Read Online The Torso: A Detective Inspector Huss Investigation, Vol. 2 by Helen Tursten - Free Book Online Page A

humming stopped in the same instant that the door slammed shut behind Irene.
    “Hey, there. Will it be a little rose on your ass or a butterfly on your tit?” said the skinny one.
    The subject laughed and his friend in the visitor’s chair joined in. Since the tattoo artist’s work area was illuminated by a strong lamp and the room was for the most part dark, Irene hadn’t seen the man in the corner when she came in. But when she heard his laugh she peered into the darkness, then let her gaze roam back to his friend. Her mouth became parched.
    Each of them could have kept a seasoned investigator awake all night just based on looks. They were heavy, bordering on fat. But under the fat, one could sense many hours of work with bars and weights. The one who was being furnished with a new tattoo had put his long hair into a ponytail, probably so that it wouldn’t be in the way of the tattoo artist. His shoulder must have been the last spot on his body that wasn’t yet tattooed, Irene thought. From his fingers, up his arms, and over his entire upper body, he was covered with tattoos, a variegated map of everything from graffiti to sophisticated pictures in different colors.
    The nicer tattoos interested Irene. She straightened and tried to sound official. “No, thanks. I’m not here to get tattooed.”
    She pulled out her police identification and waved it in front of the tattoo artist’s nose. “Detective Inspector Irene Huss.”
    The big man on the visitor’s chair said, “That name sounds familiar ...but I’ll be damned if I know from where.”
    “I don’t think so. We haven’t met,” she said shortly.
    Inside, her pulse was racing so fast her ears were buzzing. Quickly, she said, “I’m here to ask a favor. It’s about the murder-mutilation in Killevik. We don’t know who the victim is but he has this tattoo on his right shoulder. Do you know who might have made it? Or maybe who the man is?”
    Now all three of them were paying attention to her. She held out the picture of the dragon tattoo to the tattoo artist. He carefully took it by one corner. It wasn’t until then that Irene saw he was wearing plastic gloves. He studied the color copy for a long time without saying anything. Irene nervously let her gaze roam over the walls, which were wallpapered with different tattoo themes. Most of them seemed to feature eagles, skulls, and American flags.
    “A real master has done this one,” the tattoo artist finally said. “A damn good work of art!” he added. His voice revealed sincere admiration.
    “Who could have made it?” Irene asked.
    “No idea. I don’t think that it was done in Sweden.”
    “Why don’t you think so?”
    “The subject. The sign in the middle. It doesn’t look Swedish. The dragon is so . . . Asian. Is the guy Asian?”
    It took a second before Irene understood that he was talking about the victim. “No. A dark-haired European,” she answered.
    The tattoo artist took a thorough look at the picture before he handed it back with a shake of his head.
    “Sorry. The only thing I can say is that it takes time to complete a tattoo like that. It isn’t something you do during a coffee break.”
    “Like the shit you’re scratching on me?” asked the man in the tattoo chair.
    All three of them let out a roar of laughter. Irene took the opportunity to put away the picture and leave. Just as she opened the door and was about to step out onto the sidewalk, she heard the man in the visitor’s chair exclaim, “Damn! Now I know who she is! Do you remember that row out in Billdal for—”
    Quickly, Irene closed the door and hurried toward her car.
    Tattoo Tim was closed. The parlor never opened before one o’clock according to the piece of cardboard taped on the inside of the glass door. On the other hand, it didn’t close before nine. Irene decided to eat lunch before she met Tim.
    On Linnégatan there were all sorts of cozy restaurants. Irene decided on a little Italian pub. While