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 Ströget. A new and very popular place. It was unbelievably successful and he quickly got new jobs.”
“I’ve informed my colleagues in Göteborg 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