Krister filled with concern.
“Mamma isn’t answering. Do you think something’s happened? She is almost seventy-three. . ”
Krister thought for a moment before he said, “But wasn’t this the week she and Sture were going to go on a wine trip to the Moselle Valley?”
Irene had totally forgotten about it. Mamma and her significant other had been planning the trip all winter. A group from the association for retired persons they both belonged to were going.
Maybe someday trips as a retiree would be her chance to see a little of the world. Until then, a trip to Copenhagen for work would have to do.
Chapter 6
A PALE SUNMADE some brave attempts at breaking through the clouds but it gave up around Varberg. It drizzled the rest of the way down to Helsingborg. Even though the spring had been rainy and cool so far, the farther south she drove, the greener it got. The chestnuts were blooming magnificently in Helsingborg but the detective inspector from Goteborg could not enjoy the splendid blooms. She was busy trying not to get lost. The city was bigger than she had thought and to add to her misery there were several ferry lines to choose from. Randomly, she chose HH-Ferries. She paid for her ticket, drove up, and joined the waiting line of cars. The ferry had just docked and cars were in the process of driving off it. She was allowed to embark after just ten minutes.
It felt good to stretch her legs. Irene walked around and inspected the boat. The ferry was relatively small, and the shipping company had to be Danish since all the signs were in Danish. She wasn’t tempted to stay on deck because of the weather, so she went inside when the ferry left the dock. She ended up in the cafeteria and decided to get a sandwich and a cup of coffee.
The sandwich was enormous. Somewhere under the layer of roast beef and pickles there must be a slice of bread, she hoped. It was a clear sign that she was on her way abroad, to a more hedonistic land.
Soon the feeling of being in another country grew stronger when Irene went to the bathroom. A yellow plastic tub hung on the wall next to the mirror over the sink. On the tub there was a broad label: USED SYRINGES. So nice to have a special place to discard them, Irene thought sarcastically.
They arrived in Helsingor after twenty minutes. With a silent prayer that the rattling car ramp was more stable than it looked, she drove off the ferry just after one o’clock and followed the signs for Copenhagen. After having made her way through heavily trafficked side streets, she finally reached the highway where there was much less traffic. The first twenty-four miles passed without difficulty, but the closer to Copenhagen she got, the tougher things became. Traffic became more congested, the signs were too small and hard to find, the lane designations weren’t logical, and cyclists came from every direction like projectiles. She had never driven in Denmark before and wasn’t used to traffic in a big city. Finally, Irene realized that she needed to stop at a gas station to buy a decent map.
She bought an ice cream and a map. While she was eating the ice cream she tried to memorize the best route. Finally she had it: Osterbrogade down to Sortedams So, then a right turn and drive along the water on Oster Sogade, which turned into Norre Sogade. Where it ended was where she was supposed to turn left and come out onto H. C. Andersen Boulevard.
It didn’t look that complicated on the map, but the reality was something completely different. Her blouse was sticky with sweat when she finally stopped outside the Hotel Alex, where you were only allowed to park for five minutes. Irene went in and asked the receptionist where the car could be left. The friendly, smiling young woman explained that, for the most part, it was fine to park anywhere there was a free spot. She recommended that Irene try the side street next to the hotel, Studiestr?de.
Irene drove around the large block and came onto the side street. There was only one free space, almost right in front of the entrance to the bar Wild Strip. In English it was advertised as a “Nude show” and in Danish as “Dance that’s the very barest.” She didn’t care so long as she had a parking spot.
She took her bag and went to check in. The friendly receptionist handed her a message from Beate Bentsen, which she decided to wait to read.
The room was clean and newly renovated. As luck would have it, the window faced Studiestr?de. She could even see her car if she leaned out. She didn’t have to worry about having her night’s sleep interrupted by the traffic. The noise level through the well-insulated windows was surprisingly low. She succumbed to the temptation to lie on the inviting bed. It was wonderful to be able to stretch out. Her muscles were tired and stiff from sitting still in the car. She decided to walk down to Station One at Vesterbro. She pulled out her map of Copenhagen and judged that it would be a brisk fifteen-minute walk from the hotel to Halmtorvet.
The message from Beate Bentsen took a while to decipher since it was handwritten and in Danish. In the end, Irene understood that Superintendent Bentsen did not have time this afternoon as she had promised. She apologized profusely and hoped to be able to take Irene to dinner at seven at Restaurant Vesuvius of Copenhagen. The directions were simple: straight across the street from the hotel entrance and then at an angle to the right. But Bentsen would send Inspector Peter Moller to pick up Irene at exactly three o’clock. According to the superintendent, he was familiar with the investigation and with the area around Vesterbro.
Irene looked at the clock. Peter Moller would be there in less than twenty minutes. She told herself to get up and change.
She was awakened by the ringing of the telephone and found herself standing at the side of the bed before she was fully awake. A soft female voice told her in Danish that Inspector Peter Moller was asking for her.
“Goodness! Tell him I’ll be there in five minutes.”
She was out of her clothes before the receiver had come to rest in the cradle. The shower was short and hot. The jeans she had had on during the day would have to remain on the floor. She pulled out her new dark blue linen pants, clean underwear, and an ice blue colored tennis shirt. She exchanged the worn-out tennis shoes for black loafers. Maybe it would have been more elegant if the shoe had had a bit of a heel to go with the nice pants, but if you were one hundred and eighty centimeters tall without shoes, you don’t wear heels. Irene had never even learned to walk in heels. A short pass with lipstick would have to do as a means of freshening up her makeup. On the way down the stairs she twisted her arms into a new trench coat-style jacket. It was blue, the color of her eyes.
A slender young man stood leaning against the reception desk. He had short blond hair. He must have heard her steps on the stairs because he turned in her direction. His light blue eyes passed over her appraisingly. She saw that he was older than she had first thought, at least thirty-five. He smiled pleasantly and walked toward her with his hand extended.
“Irene Huss, I presume?”
“Yeah. I mean. . yes.”
“Inspector Peter Moller.”
They shook hands and he motioned in the direction of the street.
“The car is outside.”
He walked in front of her and held the door for her. When they passed each other, Irene noticed that he smelled of good aftershave and that she was just a hair taller. He was also dressed in civilian clothes, a short light brown suede jacket and light tan chinos. Peter Moller walked up to a dark wine red colored BMW, the newest and largest model, and opened the door for Irene. When they were sitting in the car, Irene said, “The police certainly have nice cars here.”
“It’s my own,” said Moller.
A short silence followed and Irene decided to leave the topic of cars and move on. “I’m sorry that you had to wait. The ferry took some time. . ”
She left the sentence unfinished on purpose. Moller turned his face toward hers and smiled charmingly.
“I expect that sort of thing when I’m picking up a lady,” he said.
Knowing that Denmark had had weather as bad as Sweden’s during the spring, Irene concluded that his dark tan resulted from a trip abroad. It could just as easily have been acquired on a tanning bed at home but something about Moller’s manner told her that his tan was genuine. It would have to do as a conversation opener.
“Have you had good weather here in Denmark? You’re so dark.”
