Steiner. He called around ten o’clock on Wednesday night. He asked specifically for Isabell and wanted her immediately. She was free at eleven. Petra, the one who took the phone call, said that Isabell hailed a taxi and left just before eleven. We’ve found the taxi driver and the time matches. He dropped her off at the Hotel Aurora at five minutes to eleven. The driver doesn’t remember if there was a man waiting for her outside the hotel.”
“Have you found anyone with the name Simon Steiner?”
“No.”
Beate Bentsen suddenly cleared her throat and said, “The fact is, I knew someone named Simon Steiner. He lived here in Copenhagen but died four years ago. Lung cancer.” She put out her half-smoked cigarette.
Metz suddenly looked interested and asked, “Who was he? Could he have a relative with the same name who’s still alive?”
Bentsen shook her head. “No relatives with the same name, as far as I know. He was a retired real estate agent. Widowed.”
“No children?”
“No.”
Irene thought she heard a slight hesitation in Bentsen’s voice but she wasn’t completely certain. The superintendent’s face didn’t reveal anything. Since none of the other inspectors seemed willing to ask the question, Irene decided to do it. “How did you know Simon Steiner?”
“He was a good friend of my father’s. They were childhood friends.”
It was a simple explanation but Irene still felt uneasy. It seemed to be quite a coincidence that the superintendent had known a man with exactly the same name. Still, the explanation was credible. A dead man couldn’t possibly be the murderer they were looking for, but someone could have easily used his name. But why that name?
Irene had to interrupt her train of thought when Metz said, “Now I want to hear everything you know about Isabell Lind.”
Irene summed up everything she could remember about how Isabell had ended up in Copenhagen. She also told them about her own investigation at Scandinavian Models at about the same time Isabell’s murder must have taken place. Jens Metz gave a start and gave her a sharp look. She calmly looked back into his small light blue eyes whose almost white lashes gave the impression that he didn’t have any.
Surely now he will mention his visit she thought, but he didn’t. Instead, he looked away quickly.
She did not talk about her visit to Tom Tanaka. She wouldn’t breathe a word about his role in the investigation.
She finished by telling them about the postcard with its short message.
“The Little Mermaid is dead,” Metz repeated thoughtfully.
“But in English,” Irene clarified.
The three Danish colleagues looked grave. Møller was the one who said it. “To your home address. The murder of a girl you knew, here in Copenhagen. Murdered according to the rituals we recognize from two other murders. A warning can’t get much clearer.”
“But why me? Several police officers, both in Göteborg and in Copenhagen, are working on this investigation,” said Irene.
She could hear the fear in her own voice. Metz looked at her expressionlessly before saying, “You must know things that make the killer feel threatened. Maybe you can’t see how important these details are and that’s why you haven’t told us about them. But he thinks you’re a threat.”
A block of ice lodged itself in Irene’s stomach. What Metz had just said could be interpreted as a threat. It sounded like a well-intended warning, but it could just as easily be—Irene warned herself not to over-analyze. There was a risk of becoming paranoid. Yet she had to tread cautiously and think about every word she uttered when she was with these three people.
Hurried steps were heard in the corridor, and the door to the office was thrown open with a bang. Jonny Blom stood on the threshold, swaying. With bloodshot eyes he looked at his colleagues, each in turn, before saying, “Excuse me. I overslept. They said this was where you were meeting.”
Irene fervently wished that he would close his mouth. The stench of garlic and stale alcohol mixed with the cigarette smoke in the room.
“This is my colleague, Jonny Blom,” she said stiffly.
Jonny politely shook hands when he was introduced to the Danish colleagues. Metz pounded him on the back and said, “Dear friend, you look like you need a big cup of coffee. What do you say about going to Adler’s?”
Everyone got up. Metz kept a firm grip on Jonny’s shoulders and led him through the corridor.
CAFÉ ADLER was located just around the corner from the police station. It had a strong turn-of-the-nineteenth-century feel