Chapter 2
“ PART OF DISMEMBERED MURDER victim found at swimming place” was the caption in the Göteborg Post. Irene Huss read the article, eyes heavy with sleep. She had never been accused of being a morning person. Now she was trying to get her brain cells working with the morning’s second cup of coffee.
Krister joined her at the breakfast table. Thudding on the stairs to the second floor warned of the twins’ imminent arrival.
“Murder victim. Nobody knows yet if it’s a murder victim,” Irene muttered.
“It can hardly be a case of suicide,” her husband countered, gently mocking her. More than anyone else, he was acquainted with his wife’s bad morning moods, and he knew better than anyone how easy it was to tease her before she got a few cups of coffee in her system. But he had to be careful and not go too far. Then the whole day would be ruined for everyone involved.
“It very well could be,” Irene hissed.
“Really? Good-bye, cruel world! Now I’m going to cut off my arms and legs and head in order to be absolutely certain that I’ll die!”
Krister made a theatrical gesture and covered his eyes with one arm and with a closed fist raised the other to the ungracious powers above.
Irene said, “There are necrophiles. They steal dead bodies—”
She stopped herself when she saw her daughters standing in the doorway.
“Pleasant conversation you’re having over breakfast,” Katarina said dryly.
“What a horrible job you have, Mamma,” was Jenny’s comment.
That really hurt. Irene loved her job and had never wanted to become anything other than a police officer. More than anything else, she had always felt it was something meaningful. Certainly, there were aspects of the profession that were less than pleasant but someone had to do the job. It was hard to explain to two teenage daughters, one of whom wanted to become a singer in a band like the Cardigans and the other, a guide for survival courses in remote jungles and mountain ranges. (Katarina would definitely also consider traveling around to exotic and remote destinations for a travel program on TV.)
Irene took a large sip of extra-strong coffee in order to get herself ready for the day.
 

DURING MORNING] prayers Superintendent Andersson informed his entire group about the little they knew with respect to the corpse discovered at Killevik. No new leads and no new body parts had been found so far. Andersson was waiting impatiently for what Forensics might come up with. Patience was not one of the superintendent’s strong points.
In addition to Irene and Jonny, the group was made up of three more officers.
Birgitta Moberg was the other woman in the group. She was a slender blonde with bright brown eyes who looked significantly younger than her thirty years. Many men were deceived by her gentle appearance, but she was a woman with a mind of her own.
Hannu Rauhala was sitting beside her. His half-cropped hair was light blond, almost white. Usually he was quiet and reserved, but everyone knew that Hannu was extremely effective when it came to all types of inquiries and to investigating people.
The third inspector in the group was Fredrik Stridh. Despite the fact that he was twenty-eight years old and had worked at Violent Crimes for three years, he was still viewed as the “youngster.” But his colleagues respected him for his never-failing good humor and his terrierlike stubbornness. He never let go if he caught the scent of a possible lead, no matter how faint it might be.
The only one missing was Tommy Persson, Irene’s partner and best friend since the Police Academy in Ulriksdal. This morning he was lying on an operating table at the Eastern Hospital, being operated on for an inguinal hernia. He would be out for at least a week. Irene had called the night before and spoken with his wife, Agneta. In a conspiratorial tone she had confided to Irene, “Tommy isn’t a bit nervous. But of course he’s written out a will.” Irene could hear loud protests from Tommy in the background, who was threatening his wife with unpleasant consequences if she continued with her lies. Agneta was a head nurse at Alingsås Hospital and a good friend of Irene’s.
“The Harbor Police will receive reinforcements and will continue the search of the islands and skerries outside Killevik. The Marines are providing divers. We’ll start at Killevik and later widen the search area toward Askimsfjorden.”
Irene was startled out of her thoughts by the superintendent’s voice. He stood in front of the coastal map making circular motions over the light blue water. Andersson’s gaze moved quickly over the group before coming to rest on Hannu Rauhala.
“Make contact with Pathology at lunchtime and try and find out how long the body has been dead. Then you can start going through missing persons’ reports filed around the time the body would have been fresh.”
Hannu nodded.
The superintendent turned toward the others.
“Everyone except Irene, go out to Skintebo and start knocking on doors. We want to find out whatever anyone observed that may have something to do with the discovery. Has anyone seen similar black sacks or anybody carrying black sacks at odd times? And you know the rest.” He stopped himself and sighed deeply before continuing, “Irene and I are going to try and tie up the loose ends surrounding the Angered murder. Everyone has been questioned and the hooligans have confessed, but we have a meeting with the prosecutor later this morning to go through the whole case.”
 

IRENE HAD a great deal of admiration for Inez Collin. They were roughly the same age. Superintendent Andersson had always had problems with the female prosecutor and Irene often thought that the reason was that she was not only a woman but schooled in the law as well.
Inez Collin looked absolutely fantastic, as usual. Today she was dressed in a light dove gray dress with matching shoes. Over the dress she was wearing a sober blazer that was a shade darker than the narrow dress. She had gathered her light hair into a ponytail and fastened it with a large silver clasp. Both her lips and nails were painted a delicious shade of bright red.
It was always easy to work with her and they finished just before lunch. Andersson was in a hurry to leave the room. Maybe he was afraid that Inez Collin would suggest that they have lunch together, thought Irene.
The truth was that Andersson wanted to find out if the pathologists had called. He was too impatient to wait for the elevator and started up the stairs instead. On the way he started to regret his impulsiveness. By the time he reached the Violent Crimes floor his face was flushed and he was gasping like a broken bellows. Slowly, he started to make his way down the corridor while trying to get his blood pressure and breathing under control.
Hannu came out of his office, stopping when he caught sight of his panting boss. He looked at Andersson and assessed the red patches on his face and neck, but as usual made no comment. With difficulty, the superintendent tried to laugh it off. “I guess you shouldn’t go in for sports when you’re almost sixty.”
Hannu smiled politely but a hint of concern could be seen in his ice blue eyes.
“Have you gotten hold of the pathologist?” Andersson asked.
“Yes. Professor Stridner said that they wouldn’t be finished before two o’clock.”
The color in Andersson’s face darkened. “Two! Is it going to take longer to examine that little piece than it usually takes to cut up a whole body?”
Hannu shrugged his shoulders without answering. Andersson took a few deep breaths before asking, “Do you know if they’ve found anything else at Killevik?”
The response was negative. The superintendent gave Hannu an irritated look and disappeared into his office.
As she entered the corridor Irene heard the last exchange. She smiled at Hannu and said softly, “He’s a bit bent out of shape today. First Inez Collin in the morning and then having to go and wait for news from Yvonne Stridner. . . . It’s just too much.”
Hannu laughed softly. If the superintendent felt uncomfortable around the coolly elegant prosecutor, then he practically had a phobia about the pathology professor, Yvonne Stridner. She was a colorful woman with a great air of authority and competence, one of the most skillful medical examiners in Scandinavia. Everyone thought so, not least the woman herself.
“Maybe we can go and eat in the meantime,” said Irene.
“Unfortunately, I’ve already made plans to meet someone else.”
The slightest hint of red could be seen across his high cheekbones. Wow! For the first time in the two years Hannu had been working with them, he was showing signs of an emotional life. Irene’s imagination instantly started painting a picture of a romantic lunch date with a secret woman. Or maybe a man? She realized that she had no idea whether Hannu had a live-in girlfriend or a wife, or if he was single. She was insanely curious but at the same time she knew she would never get any information out of Hannu. Maybe one could run an internal investigation? A mean thought, but tempting nonetheless. Without a hint of what was going on inside her head, Irene said lightly, “Too bad for me. I’ll see you around two.”
The whole thing had been almost too easy. Irene heard Hannu close the door as he left. She stood and peered out the window in her office. Hannu emerged from the police station and walked across the parking lot. He directed his steps purposefully toward a scrubby yellow VW Golf. He opened the door on the passenger’s side and hopped in.
Irene recognized the car all too well. There weren’t many models from the mideighties still rolling around the streets, but Detective Inspector Birgitta Moberg had one. She took good care of the car and she would never lend it to anyone. There was little doubt that it was Birgitta herself who was driving.
 

“ WHA T THE hell does she mean?! Not done yet! It’s two o’clock and she’s had all day!”
Superintendent Andersson lost all control when the message came from Pathology. Irene had been the one to take the call and tell her boss the news. He glared angrily and accusingly at Irene. She didn’t take it personally because she knew the looks were intended for Professor Stridner.
Andersson stepped up to the window and looked through the dirty pane at Ernst Fontells Plats. Irene understood from his low muttering that he was thinking. After a while he turned to face her and said, “We’re going up to Pathology. Stridner must be able to tell us something! Then we’ll drive out to Killevik. I want to see where the sack was found.” AS ALWAYS, when he stepped across the threshold of the Pathology Department, Andersson seemed overwhelmed by a strong sense of discomfort. Irene knew how he felt but she acted as though she didn’t notice. His sensations certainly didn’t improve after the blond body-builder of an attendant informed them that the professor was in the examination room. He was familiar with the superintendent’s loathing for autopsies and beamed with a charming but provoking smile. His teeth shone white against his sunburned skin. Though he had been working at Pathology for many years, his appearance, together with his neat ponytail, gave an impression of vitality that was entirely out of place in those surroundings. Irene only knew his first name, printed on his name tag: Sebastian.
It was the smell that was the worst. Perhaps it was possible to get used to it if you experienced it daily, thought Irene. But when people like her and the superintendent visited only now and then, it hit them with its full effect.
Andersson stopped just inside the door and, to her surprise, Irene noted that he had pushed her in front of him. So she trotted up to the steel table where Yvonne Stridner was dissecting the upper half of the torso that had been found.
The pathologist looked up over the edge of her magnifying eyeglasses and knit her eyebrows. “What are you doing here?” she asked sharply.
Irene felt impelled to answer since the superintendent was silent.
“We were wondering if you really hadn’t discovered anything . . . useful?”
Stridner snorted loudly. “I’ll contact you when I’m finished.”
“You don’t know if it’s a man or a woman?”
“No. The pectoralis major, the large muscle in the chest, has been almost completely removed on both sides. It doesn’t make sense.”
“What doesn’t make sense?” Andersson ventured to ask.
“The mutilation of female breasts is usually limited to the breast glands and fatty tissue. But here they have gone deeper and removed the muscle. Consequently, I can’t say whether it’s a man or a woman. The incisions are elliptical and nearly eleven by seventeen centimeters.2 It appears as though two female breasts have been removed. Yet I need to look more thoroughly. . . .”
“What’s the cause of death?”
“Impossible to say. Find the head and maybe that will provide a lead. In this type of case strangulation is the most common cause of death.”
“You don’t see any marks on the neck?”
“There is no neck to see any marks on. The head has been removed above the seventh cervical vertebra. All of the internal organs have been removed. No lungs, no heart, no abdominal organs. The chest has been opened all the way up to the throat. The entire sternum has been sawed open.”
“How long has the body—or the body part—been in the sack?”
“Can’t say for certain. Based on decay it could be anywhere from two to four months. It was very cold in February and March, which is obviously a factor. There haven’t been any long periods of warm weather from April up to today either. But we have taken the usual samples and, of course, performed toxicology tests. We’ll have the results in a few days and then we can be more certain.”
Irene heard the superintendent heading toward the exit behind her. Her brain worked feverishly to come up with an important question she should ask while there was still time. Suddenly, it struck her. “The tattoo. Is it possible to see what the image is?” she asked.
“Yes. It looks like a small upside-down y with a cross stroke where the fork separates and a cross stroke a bit higher up on the shaft. I think it resembles a Chinese character. There is a dragon wrapped around the sign and it’s biting its own tail. A very attractive tattoo. Actually a real piece of art, in different colors. See for yourself.”
Stridner twisted the limp grayish green chest so that Irene would be able to see the tattoo. It may have been very beautiful, but now Irene was also starting to feel ill. She pretended to examine the tattoo closely before she thanked Stridner and hurried out of the room.
002
THEY TOOK Highway 158 from Järnbrottsmotet toward Särö. It wasn’t until they had turned off at Brottkärrsmotet and headed out to Skintebo that Irene broke the silence.
“I think we got a lot of information.”
The superintendent mumbled an answer. Irene thought it sounded like “far too much,” but she wasn’t entirely certain.
“Are we going to have a case review tonight?” she asked, mostly as a means of changing the subject.
“No. Nothing is pressing. We’ll take care of it at morning prayers.” Irene drove by Billdal’s Park and after a while she turned onto the little road to Killevik. From there they could see the boat that the marine divers were using. It was swaying listlessly in the lightly rolling seas outside some of the smaller skerries a few hundred meters from the beach. Blue-and-white flags marked the area where the divers were working. In the distance they could hear rumbling from the Harbor Police boat as it searched through every single islet and the countless small islands.
“Where are all of our people?” wondered Andersson.
“Supposedly out knocking on doors,” Irene answered.
Andersson muttered something unintelligible. He took out his cell phone and started rummaging around in his pockets. He finally seemed to find what he was looking for because his grunting sounded less irritable when he pulled out a wrinkled note. Irene was able to make out the words “Harbor Police” written in red ink. A telephone number was listed below. Andersson dialed the number.
“Hi. Sven Andersson here. Have you found anything?”
He scowled as the person on the other end replied.
“Uh-huh. The divers haven’t either . . . ? Oh.” He couldn’t hide the disappointment in his voice. “Call as soon as something comes up . . . I mean . . . if you find anything. Good. Thanks.”
He did his best to sound normal when he ended the call but Irene knew her boss well enough not to be fooled.
Andersson leaned toward the windshield and glared darkly out at the three boulders. For a long time he sat still, staring intently at the rocks in the water. Thin gray veils of clouds hid the sun but the light sifted through and sprinkled the waves with silvery glitter. Seagulls circled low over the water’s surface, which reflected the sunlight in silvery white. Andersson was lost in thought and didn’t see how beautiful it was. Irene waited for him to break the silence.
“How the hell did the sack get there?”
“I believe in your theory that it was driven between the rocks during a storm. Otherwise we should have found more sacks in the same place or in the surrounding area.”
“Where did it come from?”
Irene shrugged her shoulders.
“No idea. Maybe it came from one of the islands.”
“Hmm. Styrsö is located straight out. And Donsö. But I don’t know how the currents run out here. Maybe it came from Vrångö. We’ll have to check the currents although it is quite a way for a sack to float.”
Irene nodded. “I’ll check on it.”
A thought struck her. “I’ll ask Birgitta if she has a nautical chart. She sails a lot.”
“It’s almost four thirty. I’ll drive you home. Or is your car parked at the station?” Andersson asked.
“No. Krister took it today. He doesn’t get off work until after midnight.”
They could only afford one car, but the system they used worked well. The car was always parked in the Police Department’s parking lot. It was only a five-minute walk from the stylish pub, Glady’s Corner, where Krister worked as master chef. The one who left earliest, usually Irene, would take the car in the morning. If they could ride together they did. The one who worked the latest would drive the car home. For Irene’s part, taking the express bus home from Drottningtorget was fairly quick. But the thought of not having to sit on an overcrowded bus was tempting, so she accepted the superintendent’s offer of a ride.
They drove back toward Highway 158 through open country that was becoming green. Even though villas and row houses had been built in high concentrations in some areas, there were still parts that were very rural. Irene didn’t comment since she knew her boss was not interested in hearing about idyllic natural scenery right now.
“Murders with dismemberments are very uncommon. I’ve been a crime investigator for almost twenty-five years and during that time we’ve had three or four cases. I’ve only investigated one murder-mutilation previously. This will be the second,” he said.
“Who was the victim in the first case?”
“A drug addict and prostitute. They’re the ones who end up like this. They attract the sickest types. I guess you could call it an occupational hazard. If you happen to be a snake charmer, you have to count on being bitten at some point.”
“Such girls feel very abandoned.”
Andersson grunted in response. Irene continued. “Was that body also cut open and emptied of all organs?”
“No. A confused bastard had killed her during some extra-heated sex game in his apartment. He panicked because he didn’t know how he was going to get rid of the body. So he dismembered her in the bathtub and stuffed the pieces into three suitcases. Then he threw the suitcases in a big Dumpster at a building site in the area.”
“Did it take a long time to catch him?”
“Four days. He drank like a pig after the murder and went crazy. He stood on his balcony and shouted, ‘I was the one who cut her up! I was the one who did it!’ After about an hour, the neighbors got tired of it and called us. It was just a matter of driving there and picking him up. He hadn’t even cleaned up properly in the bathroom and the hooker’s clothes were still lying on the floor.” Andersson chuckled at the memory. “But this is something else. Something much worse,” he said and suddenly became serious again.
“What do you mean?”
“To murder a human being and then take apart the body piece by piece like a . . . roasted chicken. It’s damned disgusting!”
“I agree with you. But we don’t know what happened yet. Is this a case of murder or of a necrophile who came across a body and dismembered it for the sake of excitement. . . .”
Irene stopped herself when she became aware of Andersson’s faint moaning.
“Goddamn it! Goddamn it!” he said emphatically.
Irene nodded and decided to drop the subject. Even if both Irene and her boss had worked with murders and murderers for many years, there were still some things that were worse than others.
003
B Y CHANCE Irene had happened to see the announcement in GP a week or so earlier: “Welcome to the Hair Center at Frölunda Torg! We’re now open until 8:00 p.m. on Wednesday and Thursday evenings!” She had pounced on the phone and made an appointment. Finally a hairdresser who understood when people had time to do their hair! She had gotten an appointment at six thirty, which suited her. She would have time to make it home and walk Sammie first.
The twins had their own activities after school. Jenny was very musical and played both guitar and flute. She also sang in two choirs. Today, flute practice was on the schedule. Katarina had a good chance of winning this year’s Junior National Championship in judo since she had won the year before. Irene herself had become European Champion almost twenty years ago. At that time she was the only woman in Scandinavia who had a black belt, third dan.
Sammie was sitting just inside the door and welcomed her with big leaps of joy. That was the advantage of having a dog, thought Irene. It was happy no matter what time of day you came home.
She barely had time to take off her jacket before the phone rang.
“Irene Huss here.”
“Hi, Irene. This is Monika Lind. Do you remember me?”
It took a second for Irene to go through her memory bank to find Monika Lind, but she managed in the end.
“Of course. We were neighbors for a few years. But hasn’t it been four or five years since you moved to Trollhättan?”
“To Vänersborg. Five years ago.”
Monika Lind’s daughter, Isabell, was one year older than the twins. The girls had played together when they were younger, but when the Lind family moved all the way to Vänersborg the contact faded and finally stopped completely. Irene wondered what her former neighbor might want from her.
“It’s about Isabell. The police don’t care and I have to speak with a sensible police officer!”
Monika’s voice broke at the last sentence, and Irene realized, to her consternation, that Monika had begun to sob. Irene tried to use a calming tone of voice. “What is it that’s happened? Has Isabell gotten into trouble with the police?”
“No, but she’s gone! I’ve looked for her . . . but no one cares!”
Heavy weeping could be heard again.
“Monika, please. Try and start from the beginning.”
It was quiet for a while. Irene understood that Monika was making a real effort to calm down. She started speaking in a shaky voice. “Isabell started her second year in the social studies program in the fall. But she didn’t get on well. She has always had a hard time finding her place at high school. She won a beauty contest last summer and after that she wanted only one thing . . . to become a photo model. A photographer here in the city took some very nice pictures of her that cost a fortune . . . but she really wanted it.”
Monika Lind became silent again. Irene could hear her breathing and she knew how difficult it must be for Monika to talk about this.
“Everything stopped at Christmas. She refused to continue going to high school. She said that she had picked the wrong track and wanted to start the mass media program in the fall. And she had also had contact with a modeling agency in Copenhagen.”
Irene jumped in. “How did she get in touch with the agency?”
“Through an ad. They were looking for Swedish girls who were willing to work in Copenhagen.”
“What’s the name of the agency?”
“Scandinavian Models. She got in touch with a female photographer named Jytte Pedersen. I actually spoke with her on the phone twice before Bell left. The agency arranged the trip and the apartment and—” Monika’s voice broke again and she wept in despair.
“She rented her own apartment in Copenhagen?”
“No. She shares one with two other girls. One from Oslo named Linn and one from Malmö named Petra.”
“Where is the apartment located? In what part of Copenhagen?” Irene had only been to Copenhagen once in her life in the last year of high school. Her memories were a bit blurry, probably due in large part to the good, cheap Danish beer and to the distance from watchful parental eyes.
“It’s just next to Frihamnen. Østbanegade is the name of the street.”
“You’ve never visited her?”
“Yes, no. Not her . . . I wanted to go down and visit during the break in February. The disadvantage of being a teacher is that I only have vacation during school breaks. My husband promised to take care of Elin. . . . You might remember that I was pregnant when we moved to Vänersborg. Isabell has a little sister who is almost five. Rather, a half sister. But then Bell didn’t want me to come because they were busy renovating the apartment. Then I wanted to come over Easter but she said that she had so much work. She was going to travel to London for some photo shoots and so on. Increasingly I got the feeling that she didn’t want me to come. The girls didn’t have a phone in the apartment so Bell would always call us. I wrote at least once a week.”
“How often did she call?”
“Usually once a week. A few times it might have been ten days between calls.”
“When did you last hear from her?”
“She called one evening in the middle of March. Janne answered the phone. I had parent-teacher meetings.”
“What did she say?”
“Not very much. As I said, it was Janne who answered the phone.”
“How is the relationship between Isabell and your husband?”
A loud sigh could be heard. “As you know, there were already problems when we were living in Fiskebäck. Bell was eleven when Janne and I met. Because contact with her father had been irregular since the divorce, it had only been the two of us for five years. And then Janne came and got between us. You must remember all of the times she ran away and came to your house and you weren’t allowed to say where she was because she wanted me to worry.”
“You don’t think it could be something like that this time? She is staying away so that you’ll start to worry. . . .”
“That’s exactly what the police in both Sweden and Denmark want me to think! They don’t believe that she’s disappeared!”
“She’s disappeared? What do you mean?”
“She isn’t in Copenhagen! All of April went by and I didn’t hear anything from her. The Thursday before Walpurgis Night Eve I took the day off and went down to Copenhagen. First I went to Bell’s address. You have no idea what a seedy-looking hovel it was! A big dirty apartment building next to Søndre Frihavn. I went up the stairs to the landing where Bell supposedly lived but there was no apartment with three girls as roommates. Of course I knocked and asked all the tenants who were home. No one had seen or heard anything about those three girls.”
Monika paused. “Finally, I got ahold of a phone book and started searching for modeling agencies and photographers. There’s no modeling agency called Scandinavian Models, and there’s no photographer named Jytte Pedersen. I went to all of the photographers and agencies I could find. I had a picture of Bell with me that I showed them. None of the photographers had seen her. Then it was the weekend so I went home. But I reported Bell as missing to the Danish police before I left.”
Her voice cut off again and Irene had to wait a long time. In the meantime, she jotted down notes on a pad hanging on the wall by the phone.
Monika snuffled and continued in an unsteady voice. “They were . . . laughing! They didn’t think it was alarming that a seventeen-year-old had disappeared in Copenhagen. According to them, that kind of thing happens every day. Young girls run away from their parents in order to experience the big city. Apparently completely normal! They said that all the police could do was post a description and see if she popped up in connection with some other case. They practically told me to my face that they weren’t going to do anything!”
And what could they do? Send out patrols to look for Isabell from Vänersborg? Irene realized that it wouldn’t be a good idea to even suggest such a thought. Instead she asked, “Have you contacted the Swedish police?”
“Yes, on May 2, last Sunday. They have the same outlook as their Danish colleagues.”
Irene thought hard. “You said that Isabell called. Did she ever write cards or letters?”
“No. She was never much for writing.”
“Try and remember what she said. About the apartment. About the other two girls. About working as a model . . . everything!”
“She said the first names of the girls she was sharing with were Linn and Petra. She mostly talked about all of the new friends she was meeting. There were people from all over the world. There was an English boy named Steven and an American named Robin. The girls usually went out together and then they met tons of people. Of course there were a lot of other models. One friend’s name was Heidi. Then she talked about how it was fun but difficult to be photographed.”
“You don’t know any of the last names of the people she mentioned?”
“No. She said that she had bought a lot of clothes. She and the other girls would go out on the town and shop. She has always been crazy about clothes, and now she is earning quite a bit. If I know her, she is spending all of it on clothes and makeup.”
“How did she describe the apartment and the building?”
“As being very nice and pleasant.”
“But it didn’t match the reality.”
“No.”
“Has she said anything else that you later found to be a lie?”
“Not that I can think of.”
Irene chose her words carefully before she said, “Unfortunately, the situation is just as both my Swedish and Danish colleagues have said. There isn’t much the police can do as long as there is no clear indication of a crime unless she shows up in connection with some police investigation. But you can always hire a private detective.”
“That would be too expensive. But maybe that’s what I’ll have to do. What do you think has happened to her?”
“It’s difficult to say. One possibility is that she is in hiding of her own free will for some reason. Another is that she isn’t in Copenhagen anymore. Isn’t there a chance that she went to England again?”
“But she should have called!”
“Yes. That’s what’s worrisome, that she hasn’t. I think you should ask the police you contacted here in Sweden to register her with Interpol.”
Monika thought this over. Irene had no more to say, so she just waited.
“Will you call if you come up with something?”
“Of course. Can I get your numbers at home and at work?” Irene wrote down the information on the notepad. She didn’t entertain much hope of needing to use it in future. There wasn’t a lot a detective inspector with a full-time job in Göteborg could do.
 

THE HAIRDRESSER had cut off too much. When she revealed the results to her husband, his comments confirmed her fears.
For the last seventeen years he had viewed her hairstyle intensely and critically. Now he raised his hand in greeting and said, “Howdy, Bob.”
Naturally, she felt offended but at the same time she had to admit that she should have stopped the woman sooner. Irene decided that it was the hairdresser’s fault. She had placed a picture of a young and fresh-looking model in Irene’s face and said, “Look at this. Just your style. Tough but still feminine. A bit sixties retro, if you remember the Twiggy cut. Easy to take care of. And then we’ll just add some darker red-brown highlights.”
If Irene remembered the Twiggy cut . . . every girl’s ideal at the end of the 1960s. She had been nine or ten years old. Without saying anything to her mother, she had made an appointment with the ladies’ hairdresser at Guldhedstorget. The sweet-smelling plump hairdresser with bright red lipstick had wondered in a friendly way if Irene really was determined to cut off her long hair. Irene had declared that she was. And she also wanted to look like Twiggy. Perhaps the hair became Twiggylike, but not the rest of Irene. No one would ever mix them up—not then and not later.
And now she had gone and done it again.
With a sigh, Detective Inspector Irene Huss looked at her reflection in the hallway mirror critically. She saw a tall slender woman, dressed in black pants and a light blue V-neck cotton top. Her hair was very short but the color was nice. Her usual dark brown hair had a deep red luster. All of the gray streaks were covered, and in the hall light she looked younger than her forty years. If she didn’t step too close to the mirror.
With a hefty pull, the outside door was thrown open and her twin daughters tried to squeeze through the doorway at the same time. When the argument over who was going to take the last coat hanger was sorted out, the girls turned to their mother.
“We’ve been and looked at them. It’s him,” said Jenny.
“Without a doubt,” Katarina agreed.
As one, mother and daughters moved to the kitchen where the two male members of the family were gathered. Since Krister worked as a master chef and cooked both as a career and a hobby, he had started on their late dinner. Sammie was sitting next to him expectantly, completely concentrated on his master’s activities. A tasty morsel might fall on the floor.
“Katarina and Jenny have been to look at them. No doubt that Sammie’s the father,” said Irene.
“Then the ill-tempered shrew was right when she called and scolded us,” Krister remarked.
“Of course she was angry! Her purebred poodle had gone and pleased herself with a terrier! But she only has herself to blame. You don’t let a bitch in heat out in the yard in a neighborhood with row houses. Not with the low fences we have here. She even complained to me that the bitch is an international champion,” Irene informed them.
“So, Sammie, you’ve been consorting with a champion,” Krister said harshly but with a faint smile on his lips.
If this had been a cartoon, a question mark would have lit up over Sammie’s head. He had such a look of wonder on his face as he glanced from one to the other that they felt as though they could almost see it floating over him. Jenny was the one who couldn’t control herself and burst out in snorting laughter. The others joined in and soon they were all laughing so hard they were crying. But then Sammie became grumpy. If there was anything a dog with self-esteem loathed, it was being laughed at and made a fool of. With his tail between his legs he left the kitchen and went upstairs to the second floor. There he went into Jenny’s room and crawled under the bed.
“There are three of them!” Jenny said. “The cutest ever! Two girls and one boy. They sort of look like Sammie when he was a puppy. But much smaller since they are only three weeks old and also much darker and—”
“Of course! The mother is black,” interrupted Katarina.
“Obviously, I know that’s the reason why! But the old bag has threatened to put them to sleep if we don’t help her find homes for them.”
“A mix between a poodle and a terrier doesn’t sound entirely successful. Based on looks they will probably be absolutely adorable. But as for temperament and personality . . . I don’t know,” said Irene, wondering.
“What have you done to your hair!” Katarina burst out. She hadn’t noticed her mother’s new hairstyle until that moment.
“The newest of the new. Perfect,” Irene asserted.
“And you complained when I cut my hair short,” said Jenny.
“Cut it short! You shaved it off!” Katarina reminded her.
Jenny didn’t continue with the discussion about her very short haircut of a few years earlier. Both girls sat quietly and inspected their mother’s new look. Irene looked back at her daughters. Twins, but still so different that people often didn’t think they were even sisters.
Katarina was the very image of herself at that age. Already one hundred and seventy-three centimeters tall and in good shape. She had Irene’s coloring, with dark brown hair and dark blue eyes, and a complexion that took to the sun easily. Jenny was the image of her father or, maybe more accurately, of her aunts on her father’s side. To her own exasperation she was the shortest in the family. Since the girls had already turned sixteen, they probably wouldn’t grow any more. Jenny’s hair was golden blonde, she had light blue eyes and a fair complexion that was very sensitive to the sun. She usually whined about how unfairly fate had affected her looks compared to those of her sister. The truth was that Jenny was beautiful, but she just couldn’t see it herself.
In order to put a stop to the daughters’ critical staring, Irene asked, “What’s for dinner?”
“It’s Wednesday. Vegetarian. I’m making a Thai vegetable stew with coconut milk,” Krister answered.
Irene sighed inside. Even though they had eaten vegetarian meals three days a week for almost two years, she still had a hard time getting used to such different food. It started when Jenny decided to become a vegan and Krister felt he needed to lose at least twenty kilos.3 The family changed eating habits. Jenny ate vegetarian dishes on the days when the rest of the family gorged on poultry, fish, and meat. Krister hadn’t lost his twenty kilos, but he was at least under a hundred. Because he was so tall, he didn’t give the impression of being heavy, just robust and impressive. But Irene knew that his knees had started protesting against all the extra weight. This kept him from going on long walks with Sammie, but he did swim almost two thousand meters every week at the Frölunda community center pool. He would turn fifty this fall. Irene didn’t hold out much hope that he would become thinner or have more energy; instead, she realized that she would have to satisfy herself with the changes in eating and exercise habits he had already made.