With great care Sebastian had sliced open these two bodies and cut out the organs and the intestines. It was nauseating to see how carefully he examined every part he cut loose. But the worst were the close-ups when Emil zoomed in on his face.
His eyes, wide open, glittered feverishly. He rarely blinked when he was standing bent over a body. His lips were tightly pressed together while he concentrated on his work. A few times his tense face broke into one of the most charming smiles Irene had ever seen. He was immensely attractive when he smiled.
Irene took note of the fact that he threw the internal organs into a large plastic bucket, which stood on the floor to the side of the table they were using. It wasn’t the same bucket each time; one of them was yellow and the other, red.
He placed the genitals and the muscles in clear plastic bags. With a shiver, Irene determined they were freezer storage bags. The thought of what he had done with the body parts was so horrible that she resolutely pushed it away.
WHEN THE last film was over, Irene gathered up the originals and the copies and went into her office. Without any great hopes she called down to Forensics, but to her surprise and happiness a voice answered, “Forensics, Åhlén.”
“Hi. Irene Huss. Can I come down to you with two videos to go over for fingerprints?”
“Sure.”
“It has to do with the mutilation-murders.”
“OK. It’ll be given priority.”
“Thanks.”
She rushed down to Forensics with the videos. Apologetically, she said that there were probably lots of fingerprints from Jonny Blom. “We weren’t really sure what it was that we had found,” she said vaguely.
“OK,” Åhlén answered uninterestedly.
When she returned to her office she sat for a long time and looked out at the summer twilight. Her window faced east so she couldn’t see the sunset itself but she could watch the sun paint the clouds a violet-red against the dark sapphire blue sky. As time passed, the light on the clouds weakened and they took on a softer violet tinge.
Irene caught very little of the magnificent display of colors. She was sunk deep in thought.
SUPERINTENDENT ANDERSSON started morning prayers by saying that the videos had been found. Andersson praised Jonny, who had diligently devoted the entire weekend to going through Sebastian’s film collection. Jonny himself looked unusually pale and reserved. Irene knew that it wasn’t because he was overworked.
“We’ve sent out an All Points Bulletin via Interpol. We don’t know where Sebastian Martinsson is. Hannu has located his car in the vehicle register. A Volkswagen Jetta, 1989 model. The license-plate number is included in the APB. Hannu checked on Saturday and Martinsson’s parking spot was empty. It’s very likely that he’s taken the car with him. A lot of things point to Copenhagen, but we don’t know if that bastard is starting to sense that we’re hot on his trail. He could have kept going and may be farther south in Europe.”
A Jetta. The witnesses who had seen the assailant after the attack on Tom Tanaka had said that he had thrown the picture into a car, which was probably a Jetta, and driven away.
Right after the morning meeting Irene went to her office and called up Cyhrén’s Funeral Home. A soft female voice answered almost immediately, “Cyhrén’s Funeral Home.”
“Good morning. My name is Detective Inspector Irene Huss. I’m looking for one Sebastian Martinsson and have been given the information that he works for you sometimes.”
“One moment and you can speak with Mr. Danielsson,” the woman replied.
After a few cracks and beeps as the call was transferred, an energetic voice could be heard. “Bo Danielsson, Director. What can I do for you?”
A quick thought flew through Irene’s head: wasn’t a funeral director supposed to sound sober and compassionate and not like a sports commentator on TV? But maybe it made the mourners and the shocked relatives get their acts together and quickly decide on their wishes for the funeral. She introduced herself and told him why she was calling.
“Sebastian Martinsson? Of course I recognize the name. One second!”
He put the receiver down on what might have been a desktop and Irene could hear him pull out some drawers. His powerful voice was soon heard. “Of course! Here he is! He has helped sometimes to carry the coffins. Strong guy!”
“Does he help out often?” Irene asked.
“No. Just sometimes when we need extra help.”
“When did he start working for you?”
“Let’s see. . ’94. He worked more often then than in the last two years, because he’s started studying in Copenhagen. Before that, he studied here in Göteborg and then, of course, it was easier for him to help out at the last minute.”
Irene could hear the surprise in her own voice when she asked, “Did he say that he was studying in Göteborg?”
“Yes. To be a doctor. Now he’s doing his specialization training in Copenhagen. I always write down this kind of personal information about extra employees. So that you know what kind of a person you’re dealing with.”
Someone studying medicine inspires trust. So much trust that he probably got to take care of the keys to very special burial chambers. Is that why he said that he was studying medicine? Or was it his secret dream? It was interesting and certainly something that the headshrinkers were going to delve deeper into during the psychiatric examination. Irene decided not to comment on Sebastian’s studies.
“May I ask a completely different question?”
“Sure! Of course!”
“Does Cyhrén’s take care of the keys to the mausoleums at Stampen’s old cemetery?”
“No. Cemetery Administration has those. We contact them when it becomes necessary to open one of the graves.”
“Did you take care of the last two funerals for the von Knecht family?”
“Yes. Why are you asking about that?”
“Unfortunately, I’m not at liberty to say right now.”
“Of course! I understand!”
Naturally, he didn’t understand anything but nothing made people more willing to talk than the idea that they had the trust of the police.
“So the keys are only lent out when a new family member is going to be placed in the grave?”
“Exactly!”
“Does that mean that one of the pallbearers is trusted to take care of the key?”
For the first time during their conversation he sounded hesitant when he answered. “Yes. That probably happens.”
“Can you look in your papers and see if Sebastian Martinsson was a pallbearer at the funerals of Richard von Knecht and Henrik von Knecht in November and December of 1996.”
“Of course!”
The receiver bounced down onto the desk again. This time it wasn’t enough that Danielsson pulled out the drawers in his desk. Irene heard him stomp about and after a little while she heard the sound of heavy boxes being pulled out. Vigorous steps moved toward the telephone and she had the funeral director’s keen voice in her ear again.
“He’s noted as a pallbearer at both funerals. They were buried in metal-fitted oak caskets that are very heavy. You have need of a strong man!”
Irene thought about how she was going to formulate her next question, but realized that it could only be asked straight out.
“Is there any way that Sebastian Martinsson could have had the key to the mausoleum in his possession?”