foot of the bed on his back, with his paws in the air. He was already asleep. At least he was pretending to be, in case his mistress tried to get him off the bed.
Irene went into the bathroom to drink some water and to try and slow down her heart rate. Her sweat felt sticky on her naked body. After a while she began to feel chilled. She went into the bedroom for her bathrobe and wrapped herself in the soft terry cloth, then padded to the kitchen barefoot, and sat down with a glass of cold milk.
The kitchen window faced east. On the horizon the sun was in the process of painting a beautiful dawn in pastel colors of pink and turquoise. The few moonbeams that remained glittered like golden ribbons. It was going to be a beautiful day.
Irene had a hard time forgetting her dream, which she didn’t have any difficulty analyzing. She had a guilty conscience and was worried about what might have happened to Isabell.
The telephone conversation with Monika Lind barely six hours earlier had been tough. It was difficult to say that she had located Isabell without having had the chance to meet her before she disappeared again. The worst had been talking about Isabell’s work. Monika was brokenhearted when she understood that Isabell was a prostitute. The thought had never crossed her mind. She had bought the idea hook, line, and sinker that her beautiful little daughter was struggling to become a famous photo model; she couldn’t accept the truth. Maybe she also felt ashamed. Toward the end of the phone call, Monika had become aggressive and started questioning Irene’s information. Maybe Irene had seen the wrong picture in the tourist guide? Maybe it wasn’t Bell after all! Even if the escort service was called Scandinavian Models, couldn’t there be other agencies with the same name? Why not a serious modeling agency? Yet in the end, Irene made her see reality. The girl who had disappeared was Isabell and no other.
Irene hadn’t said a word about the suspicions she and Tom Tanaka had. She still had a hard time believing that her appearance in Copenhagen had started a domino effect that led to Isabell’s disappearance. It seemed too far-fetched.
She decided not to mention Tom’s identity to anyone. She trusted him completely but her boss and colleagues never would. They would make fun of him and question his credibility. But Irene had faith in him, because he had truly loved Marcus Tosscander. Now they had to find out who Marcus really had been. It appeared that he had had many dangerous acquaintances.
IRENE GOT to start Thursday’s morning prayers with a report of her doings in Copenhagen. A censored version.
“Good work in Copenhagen. It seems as though it could be some of Marcus Tosscander lying in the sacks,” said Superintendent Andersson.
Jonny interrupted him. “What’s this funny stuff about not being able to tell us how you got the information?”
He looked at Irene. She had known the question would come and she wasn’t all that surprised about who had asked it. “I have guaranteed complete confidentiality to my informant. No one but me knows his identity. Those were the conditions I agreed to in order to get the information. The main thing is that we finally have a name to start with,” she answered.
Jonny began to object but the superintendent was ahead of him.
“Exactly. Hannu and Jonny worked on it all day yesterday. Everything points to the torso really being Tosscander. Hannu can begin.”
Hannu nodded slightly and read from his notepad: “Marcus Emanuel Tosscander was born March 8, 1968, in Askim Parish. He would now be thirty-one years old. The mother died ten years ago. The father is a retired senior physician. No siblings. Educated at the College for Art and Design for five years. Started his own design firm as soon as his education was done. Moved the business to the offices at Kungsportsplatsen four years ago. According to his tax declarations for the last five years, his company has done very well. The company has declared profits in the millions, and personally he has taken out five hundred thousand in salary each year. Lives on Jenny Lindsgatan in Lunden. Unmarried. No children. Drives an imported red Pontiac, 1995 year model.”
Had he actually thought of checking the car registration as well? thought Irene. But by this time she knew Hannu and realized that he had. Where was the car now? Marcus had probably taken it