After a long pause, Tom said, “It’s happened. But usually he shows up every few days. Sometimes I’ve even asked him to come in when I’ve needed help in the store. Since he isn’t employed, he comes and goes as he wants.”
“Do you have his address and telephone number?”
“Yes, one second.”
Irene heard the desk drawer pulled out. She guessed that he was sitting in his office and had just reached for his Rolodex.
“He lives on Gothersgade. Near the Botanical Gardens.”
It sounded funny when Tom tried to pronounce Botanical Gardens in Danish. But Irene didn’t laugh. He gave her the street address and telephone number. Summing up, Irene asked, “What do you know about Emil?”
“He studies law. That’s what he says anyway. He lives in a big apartment that he inherited from his father. It’s big enough that he can rent out a part of it. I suspect that he lives on the income from the rent. He’s twenty-two years old. Doesn’t draw a lot of attention to himself.”
Irene was very close to asking Tom if he had had a “relationship” with Emil but decided not to. Such a question might destroy the relationship of trust they had built.
She dialed Emil’s number as soon as she had finished the conversation with Tom. After ten rings she gave up. He wasn’t home.
The food came at the same time as her arrival back at the table. The portions were lavish. Jonny had already accepted Danish food traditions with great enthusiasm. The young waitress set a schnapps glass filled to the brim in front of him. Jens Metz slapped her on the bottom and winked mischievously when she glared at him in irritation.
“Don’t look so sour. A little clap on the rear is a compliment,” he laughed.
The waitress quickly replied, “It depends on who’s giving it!”
Irene could have applauded but managed to control herself. Jens looked cross, though he immediately cheered up after taking a big swig of beer.
They went back to the police station after lunch. Irene managed to reach Svend Blokk via telephone. The professor of pathology was absolutely convinced that the same murderer had been at it again. The abdominal incisions of both the dismembered victims matched Isabell’s incision. The damage to the lower abdomen was also identical. Blokk was most intrigued by this last victim, since she still had all of her organs.
Irene was close to throwing up into the receiver. She had never reacted so strongly to a murder investigation before. Maybe when she was a rookie, and they had gotten a very rotten corpse to deal with . . . but no, not even then. In her emotional chaos after Isabell’s murder, a much stronger feeling had begun to make itself known. It had been there for a while but now it surfaced and asked to be taken seriously: revenge.
She wanted vengeance. She wanted to avenge herself for having been used for the killer’s purpose. She wanted to avenge herself for having been made responsible for Bell’s death. She wanted to avenge the sorrow that Monika Lind’s family was forced to go through. She wanted to avenge the terror Bell must have felt when she realized that she was going to die, and she wanted to avenge the desecration of Bell’s dead body.
She would take revenge.
THE QUESTIONING of the three remaining girls from Scandinavian Models didn’t add anything new to the investigation. They had closed the establishment for a few hours in order to be interrogated by the Swedish police. From what Irene understood, their establishment was open to customers fourteen hours a day, seven days a week. The girls worked in seven-hour shifts.
“Robin . . . Mr. Hillman . . . says that it’s important now, in the beginning. The customers need to know that we’re accessible. We’re going to build a circle of regulars,” Petra had said. Her tone of voice had been businesslike. She sounded as if she were describing the start-up of a health-food brand.
Irene wanted to yell at her and tell her to go home to Malmö on the next ferry. But she didn’t say anything. The way Petra was sticking out first her chest and then her tight-pants-clad bottom in Peter Møller’s face told her that it wasn’t worth it.
THEY ATEdinner at Copenhagen Corner that evening. The three Danish officers had suggested the restaurant to their two Swedish colleagues and Irene knew right away that it was a good choice.