said sincerely, “Now I feel damned sorry for the superintendent.”
They should try and speak with Beate Bentsen as quickly as possible, thought Irene. Tentatively, she asked, “May I come with you to the hospital and speak with her?”
“Why?” Jonny asked sourly.
“Because Emil and Marcus knew each other. The model in the photo above Emil’s bed is Marcus Tosscander. This is probably where Marcus was living. How much did Beate know about Emil’s life? His sex life? There’s a lot that I would like to ask her,” said Irene.
Jonny looked irritated, but didn’t say anything.
“You can come along. I’ll call the hospital and see if we can speak with her. If it’s possible, we’ll go there right after we’ve eaten,” said Peter Moller.
“I’ll try and get Svend Blokk. He should be able to tell us if it’s the same murderer. Actually, have you thought about the fact that the first two murders were different from the last two?” Metz pointed out.
“You mean because he hasn’t cleaned out Isabell and Emil?” asked Jonny.
“Exactly. Plus the fact that the chest hasn’t been opened. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t had access to a circular saw. That’s probably also the reason he hasn’t cut off the head and other extremities. Maybe we should be asking ourselves whether we could have a copycat murderer?” said Metz.
That was a possibility, but Irene’s intuition said that it was the same killer. No copycat could have known the details of the mutilation and defilement of the first two victims since the media hadn’t had access to all the facts. But she agreed that there were certain striking differences between the first two murders and the later ones. It was almost as though the last two were incomplete.
Irene became terrified by the word that popped into her head: incomplete. She would keep it in mind and come back to it when she had more information about the new murders.
Peter stuffed his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a closed plastic bag. “I found this far back in the pantry. A bit of pot. Pretty strong.”
“It matches the smell in the music room. The door has probably been closed since the murder. The posters and CDs show that Emil had an interest in necrophilia,” Irene told him.
Moller and Metz went into the music room. They looked at the wall decorations in silence. Moller bent down and picked around among the CDs and covers. When they started walking toward the door again, Moller said to Irene, “It seems to mostly be death metal and black metal. He wouldn’t have had to have been a necrophile to listen to that kind of music. There are a lot of youngsters who think it’s cool. But I agree that he seemed to be obsessed with death.”
He made a gesture at the poster hanging closest to the door. It depicted a guitarist, full length, standing and grinning at the observer, while worms crawled in and out of holes in his skull. Under the electric guitar his rotting intestines appeared to be hanging down to the floor. The words over the picture said: “There is no death!”
IT WAS a relief to come out onto the street again.
“It will be just as well if we eat lunch now,” said Jens Metz.
Irene wasn’t very hungry but realized that it would give her a chance to contact Tom Tanaka. There were certain advantages to having separate toilets for men and women.
They decided that after lunch Jonny should go back to the police station and make copies of the investigation reports about Isabell Lind. Naturally he groaned and mumbled, but deep down inside he must have been happy to be driven to the police station to sit in peace and quiet to deal with a stationary pile of paper. He obviously had a headache. But maybe he could get past it with an aspirin and some cups of coffee. A “little one” and some food would probably also do the trick.
Peter Moller called the hospital and asked if they could question Beate Bentsen that afternoon. After several discussions with the nurses, they mercifully were given a visiting time after three o’clock.
It was almost a quarter to twelve. If they hurried up and ate, Irene would have time for a visit to Tom Tanaka’s before three. She became insistent that they eat an early lunch.
They walked to Grabrodretorv and the small rustic pub Peder Oxe, known for its meat dishes and generous glasses of wine. All of them chose tender ox rolls in a divine cream sauce, black currant jelly, and a large helping of early spring greens. Everyone had beer. To Jonny’s disappointment, he was the only one who wanted to have a schnapps. To save himself embarrassment he didn’t order it, but his expression was that of a sad puppy who had been tricked.
Irene excused herself before coffee and slipped off to the ladies’ room. She locked herself in the bathroom and took out her cell phone, then quickly brought up Tom’s number on the cell phone display and made the call.
“Tom speaking.”
“Irene Huss here. We need to meet immediately.”
“Has something happened?”
“Yes, I need to speak with you.”
“Are you able to, even with your colleague around?”
“Yes. If we can meet in half an hour.”
“I can make it in an hour. OK?”
“No. There won’t be enough time. It’s important! Otherwise I wouldn’t have called you!”
He must have heard the desperation in her voice.
“OK. I have company now. Come in half an hour. Call when you’re outside the door and I’ll come down and open it for you.”
Irene pulled a comb through her short hairdo and ruffled it a bit. To her surprise, she had started liking her short hairdo. For the sake of appearances, she put on some more lipstick. She smiled at her own reflection for practice. It was important that she look casual while she was serving up a white lie to her colleagues.
She dropped down next to her steaming cup of coffee and said, “I think that I’m going to try and speak with the girls at Scandinavian Models again. I’d especially like to talk to Petra one more time. Now that the initial shock is over, she might remember more from the night Isabell disappeared.”
“Do you think it will add anything? We have already questioned the girls several times,” Peter objected.
“I know, but I want to make one last attempt.”
Peter shrugged to show what he thought of the idea. To Irene’s relief, the three men started talking about soccer. She sat quietly and pretended not to know anything about the group matches for the European Championship.
When she had finished her last cup of coffee, she smiled apologetically and said, “I think I’ll head out. So long.”
“I’ll pick you up next to the entrance to Vor Frue Kirke at 2:45,” said Peter.
“Fine.”
Irene faintly recalled that this meeting place was in the immediate neighborhood. She realized that it was going to be difficult to get to Vesterbro and back in time. She would have to take a taxi.
Irene called Tom from the taxi. The driver turned in on Helgolandsgade and Irene paid. Without hurrying, she went through the entrance door. Even though it was broad daylight, she looked around the courtyard carefully. The run-in with the skinheads was still fresh in her mind.
Tom was already standing at the window. He opened the door, welcomed her, and shuffled up the stairs. Irene shivered when she heard his strained breathing. He sounded like a mountain climber without his oxygen at the top of Mount Everest. Tom was dressed in a silver-colored satin outfit for the day and he had wound small silver threads around his knots of hair.
With a chivalrous gesture he held open the door to his bedroom and invited Irene to step in. The room looked just the same. If Tom had been entertaining someone there, he had had enough time to put things in order again. When he started to walk toward the door that led to the corridor, Irene said, “Tom. Could we please stay here in the bedroom?”
Tom raised his eyebrows ironically. “In the bedroom?”
When he saw the serious look on Irene’s face he hurried to add, “Sorry. Bad joke.”
“It’s OK. Why don’t you sit on the bed?”
Without arguing, Tom lowered himself heavily onto the edge of the bed.
