“Tom speaking.”
“Irene Huss calling.”
“Hey, my favorite cop. Are you coming to visit me?”
“I would love to, but it’s not possible. My colleague. .”
“I understand. What did you want to talk about?”
“Beate Bentsen. . Emil’s mother. . told him that I was looking for Scandinavian Models and Isabell Lind. I need to get in touch with him.”
“Why?”
“To ask him if he told anyone else.”
Tom’s answer was a long silence. When he finally started speaking, a chilly undertone could be heard in his voice. “Our dear Emil certainly keeps on surprising us. Do you think he’s the one who leaked it?”
“Leaked. . but I never said that it was a secret that I was looking for Isabell. I never thought it would be dangerous for her.”
“I haven’t seen Emil for a week. Not since the night you were here.”
“That’s exactly one week ago. Does he usually stay away that long?”
After a long pause, Tom said, “It’s happened. But usually he shows up every few days. Sometimes I’ve even asked him to come in when I’ve needed help in the store. Since he isn’t employed, he comes and goes as he wants.”
“Do you have his address and telephone number?”
“Yes, one second.”
Irene heard the desk drawer pulled out. She guessed that he was sitting in his office and had just reached for his Rolodex.
“He lives on Gothersgade. Near the Botanical Gardens.”
It sounded funny when Tom tried to pronounce Botanical Gardens in Danish. But Irene didn’t laugh. He gave her the street address and telephone number. Summing up, Irene asked, “What do you know about Emil?”
“He studies law. That’s what he says anyway. He lives in a big apartment that he inherited from his father. It’s big enough that he can rent out a part of it. I suspect that he lives on the income from the rent. He’s twenty- two years old. Doesn’t draw a lot of attention to himself.”
Irene was very close to asking Tom if he had had a “relationship” with Emil but decided not to. Such a question might destroy the relationship of trust they had built.
She dialed Emil’s number as soon as she had finished the conversation with Tom. After ten rings she gave up. He wasn’t home.
The food came at the same time as her arrival back at the table. The portions were lavish. Jonny had already accepted Danish food traditions with great enthusiasm. The young waitress set a schnapps glass filled to the brim in front of him. Jens Metz slapped her on the bottom and winked mischievously when she glared at him in irritation.
“Don’t look so sour. A little clap on the rear is a compliment,” he laughed.
The waitress quickly replied, “It depends on who’s giving it!”
Irene could have applauded but managed to control herself. Jens looked cross, though he immediately cheered up after taking a big swig of beer.
They went back to the police station after lunch. Irene managed to reach Svend Blokk via telephone. The professor of pathology was absolutely convinced that the same murderer had been at it again. The abdominal incisions of both the dismembered victims matched Isabell’s incision. The damage to the lower abdomen was also identical. Blokk was most intrigued by this last victim, since she still had all of her organs.
Irene was close to throwing up into the receiver. She had never reacted so strongly to a murder investigation before. Maybe when she was a rookie, and they had gotten a very rotten corpse to deal with. . but no, not even then. In her emotional chaos after Isabell’s murder, a much stronger feeling had begun to make itself known. It had been there for a while but now it surfaced and asked to be taken seriously: revenge.
She wanted vengeance. She wanted to avenge herself for having been used for the killer’s purpose. She wanted to avenge herself for having been made responsible for Bell’s death. She wanted to avenge the sorrow that Monika Lind’s family was forced to go through. She wanted to avenge the terror Bell must have felt when she realized that she was going to die, and she wanted to avenge the desecration of Bell’s dead body.
She would take revenge.
THE QUESTIONING of the three remaining girls from Scandinavian Models didn’t add anything new to the investigation. They had closed the establishment for a few hours in order to be interrogated by the Swedish police. From what Irene understood, their establishment was open to customers fourteen hours a day, seven days a week. The girls worked in seven-hour shifts.
“Robin. . Mr. Hillman. . says that it’s important now, in the beginning. The customers need to know that we’re accessible. We’re going to build a circle of regulars,” Petra had said. Her tone of voice had been businesslike. She sounded as if she were describing the start-up of a health-food brand.
Irene wanted to yell at her and tell her to go home to Malmo on the next ferry. But she didn’t say anything. The way Petra was sticking out first her chest and then her tight-pants-clad bottom in Peter Moller’s face told her that it wasn’t worth it.
THEY ATEdinner at Copenhagen Corner that evening. The three Danish officers had suggested the restaurant to their two Swedish colleagues and Irene knew right away that it was a good choice.
They were seated at a table on an enormous glassed-in veranda that faced the open Radhuspladsen. The atmosphere was cozy, with lots of green plants, and the staff was pleasant.
Jens Metz and Jonny Blom ordered beer and a Danish schnapps straight away. Peter Moller and Irene satisfied themselves with one large beer apiece while Beate Bentsen ordered a glass of white wine.
Irene had tried calling Emil Bentsen several times during the afternoon without success. Jonny had had time to sleep for two hours at the hotel before Irene phoned his room and woke him up. Now he was sitting jovially exchanging toasts with Jens and looked as though he was really enjoying himself.
“When are you leaving tomorrow?” asked Jens.
“After lunch. We’re just going to take copies of some of the interrogations and of the technical examinations. It’s definitely your case, but it will be best for us to have information, too, since the murderer is still at large. No one knows what he’ll do next,” Irene replied.
A gloomy silence swept over the table but was quickly brushed aside by Jonny’s comment. “He can do whatever he wants, as long as he stays in Copenhagen. Then we can come here every now and then.”
Jonny and Jens drank to that. Their laughter resounded from the glass walls.
Irene noticed that Beate Bentsen seemed withdrawn. She was slowly rotating her wine glass between her fingers, staring down at the swirling liquid. Her thoughts seemed to be very far away. She looked tired, there were deep furrows in the corners of her mouth.
“Did you reach Emil?” Irene asked.
The superintendent gave a start and looked at Irene, confused. “What? Emil? No.”
With the last word she bent over her glass again.
Irene felt strongly that something was wrong. But she couldn’t stop now. “Do you think we can reach him tonight or tomorrow morning?” she asked.
Beate looked irritated. “I don’t know. He lives his own life.”
“I understand that. But for the sake of the investigation, it’s important to clarify who knew that I was looking for Isabell. We need to know whom he told.” Irene tried to sound calm and reasonable.
Beate looked at her sharply, then she nodded and looked away. “I can’t get ahold of him.” she admitted. “I was at his apartment today but he wasn’t home.” she sounded worried.
Irene thought quickly, then asked if he had left a note or a message for her at his apartment.
“I don’t have a key,” Beate Bentsen said.
Irene almost gave it away. The sentence was already rolling off her tongue-
