the Scandinavian Models office was located. With his index finger he followed the list of the building’s tenants. Apparently, he found what he was looking for. Without the slightest hesitation, Detective Inspector Jens Metz went up the half flight of stairs. Irene saw his broad back disappearing through the landing door.
She sat in the taxi for a good ten minutes. Finally she had had enough of the taxi driver’s knowing mutter. “Oh. We were shadowing the unfaithful husband. That’s what we were doing!”
She got out of the cab and walked to the entrance to the building. On the list of tenants, Scandinavian Models was located on the first floor. She pushed the brass button next to the little sign. The lock buzzed and then she opened the heavy door.
On the middle of the first-floor landing there was a door with a shiny brass plate saying WELCOME TO SCANDINAVIAN MODELS. At a quick glance it could just as easily have been the entrance to a lawyer’s office.
After Irene’s second ring the door was opened by a girl who, according to the picture in the tourist guide, was Petra. She was blonde and had on heavy makeup, but still barely looked twenty. Even though she didn’t have the super-short T-shirt on, her sheer see-through blouse was just as revealing. Her black leather miniskirt was a centimeter away from being just a wide belt.
She jumped when she saw Irene. A quick look of fear came into her eyes. Irene understood. What strange requests and desires might this tall woman have? Before Irene had time to introduce herself, Petra said curtly, “Have you made an appointment?”
She spoke broad southern Swedish.
“No. I’m a Swedish police officer and I’m looking for Isabell Lind. She’s also known as Bell.”
Petra grew pale under her makeup and pressed her lips together. Her gaze wandered around the newly painted stairway, which was marbelized in a sober light gray. There was no one there who could help, and her nervous gaze returned to Irene.
“Bell. . Isabell isn’t here,” she finally said.
“No? Where is she?”
“Out. With a client.”
If they had been at home in Goteborg, Irene could have asked to come in to search the office. Now she was in Copenhagen, where she didn’t have any authority. But Jens Metz did. She hadn’t seen a trace of him since he’d entered these the premises. He must be inside somewhere. What was he doing? Was he helping her inquire after Isabell? Or had he decided to become a customer?
“Do you know when Isabell will be back?”
Petra shrugged. Irene decided to push a little harder.
“I’m not here on police business. I’m an old friend of Isabell’s and of her family, and it’s the family that needs to get in touch with her for important private reasons, you understand.”
With the last sentence she lowered her voice and sent Petra an imploring look. The girl looked confused and seemed not to know what to say. Irene took out her wallet and fished out a calling card. Under her name she wrote:
She handed the card to Petra, who took it reluctantly.
“Could you please give this card to Isabell?”
Petra nodded sulkily and closed the door.
Irene stepped into the shadow of a parked truck and kept an eye on the entrance to the building for another half hour. Jens Metz didn’t emerge.
Chapter 7
THE RINGING OF THE telephone woke her from a deep sleep. At first she didn’t have the faintest idea where she was. The telephone kept ringing. After a while she managed to find the receiver and answer. A faint female voice speaking English informed her that it was time to wake up. It was six thirty. Irene sank back into the pillow with a groan. Her body was sore after the last night’s skinhead fight. Sleep hung treacherously in her eyelashes, and forced her eyelids to close. . She sat up in bed with a jerk. It was best to get up now, otherwise Peter Moller would have to wait for her again in the reception area.
She felt more awake after a long hot shower. She put on her light yellow Bjorn Borg T-shirt and the blue linen pants. Together with the blue trench coat it would definitely say
She called home to her boss on her cell phone. Superintendent Andersson sounded like he had just awakened but livened up a bit when he heard that it was Irene.
“I have a good tip about the victim’s identity. His name is Marcus Tosscander, thirty-one years old, and he was a designer with an office on Kungsportsplatsen. He was working in Copenhagen just before he disappeared and he had exactly the same tattoo as-”
“Wait! I don’t have pen or paper.”
She heard him rustling around, looking for something to write on. When he returned she gave him all of the information she had on Tosscander. Andersson sounded very pleased until she declined to tell him how she had gotten the information.
“Why can’t you tell me? Is the informant reliable?”
Irene didn’t have any difficulty picturing her boss’s reaction if she described her informant: a former sumo wrestler who was gay, dressed in black silk pajamas, and owned Copenhagen’s largest gay sex shop.
“The informant is very reliable. You have to trust me when I say that the whole thing is complicated. A police officer and a doctor showed up in the investigation into the murder-mutilation of the female prostitute here in Copenhagen two years ago. The peculiar thing is that, according to the informant, there were also a police officer and a doctor in Marcus Tosscander’s life prior to his disappearance. If so, it’s an amazing coincidence. The police officer seems to have a connection to Vesterbro. Which means it could be one of the colleagues I’m working with right now. I absolutely cannot tell them what I’ve found out in case it is one of them.”
“A police officer! I don’t believe it for a second!” Andersson cleared his throat a few times before he continued. “Irene. You. . watch out. Don’t take any risks. If it really is like you say, it may be dangerous.”
His voice revealed sincere concern. Irene realized that she wasn’t going to be able to tell the whole truth about what she had been up to the previous night.
“I’ll take care of myself. Today I’m just making copies of the reports from the investigation into the murder of Carmen Ostergaard and then I’m coming straight home.”
“Good. Call if anything comes up.”
“OK. Good-bye.”
When Irene opened the curtains, she could see, to her joy, that a pale sun was actually shining on the side of the house across the street. Encouraged by this, she went down into the hotel’s cafeteria and ate a delicious Danish breakfast. She discovered to her pleasure that their coffee actually tasted quite good.
Satisfied, she went up to the room and packed the rest of her things in her bag.
Peter Moller showed up just as she was in the process of checking out.
“Good morning! Everything OK?” he asked and fired off a sunny smile.
He reminded Irene of Fredrik Stridh. Both were types who always looked bright and fresh even if there was no way they could be. This was an enviable quality that she suffered a regrettable lack of. If she had only slept five hours, as she had the night before, that’s exactly how she looked in the morning. She carefully applied her makeup and gave Moller a wide smile in return. With any luck, he would buy it. If he thought that his colleague from Sweden looked a little worn-out early this morning, let him think she had plundered the minibar in her hotel room out of loneliness. None of the Danish colleagues would learn of her private reconnaissance work around midnight.
“Morning to you, too. All’s well?” she said.
Moller took her bag before she even had time to reach for it. With his other hand, he held the door open for her as usual. Polite and well mannered but difficult to get any real understanding of, thought Irene.
