodstains on that uniform?”
“No.”
“Were the bloodstains on the real uniform or on the one Emil bought in the gay shop?”
“On the one he bought in the shop.”
So Emil hadn’t dared to use his mother’s uniform during the dismemberment itself, maybe out of fear that she might sometime ask to have it back. A thought struck Irene.
“Wasn’t there any of Carmen’s blood on the uniform?”
“No. Though it had never been washed.”
Irene thought. “On the video, Emil was wearing a uniform when he dismembered Carmen. That must mean that he had still another uniform at that time,” she said.
“Very possible.”
Svante was already on his way into the corridor when Irene heard his farewell. “Good-bye. We’ll be in touch when we know more about Bolin.”
Irene brooded for a long time about the mystery of the absence of Carmen’s blood from the uniform worn during her dismemberment. That must mean Emil had had a third uniform. Where was it now? Maybe he had burned it afterward if it was very bloody? And bought a new one for the dismembering of Marcus?
Irene trembled. That meant that Marcus’s murder had been planned long in advance. Which must mean that Carmen’s murder had also been planned. Were the strange assaults on the two prostitutes in Copenhagen shortly before Carmen was murdered the first clumsy attempts at trying to secure a mutilation victim? Third time was the charm, in that case.
The description the police had of “the policeman” matched Emil, and the description of “the doctor” matched Basta. And what was it that had clicked when Svante Malm started talking about Stridner? Something that Stridner had said? Something that her assistant had said? Irene had only met Britt Nilsson a few times and that had been a while ago. No, it was useless. To her irritation, she was forced to give up. But something had definitely registered.
She went through every name on the lists from Marcus’s computer. Even names that only popped up in connection with job requests were noted. All of them would be checked. It would be a huge job but Irene felt convinced that Basta was hiding behind one of those names. He could be a link between the victims and the murderer. But another certainty had grown ever stronger inside her: he was the murderer they were looking for.
“ITHINK we have him!”
Tommy stormed into the office they shared. He seemed elated. Normally, Tommy was calmness personified.
“I’ve come directly from the prosecutor. We’re going to get him immediately. He’s at work right now.”
“Who?” Irene asked, confused.
Tommy stared at her. Then he exploded, “Jack the Ripper, of course!”
“The New York Ripper and Jack the Ripper. . . . It’s a bit much now,” Irene said, trying to make a joke of her blunder.