height and about twenty-five years old. His thick black hair stood straight up on his head. A friendly blue gaze was aimed at Irene through thick glasses enclosed by round, steel frames.
Irene had turned Manpower toward the wall. She didn’t want the picture to distract the witness.
“It was good of you to come, Henning. I have a picture I would like you to see a little later. But first, I’d like to ask some follow-up questions. Is that OK?”
“Of course,” said Henning.
“Have you ever seen Basta at a meeting of Gays in the Health-Care Services?”
“No. Never,” he answered firmly.
“Had you seen him earlier, before you met at the Central Station in January?”
“No.”
“You’ve never seen him at a gay club or anywhere else?”
“No.”
“Do you often go to gay clubs and other gay hangouts?”
“Yes. When I go out it’s oft . . . often to those kinds of places.”
“And you’ve never seen Basta at any of them?” she repeated.
“No.”
“Do you have any idea who he is or where he can be found?”
Henning shook his head vigorously. “No. And I don’t intend to look ei . . . either.”
“You haven’t heard anyone else talk about an event similar to the one you experienced?”
“No. But it’s unlikely that anyone would talk about something like that. I haven’t mentioned what happened to anyone except you and Pontus. And that was only because Pontus started talking about his conversation with you. About necro . . . necrophilia and stuff like that. Then I wanted to speak about it.”
Irene nodded. She walked over to the picture, turned it around, and stepped to one side.
“Do you recognize this man?” she asked.
Henning stared at Manpower.
“It’s not possible to see the face but it very well co . . . could be Basta,” he said finally.
He smiled mischievously, adding, “Where can I buy this poster?” “It can’t be bought. It’s an exhibition photo.”
“Is Basta a photo model?” Henning asked, interested.
Irene decided not to reveal the photographer’s identity. The papers had feasted on the murder of Erik Bolin. No one outside the police station was aware of the picture of Basta. Basta couldn’t know that the police had already connected the attack on Tom to the murder of the photographer. He also didn’t know where Manpower was right now, if Erik Bolin hadn’t had time to tell him before he was killed.
“We don’t know anything about Basta. Actually, we’re not even sure that it’s Basta in the picture. Right now it’s just a suspicion. One among all of the leads we’re looking into. I would be very grateful if you didn’t speak with your friends about this picture. It may be very important but it could be a false lead,” said Irene.
Henning managed to tear his eyes away from Manpower and looked at Irene. She started thinking about a friendly blue-eyed owl when he blinked at her from behind his thick lenses.
“OK. I won’t say anything. But what a pi . . . picture!”
Irene understood his reaction but her own attitude was ambivalent. The dark silhouette in the sunlight felt more and more threatening and full of malice.
IRENE WAS on her fifth mug of coffee of the morning and she had almost finished writing the report on the questioning of Henning Oppdal when Hannu stuck his head in and asked if she was ready to tag along to the interview of Sara Bolin. She quickly hurried to finish and logged out.
Hannu drove as Irene leaned back against the headrest, trying to relax.
“Did the witness ask if we’d found anything in the mausoleum?” Hannu asked.
“No. He became completely absorbed by Manpower.”
Hannu laughed. “I can understand that. Did he recognize Basta?” “He said that it could very well be Basta. Hard to say for certain since the face is in shadow.”
Hannu said, “Exactly. Then why is Basta so anxious to get this picture? We haven’t found any of the other pictures Bolin took of him. Basta probably found them.”
“There is a connection between himself and Marcus through the pictures Bolin took. But I don’t think he functions like the rest of us. Could Manpower have become an obsession?”
“Maybe. But I put more stock in your first theory. He’s cold. Ice-cold.”
Irene felt that cold surround her.
SARA BOLIN must have been standing just inside the door waiting for them. Irene barely had time to take her finger off the doorbell when the door flew open. The woman in the photograph that Erik Bolin had proudly shown Irene less than a week ago opened the door.