Only a Danish police officer can search the hotel.”
Petra said, “Do you think I could leave it as an anonymous tip?”
“Yes, but there’s a risk that they will dismiss it as a prank call. Another option is for you to call the hotel. Have you done that?”
“No, but maybe I should. . . .”
“You can start with that. By the way, did the man looking for Bell yesterday really say that he was a police officer?”
“Yeah . . . they do that sometimes . . . say that they want to inspect . . . you know . . .”
In order to get a free pass, thought Irene. Loudly she said, “Hey, I have to run now. I’ll call you in two hours and see if you have come up with anything. And please call my number if Isabell happens to show up.”
“OK. Bye.”
When Irene had hung up, she felt her stomach flutter with worry. What had happened? Was it really a pure coincidence that she and Isabell had been on the same street at the same time in this huge city?
An ice-cold chill ran down her spine. It felt as though an invisible hand was maneuvering her as if she were a marionette. Someone was playing a cleverly calculated game. Right then, she would have given almost anything for a glimpse at the script.
Could Tom Tanaka be responsible for Isabell’s disappearance? But she hadn’t mentioned Isabell to him. The only ones she had spoken with and shown the picture to were Beate Bentsen, Jens Metz, and Peter Møller. Three police officers.
Tanaka had said that he trusted her, and in turn, it now seemed as though he was the only one she dared to trust.
She got out Tom Tanaka’s calling card with his cell phone number. There was one ring before he answered. “Tom.”
“Hi. This is Irene Huss.”
“What’s new?”
It took a confused second before Irene understood what “What’s new?” meant. Stammering, she started to explain. “No. I don’t have any . . . news. But I need to ask a few questions. Is that OK?”
“Depends on what kind of questions.”
“Are you alone now?”
“Yes.”
“It’s about Emil. How long has he worked for you?”
To Irene’s surprise, he let out a short laugh. “Emil doesn’t work for me. He’s more like a volunteer.”
“Volunteer? What do you mean?”
“He has been hanging out in the store ever since I took it over. Sometimes he buys a few things. But mostly he just hangs out. We have gotten to know each other over time. Little by little, as it turned out, he started helping here.”
“Does he have any other jobs?”
“He studies law.”
“Do you know anything about Emil’s parents?”
“Not a thing. Doesn’t interest me. Why are you asking about Emil?”
“His mother is Beate Bentsen. She is the superintendent of police in the Criminal Division. A police officer with connections to Vesterbro . . . she works there.”
It became quiet. Irene heard Tanaka’s heavy breathing. When he finally took a deep breath and then exhaled, there was an explosion in the receiver. “Damn! Shit!” Then he said in a normal voice, “When are you going home to Sweden?”
“Now. I’ve just had lunch with my colleagues. Some other things have come up that I’d like to ask you about.”
“Can you stop by on the way?”
“I’ll try. We’re behind Tivoli now so it isn’t far to walk to you. I’ll call on the cell when I get there. You want me to take the back way, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
Irene ended the call. She quickly touched up her lipstick before she went out again to her male colleagues.
They were in the process of paying. Irene smiled apologetically. “You can’t be away from home one day without the whole house falling apart—at least it seems that way. Naturally, I’ll pay for myself.”
She pulled her wallet out of her pocket but Metz waved it off.
“Not at all. It’s on us. You can treat us when we come and visit Göteborg.”
“Of course. Thanks a lot.”
The police officers said good-bye to each other outside the pub. Irene and the men went in separate directions. She walked up Bernstorffsgade. She should have taken a right at the large intersection in order to get to her parked car on Studiestræde. 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