assumed that it had to be Landvetter since he was here in Göteborg. But maybe he was only here because he had to pack his summer clothes.”
“Could he have been traveling with a woman?”
“When he was younger he went about with girls . . . to keep up appearances for his parents. He told me about that. And personally I’ve seen how women are drawn to him. But he stopped that in the last few years. He doesn’t need women as his alibi any longer.”
“Did he have sex with women?”
Gunnarsson shook his head. “No. Never. He is gay through and through. Those are his own words.”
Irene decided that it was time to tell Anders Gunnarsson the truth. She started by asking, “Did Marcus talk about a tattoo he had done in Copenhagen?”
“No.”
The dentist shook his head but then stopped suddenly. “Actually . . . maybe. I asked how things were going for him in Copenhagen. Then he said he had something that would show what an indelible impression the city had left on him. Then he laughed mysteriously. Indelible could refer to a tattoo.”
“We happen to know that Marcus had a unique tattoo done in Copenhagen . . .” Irene explained about the dragon tattoo and the murder-mutilation victim in Killevik. Anders Gunnarsson burst into tears. His sorrow seemed deep and real. Neither Irene nor Hannu knew how to comfort him, so they let him finish crying. His sobs began to diminish after a while. He got up and went to get a Kleenex and dried his eyes. With bent head and closed eyes he took deep breaths. When he had calmed himself, Irene said, “I understand that this must be a terrible shock for you.”
Gunnarsson nodded. His eyes, shiny with tears, reflected sincere grief and pain.
“When is Hans getting back from France?”
“On Thursday, the twenty-seventh.”
“Is he in Paris?”
“Yes.”
“Could you be so kind as to inform him that he should come to the station on Friday? He can call and ask for an appointment with me or Hannu Rauhala.”
They rose and thanked him for the coffee and the information. Gunnarsson followed them to the outer door. When he shook hands Irene felt his hand trembling faintly, which hadn’t been the case when they had greeted each other. Impulsively, she took his hand in both of hers and said, “Will you be OK? Do you want us to call someone or drive you somewhere?”
Gunnarsson shook his head. “No, thank you. It’s very kind . . . no, thank you.”
Irene pulled a calling card from her pocket. “Call my home number if you come up with anything else that could be important. I’ll be there all weekend.”
Gunnarsson took the card and stuffed it into his shirt pocket without looking at it.
* Twenty degrees Celsius is equivalent to sixty-eight degrees Fahrenheit.
On their way back to the station, Hannu asked Irene, “Could it be a sex game that got out of control?”
“It’s not impossible. But why dismember and clean him out? And take away certain muscles? It seems very . . . well planned.”
“Well planned?”
“Yes. A suitable place must have been chosen in advance to enable the murderer to do all that he did to the body. So he must have decided to kill his victim beforehand.”
When Hannu agreed, Irene felt an ice-cold chill. That was what was so terrible. Carmen Østergaard, Marcus Tosscander, and Isabell Lind had never had a chance. The murderer had already decided. Beforehand.
Chapter 10
FOR ONCE KRISTER DIDN’T have to work over the weekend. Irene’s mother and her significant other, Sture, were invited for dinner on Whitsunday in order to give a full account of their wine trip to the Moselle Valley. Krister was looking forward to it with eager expectation because, naturally, he was hoping for some really exciting samples from the wine district.
Mamma Gerd radiantly handed over two bottles to her son-in-law. Irene saw an expression of disappointment pass over his face but he quickly regained his composure. He warmly thanked his mother-in-law and gave her a big hug. Then he turned the bottles so that Irene could read the labels: Ockfener Scharzberg. Even she knew the brand was available at the state liquor store. But little Mamma didn’t know that. She rarely went there since she hardly drank any alcohol.
Sture wasn’t very familiar with wines, either which Irene realized when he smiled and said, “Gerd and I made a find. We bought a whole case of these bottles in a grocery store for twenty-five D-marks. Amazingly cheap!”