Tom was apparently still a sensitive topic for Andersson. Irene decided to try and call Copenhagen to inquire as to Tom’s condition.
“Today Birgitta is going to attempt to get into Tosscander’s computer. Irene is in touch with the photographer Bolin and is trying to get pictures of that guy with. . well, you know. . in the air. Jonny is going through the last of Marcus Tosscander’s videos-”
The superintendent was interrupted by Jonny’s irritated mumble. “What is it?” Andersson said, irritated.
“Those films are damn difficult! A lot of queers jumping each other! Damn!”
“I realize that you don’t think they’re terribly amusing to watch. But you have to. We can’t miss a single film. Think about the movies we found in Copenhagen!”
“Yes, but all of Tosscander’s movies are commercial videos. Not home movies,” Jonny tried to protest.
“Watch them! All of them!” Andersson ended the discussion.
Jonny continued to mumble discontentedly, though in a somewhat lower tone.
“Hannu will have to help Irene look for that Basta guy. And Tommy has informed me that there are some developments in the search for Jack the Ripper,” Andersson continued.
Irene sent a questioning look at Tommy, who responded with a thumbs-up. It would be great if they could catch that idiot. He hadn’t been out on the prowl the previous weekend. Maybe the young women in Vasastan had become more careful. Or maybe something else was keeping him off the streets.
“Fredrik is at Financial Crimes. Apparently there’s a good chance of pulling in Robert Larsson for economic fraud. Since we don’t have witnesses anymore we’ll never get him for murdering Laban,” Andersson informed them before they rose from morning prayers.
THE FIRST thing Irene did when she returned to her office was to dial Erik Bolin’s number. There was still no answer. She remembered that he had a family. He might still be at home. After a brief search in the phone book she found Erik, photographer, and Sara Bolin, dental technician, at an address very close to where she lived.
Irene only heard one ring before the phone was answered.
“Sara Bolin,” a strained woman’s voice said in a proper Göteborg dialect.
“Good morning. My name is Irene Huss. I’m looking for Erik Bolin.”
“Who are you?”
Irene was surprised by the question but answered, “I’m an Inspector with the Crime Police and I’ve been in touch with Erik about a case and. .”
“For goodness’ sake! Don’t be so long-winded! Have you found him?”
Irene was dumbstruck and couldn’t come up with anything more intelligent than “Who?”
“Erik, of course! I called early this morning!”
“Wait a second. Has Erik Bolin disappeared?”
It became quiet for a moment before Sara Bolin’s shaking voice could be heard again. “Yes. Didn’t you know?”
“No. I’m looking for him with respect to a case. . a person he knew.”
Now Sara’s voice became guarded. “I understand. Marcus.”
“Exactly. Did you know him?”
“No. I’ve never met him. He was. . Erik’s.”
There was a pause.
“Did I understand you correctly? You have reported Erik missing?” she asked carefully.
“Yes. When I woke up this morning, his bed was empty. He didn’t come home last night.”
“Is he gone overnight occasionally?”
“Yes. But he always calls. And he always calls if he’s going to be late. He often is, at his job.”
“Didn’t you miss him last night?”
“Yes. But he called earlier yesterday afternoon and said that he would be late. So I wasn’t all that worried when it was nine o’clock and he hadn’t come home. I was mostly irritated. I called the studio but he wasn’t there. So I went to bed. I was very tired and must have fallen asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.”
Irene agreed it was worrisome that Erik Bolin was missing. “Do you have a key to the studio?”
“No. Erik has the only key.”
Irene was about to ask why they didn’t have an extra key at home, but realized that was a question she should ask Erik and not his wife.
She made up her mind. “I’ll go to the studio and see if I can get inside.”
“Thanks.”
She almost collided with Hannu on the way out.
“Come on. Erik Bolin has disappeared,” she said quickly.
Without asking any questions, Hannu went to get his jacket.
DURING THE car ride to Kastellgatan, Irene briefly went over what she knew about Erik’s disappearance, which wasn’t all that much.
“He quite simply never came home last night,” she concluded.
“So, according to the wife, he’s often late but always calls home,” Hannu ascertained.
“Exactly.”
“So he has time to meet boyfriends.”
“You mean in the evenings? Before he goes home to his family?”
“Yes.”
Hannu was right. The previous day, Irene had had a strong feeling that she should have dug deeper into Erik Bolin’s relationship with Marcus and Basta. Now she regretted her omission.
“Could it be a triangle drama?” she asked.
Hannu asked, “How so?”
“If Marcus loved Basta and Erik loved Marcus and Basta loved Erik. .”
She stopped and thought the sequence through to see if she had said it correctly. She had. Resolutely, she continued, “. . then maybe Basta murdered Marcus. In order to get Erik.”
Hannu said, “Hardly. Remember Carmen Østergaard. And Isabell and Emil. It doesn’t fit.”
Irene had to admit that he was right. But there was something in the thought that she didn’t want to let go. Would Erik and Marcus have continued their relationship on a friendship basis for several years?
The pictures of Marcus were taken through the eyes of a man in love. And would the man in love let his lover go to have sex with another man behind an old lighthouse? Not on your life. Even if, according to Anders Gunnarsson, homosexuals could sometimes have a more relaxed view of unfaithfulness, they still weren’t immune to jealousy.
Something in Erik Bolin’s story didn’t add up. She had sensed it yesterday but hadn’t really realized it until now. Now she was more concerned and unconsciously increased her speed, despite the heavy traffic.
“Fifty,” Hannu pointed out.
A glance at the speedometer showed sixty-five. Embarrassed, she eased off the gas pedal.
THE OUTER door of the studio was just as it had been the day before. Irene knocked hard and long without any response. Hannu opened the metal lid of the mail slot and peered into the hall. He stood for a long time and looked without saying anything. When he turned toward Irene, he looked very serious.
“We have to call a locksmith,” he said.
Irene pulled out her cell phone and did as he had said. The locksmith would come within half an hour. She ended the conversation and leaned forward in order to see what Hannu had seen.
Inside the door were a lot of newspapers and mail. Glass shards and a piece of a broken silver-coated wooden frame could be seen at the periphery of her field of vision. Several large rust brown stains were visible on the light pinkish-colored floor.
“There’s been a violent struggle in there. It looks like dried bloodstains on the floor. There weren’t any pieces of glass or a broken frame on the floor when I left yesterday around four thirty,” said Irene.
Hannu nodded, expressionlessly, an unfailing sign that he was worried.
While they were waiting for the locksmith, they read the names of the other tenants in the building. The house had five stories, with two apartments on every floor. They decided to wait to question the neighbors until they had more information about what had happened in the studio.