They peered into the little bathroom, which contained a large bathtub on lion’s-paw feet. The floor and walls were completely covered in dark blue tile. Here and there were interspersed tiles with a half or full moon or a star. The ceiling was also painted dark blue and Marcus had stencilled different constellations on it. Irene recognized some of them, but only knew one of the names, the Big Dipper. She imagined lying in the tub with some candles along the edge and looking up at the starry sky. …
None of them heard the door open. A sharp voice called out behind them. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
The three officers turned to look at the owner of the voice. She stood in the middle of the hall, the light from a lamp reflecting from her white hair. The skinny little lady did not inspire fear but the angry expression on her face testified to her feistiness.
“We’re police officers,” said Jonny. They showed their badges to her.
Most of the anger melted from her face. “Is that so? But what are you doing in Marcus’s apartment?” she asked sternly.
Irene chose her words carefully. “We suspect that Marcus is missing. Who are you?”
“Is little Marcus missing? I’ve begun to fear that myself these last few weeks. It’s been two months since I’ve heard from him.”
“Are you looking after his apartment?”
“Yes. I live in the apartment next door; my name is Gretta Svensson.”
“We are Crime Inspectors Irene Huss, Jonny Blom, and Hannu Rauhala.”
The hostility had vanished from the old lady’s face and been replaced with a look of deep concern. “What has happened to little Marcus?” she said.
“We aren’t sure yet but his friends in Copenhagen also said that Marcus hadn’t been in touch for two months. When did he say he’d be back?”
“No exact time. It depended on how things went in Copenhagen. If things were going well he was going to stay, and if they didn’t work out, he would come straight home. What I understood from his call was that things were going very well for him there. I assumed he had gotten a lot of work since he’s so talented.”
“Has he sent you any letters?”
“No, Marcus always calls. He’s so sweet and thoughtful. Could anything have happened to him?”
“We know nothing for certain. But the possibility is always there when someone disappears.”
It was just as well not to give Gretta Svensson false hope. She would find out from the mass media in five days.
“Mrs. Svensson-” Irene started but was interrupted at once.
“Ms.”
“Ms. Svensson. Will you be home during the next few hours?”
“Yes.”
“May we come in and speak with you when we are done looking through this apartment?”
“Of course.”
“Good. We’ll stop by in a bit.”
Gently but firmly, Irene showed Ms. Svensson out of Marcus’s apartment and closed the door.
Jonny and Hannu had already gone into Marcus’s bedroom. Lots of splendid houseplants stood in the window. The walls were painted a shade of terra-cotta. Near the ceiling there was a wide patterned border in black, white, and different shades of brown. The flooring was dark brown varnished wood. There was only one piece of furniture in the room, a circular bed that had to be at least ten feet in diameter. The bedspread was black silk, and Irene was willing to bet that the sheets were of the same color and quality. Imaginative African masks decorated the walls, and spears and shields were hung, artistically arranged, between the masks.
“Hello, Africa,” Jonny said in a deep bass tone.
He was right. The grotesque masks and shields felt threatening to Irene. She had the irrational feeling of being watched.
The living room provided a striking contrast. The walls were white and the flooring was the same type of light wood as in the kitchen. The sun flooded in. It was probably Ms. Svensson who had lowered the wooden blinds to protect the plants.
“This man has done away with curtains. I think it’s really nice,” said Irene.
A short windowless wall was completely covered by an overflowing bookcase. Two big white leather sofas stood in the middle of the room, facing each other. A black-and-white cowhide lay on the floor beneath them. The coffee table was constructed of two freestanding triangular pieces of marble, one white and the other black. They could also be put together to make a larger table. The remaining furniture consisted of a large stereo system and a wide-screen TV. Two oil paintings hung on the walls, probably painted by the same artist who had painted the watercolor at the office.
“Nice,” said Hannu.
Irene was a bit surprised. He rarely aired his opinions.
They searched the apartment without finding anything interesting except for three photo albums that were on a shelf of the bookcase. One turned out to contain pictures of a single man in various poses and outfits. The heading on the first page was MARCUS TOSSCANDER. He had posed nude for the pictures on the last two pages.
He had been very attractive, with thick dark brown hair, clean and symmetrical facial features, big deep blue eyes, and a beautiful smile. Irene had expected him to be effeminate but his looks were completely masculine. From the nude photos, Irene noted that he was muscular with six-pack abs. He was very sexy.
The two other albums contained pictures taken at parties and on trips. There was a good deal of writing next to the pictures so Jonny, Hannu, and Irene decided to take them back to the station.
Hannu remarked on their failure to find an address book here either.
“We’ll have to ask the technicians to come and collect evidence. I assume that the big bathtub might have been suitable for the dismemberment of the body,” Irene said, although they had found nothing to indicate it had taken place there, but it was best to go by the book.
There weren’t many clothes in the bedroom closets. It looked as though Marcus had taken both summer and winter clothes with him. Odd, since he had left in the middle of winter. Maybe he was counting on staying away till the summer. Then again, the distance between Göteborg and Copenhagen wasn’t that far. If nothing else, he had both his office and his apartment to look after. Had he really not planned to return to Göteborg a single time during the spring? Yet that’s exactly what he must have done: returned home, only to be murdered and dismembered.
In the beautiful apartment, Irene shivered.
“Only one of us has to talk with the old lady,” said Jonny.
“OK, I’ll do it,” Irene volunteered.
Hannu and Jonny had found two keys in a drawer of the tall dresser in the hall. One of them was marked “Basement” and the other “Attic.” They each took a key and on the landing they split up. Jonny unlocked the door to the attic, Hannu went down the stairs, and Irene rang the bell of the door across the hall. It opened at once.
“Did you find anything?” asked Gretta Svensson.
There was concern, not curiosity, in her voice.
“Nothing that tells us where he might be,” Irene answered truthfully.
She entered the apartment. The hallway was the same size as the one in Marcus’s apartment, but the color scheme was completely different. Deep purple velvet flocked wallpaper revealed that the last renovation had taken place sometime during the late sixties. All the interior doors were painted a dark brown. Gretta Svensson showed Irene into a large living room, the same size as Marcus’s. This was not a corner apartment so there was only one window and the room was not as bright. The furniture was a mixture of dark oak pieces and IKEA recliners. The window was framed by thick rose-patterned chintz curtains. The impression was dark and oppressive.
“Please sit down. I’ll get the coffee,” said Ms. Svensson.