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Book: The Torso: A Detective Inspector Huss Investigation, Vol. 2 by Helen Tursten
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Authors: Helen Tursten
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were dismemberments where the body needed to be disposed of. They weren’t defiled in the same brutal way. For reasons of practicality, the extremities and the head were cut off so that the pieces could be stowed in sacks or suitcases, quite simply as a means of getting rid of the body and hindering identification.”
“So practical . . . I feel ill,” Birgitta mumbled to Irene.
Irene nodded in agreement.
Andersson looked meditative, but Stridner was the one who broke the silence. “Tomorrow I’m going to London for a large medical examiners’ conference. I could ask around about similar cases among my colleagues.”
“That . . . that would be great,” Andersson stammered.
Stridner opened her elegant briefcase and took out a large envelope. “The picture of the tattoo.”
She held it out to Andersson.
“Thank you very much,” he remembered to say after a while.
But it was too late. The clicking of Stridner’s heels could already be heard disappearing down the corridor.
THE DRAGON’Sred mouth was wide open and long razor-sharp teeth coiled around the end of its own tail. The eyes glowed like sparkling emeralds. The claws were wide open and ready to drag the intestines out of anyone who came too close. The entirety of the powerful and agile body was covered by red, blue, and green armored scales. The dragon curled itself in a protective circle around the mysterious character.
An upside-down y , Stridner had said. Or maybe it was more like an upside-down fork with two cross strokes over the stem, one exactly at the split in the fork and the other at the middle. The investigation team was in agreement that it was probably a Chinese character. Just to be sure, Hannu had been directed to contact Göteborg University in order to try and find someone who was skilled in Chinese characters or to consult the Chinese embassy.
“Make copies on a color copier. Then you can start visiting the tattoo artists in town. But don’t come back with a ring in your nostril! Ha ha!” Andersson joked.
None of the others thought that it was particularly funny, but they smiled politely and assured him that they wouldn’t be tempted.
Birgitta and Fredrik were still working on the investigation of the murder of Laban. Robert Larsson had come up with an alibi. Two of his girls working at Wonder Bar had assured them they had been in the Jacuzzi with their employer at exactly the time of Laban’s demise. Since no witness had turned up to contradict them, it would be difficult to hold Larsson.
Jonny, Irene, and Hannu divided up the seven tattoo artists in Göteborg among themselves. Irene drew Tattoo Tim on Nordenskiöldsgatan and MC-tattoo on Sprängkullsgatan.
Since MC-tattoo was the closest, Irene decided to start there. She found a parking spot by Hvitfeldtsplatsen. Without hurrying, Irene strolled across the bridge over Rosenlundskanalen. The big blossoms on the large chestnut trees stood straight up on the branches like unlit Christmas tree candles. A cascade of colorful bulbs were spread out underneath the tree. It struck her that she was only a stone’s throw away from Flora’s Hill. Laban had died when the area around the canal was at its most beautiful. But Irene doubted that was any comfort to him.
Personally, she felt in great need of comfort as she closed in on MC-TATTOO. Two heavy motorcycles were parked outside. In the last few years she had developed a phobia. Not without good reason since she had had a very unpleasant run-in with the Hell’s Angels. It had put her in the hospital and left deep psychological wounds. She thought that she had gotten over her fear, but when she saw the shiny machines outside the tattoo parlor, she wanted to turn and run. It took great self-control to open the door and step inside.
A fiery humming buzzed in the air. A thin man with a shaved head was sitting, concentrating, as he marked the shoulder of another man, whose upper body was bare, with a small color drill. The
“So practical . . . I feel ill,” Birgitta mumbled to Irene.
Irene nodded in agreement.
Andersson looked meditative, but Stridner was the one who broke the silence. “Tomorrow I’m going to London for a large medical examiners’ conference. I could ask around about similar cases among my colleagues.”
“That . . . that would be great,” Andersson stammered.
Stridner opened her elegant briefcase and took out a large envelope. “The picture of the tattoo.”
She held it out to Andersson.
“Thank you very much,” he remembered to say after a while.
But it was too late. The clicking of Stridner’s heels could already be heard disappearing down the corridor.
THE DRAGON’Sred mouth was wide open and long razor-sharp teeth coiled around the end of its own tail. The eyes glowed like sparkling emeralds. The claws were wide open and ready to drag the intestines out of anyone who came too close. The entirety of the powerful and agile body was covered by red, blue, and green armored scales. The dragon curled itself in a protective circle around the mysterious character.
An upside-down y , Stridner had said. Or maybe it was more like an upside-down fork with two cross strokes over the stem, one exactly at the split in the fork and the other at the middle. The investigation team was in agreement that it was probably a Chinese character. Just to be sure, Hannu had been directed to contact Göteborg University in order to try and find someone who was skilled in Chinese characters or to consult the Chinese embassy.
“Make copies on a color copier. Then you can start visiting the tattoo artists in town. But don’t come back with a ring in your nostril! Ha ha!” Andersson joked.
None of the others thought that it was particularly funny, but they smiled politely and assured him that they wouldn’t be tempted.
Birgitta and Fredrik were still working on the investigation of the murder of Laban. Robert Larsson had come up with an alibi. Two of his girls working at Wonder Bar had assured them they had been in the Jacuzzi with their employer at exactly the time of Laban’s demise. Since no witness had turned up to contradict them, it would be difficult to hold Larsson.
Jonny, Irene, and Hannu divided up the seven tattoo artists in Göteborg among themselves. Irene drew Tattoo Tim on Nordenskiöldsgatan and MC-tattoo on Sprängkullsgatan.
Since MC-tattoo was the closest, Irene decided to start there. She found a parking spot by Hvitfeldtsplatsen. Without hurrying, Irene strolled across the bridge over Rosenlundskanalen. The big blossoms on the large chestnut trees stood straight up on the branches like unlit Christmas tree candles. A cascade of colorful bulbs were spread out underneath the tree. It struck her that she was only a stone’s throw away from Flora’s Hill. Laban had died when the area around the canal was at its most beautiful. But Irene doubted that was any comfort to him.
Personally, she felt in great need of comfort as she closed in on MC-TATTOO. Two heavy motorcycles were parked outside. In the last few years she had developed a phobia. Not without good reason since she had had a very unpleasant run-in with the Hell’s Angels. It had put her in the hospital and left deep psychological wounds. She thought that she had gotten over her fear, but when she saw the shiny machines outside the tattoo parlor, she wanted to turn and run. It took great self-control to open the door and step inside.
A fiery humming buzzed in the air. A thin man with a shaved head was sitting, concentrating, as he marked the shoulder of another man, whose upper body was bare, with a small color drill. The
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