directions. She walked up Bernstorffsgade. She should have taken a right at the large intersection in order to get to her parked car on Studiestr?de. Instead, she turned left and followed Vesterbrogade for about one hundred meters, and then turned onto the next cross street, which was Helgolandsgade.
The closer she got, the more hesitant she became. She would hardly be attacked in broad daylight, but the memory of the assault half a day earlier suddenly felt very tangible. She peered into the half darkness of the doorway before she sneaked into the courtyard. Everything was fine. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed Tom’s number.
“Tom.”
“It’s Irene. I’m in the backyard.”
“OK. I’ll come down and open the door.”
Tanaka’s heavy, shuffling steps down the short half flight of stairs could be heard clearly. When he looked at her his massive upper body and face filled the entire glass pane of the door. With a faint smile he greeted her and opened the door.
“Thanks for taking the time to come,” he said.
“Good that you could meet with me,” Irene replied.
“No problem. I don’t start until six today. Ole, my real employee, is working now.”
Laboriously, Tom Tanaka started to climb the stairs. His labored breathing echoed in the stairwell. He politely held open the heavy door for Irene and she stepped into his bedroom. It looked the same as it had last time. The bed was neatly made with black silk sheets. Tom had changed into a dark blue silk outfit, pajamas like the black ones he had been wearing the day before.
He showed her into his office.
The sparsely decorated room was soothing. Irene sat on one of the cloth-covered chairs and Tom in his special chair behind the desk. Without asking if she wanted any, he bent and took two cold Hofs out of the minifridge. Just like last time, Irene got a glass while he drank directly from the bottle.
“Marcus designed this room for me. Like the kitchen. It was finished last month. He never got to see the finished product,” he said.
“Was he an interior designer?”
“Among other things. He designed most things. Window and shop displays, fabrics, and all kinds of things. The big job that brought him here to Copenhagen was furnishing a gay bar on one of the cross streets to Stroget. A new and very popular place. It was unbelievably successful and he quickly got new jobs.”
“I’ve informed my colleagues in Goteborg of your information without naming you as the source. Now the investigation at home will really get going thanks to you.”
“It’s the least I can do for Marcus.”
Irene thought through what she should say about Isabell. She decided to start from the beginning, with Monika Lind’s phone call. In her broken English she tried to explain as clearly as possible. Tom listened. Sometimes he nodded almost imperceptibly.
When she came to the previous day’s skinhead attack, Tom sat up straight in his chair and looked at her sharply. The next moment he relaxed, and, to Irene’s surprise, he started laughing. The laughter rolled up out of his broad chest and rumbled out of his mouth.
“You! That was you!”
When he had finished laughing, he said, “I heard about it this morning. A police officer found two beat-up skinheads on Helgolandsgade. They said that a transvestite had robbed and beaten them.”
Tom stopped again for a new round of laughing. Transvestite! Irene didn’t think that was so funny.
“I have to admit it didn’t cross my mind that it was you. Even though I knew you practice jujitsu. But this seemed more violent.”
“It was more violent. Jujitsu and a bit more,” Irene answered.
Tom shook his big head and chuckled to himself.
Irene felt time was running out and quickly returned to the subject of Isabell’s disappearance from the Hotel Aurora on the same street as Tom’s store. He became serious and thoughtful.
“It’s a strange coincidence. But Marcus’s murder and the terrible thing that has happened to him can’t have anything to do with the girl’s disappearance.”
“No. I don’t think so either. But the coincidence worries me.”
He let his gaze rest on her for some time. “There is a connection,” he said finally.
“What?”
“You.”
He said the very thing she had been thinking. Again she was gripped by the feeling that someone was standing in the wings and playing a game with her.
They sat quietly for a while looking at each other. Tom broke the silence. “I know someone at the Hotel Aurora.”
He pulled out his Rolodex and let his index finger slide over it. Irene hadn’t noticed until then that he had on blue nail polish. He definitely hadn’t worn it yesterday. Maybe he had put it on to match the blue silk outfit. Apparently he found the number he was looking for because he pushed a button and the machine dialed. Irene could hear several rings before anyone answered.
“Hi. Tom speaking.”
The voice on the other end broke out into a long tirade that Tom patiently let go for a while. Finally he interrupted brusquely. “I know. It’s been a while. But I’m calling to ask you for information. A friend of mine is concerned. Word has it that a young Swedish girl may have disappeared at the Aurora. . yesterday around midnight. . tall and blonde …yes, an escort service. . she’s called Bell.”
He pulled the receiver from his ear and asked, “What was the customer’s name?”
“Simon Steiner.”
“Apparently a German. Simon Steiner,” said Tom.
He sat quietly for almost two minutes before the jabbering started again on the other end of the line. Tom nodded a few times and hummed. Irene thought she heard a faintly surprised tone in his voice. After a few words of thanks and an assurance that they would see each other again soon, Tom put down the receiver.
“That’s remarkable. My contact says that there isn’t and hasn’t been any Simon Steiner at the hotel. But maybe he gave the escort service a false name. And it doesn’t seem as though anyone has seen Isabell either. He will ask the night porter when he comes in later tonight.”
“I can’t say that I’m relieved. Now I’m really worried. Where can she be?” said Irene.
“No idea. Could she have been led into a trap?”
“Possibly. But why?”
Tom looked at her. Slowly, he said, “We’ll have to go back to what we said a little while ago. The connection between the murder of Marcus and the girl’s disappearance.
Irene’s throat became completely dry despite the fact that she had just taken a sip of beer. When she finally got a few words out, her tongue grated against her palate like sandpaper.
“Me? What do you mean?”
“The way I see it, little Isabell was alive and well until you showed up and started asking about her. Someone found out and decided to send you a warning. Kidnap her. . maybe something worse. But I don’t think it’s because of Isabell or her profession. It has to do with the real reason you came to Copenhagen. The murder- mutilations.”
“There are only three people here in Copenhagen that I’ve spoken to about Isabell.”
“Three police officers.”
It wasn’t a question but a statement. Irene nodded. Tom fished a little notebook out of a desk drawer and said, “Can I have their names?”
Irene gave them to him. Tom wrote them down and then looked at the paper for a long time before he said, “No. The names don’t say anything to me. Except Bentsen, of course. Emil Bentsen’s mother!”
He snorted loudly, Something told Irene that Emil was going to get an earful next time he saw Tom.
“It seems as though ‘Simon Steiner’ has taken Isabell somewhere, and Copenhagen is enormous. I promised to contact her friend Petra at Scandinavian Models. The best thing is to convince her to report Isabell’s disappearance to the police,” said Irene.
