Helene Tursten - The Torso

“Why not? Wouldn’t it have been easy to bring along a circular saw?” said Irene.

For the first time, Peter Møller responded. “Maybe he didn’t have access to the saw this particular night. But it’s probably because a circular saw makes a lot of noise. Even at the Hotel Aurora they would have reacted to the sound of a circular saw in the middle of the night.”

It sounded like a plausible explanation. Metz nodded in agreement before he cleared his throat and continued. “We found out from the staff at the hotel that a woman had called and asked about Isabell. First she had asked for a guest who was called Simon Steiner but when the porter said that there wasn’t a guest with that name, she got worried. That’s when she asked about Isabell.”

“Did any of the employees at the hotel see Isabell?”

“No, but we know why. The top floor was closed due to renovation. The room that Isabell was found in was one of the last ones to be fixed. The other rooms were still empty because they had just glued the carpets down and the smell was horrible. No one will be able to stay in those rooms for quite some time. We found marks on the emergency exit door that leads to the back lot behind the hotel. Someone picked that lock as well as the lock on the door of the hotel room. Our theory is that the murderer met Isabell outside the hotel and took her up to the top floor via the back stairs. He probably fixed the locks ahead of time.”

It was quiet in the room while they contemplated the likelihood of this theory. Irene decided that it sounded very logical.

Metz took a puffing breath and continued, “We traced the phone call from the young woman to Scandinavian Models, an escort service.”

Irene waited for the follow-up that never came. Now Metz should have talked about his visit to Scandinavian Models. He could have used the line that “It was a private investigation to help Irene,” or whatever, but he didn’t offer any explanation.

“The interrogations there have provided a good deal of information. The business is new and has only been up and running for a few months. All four of the girls have been there from the beginning. They share a large apartment in the same building in which the company is located.”

“Did they move from the address that Isabell’s mother had?” Irene jumped in.

“No. They’ve lived there the whole time.”

So Bell had given Monika the wrong address in Copenhagen on purpose. Of course, it had seemed odd that the girls didn’t have a phone in their apartment.

Irene remembered Bell’s inclination to run away when she was younger, how she had wanted to disappear so that her mother would worry. Had Bell chosen to be unreachable? Maybe it made her feel grown-up, free, and independent. She had had to pay a high price for her so-called freedom.

“Who owns Scandinavian Models?” asked Irene.

“An American. Robin Hillman. A nasty guy. This is the third bordello he’s started. He’s worked 24/7 from the get-go. The girls are paid fairly well but they really have to work hard.”

Metz winked and smiled knowingly after the last comment. Irene thought that he was disgusting. Why didn’t he say anything about his visit to the bordello?

Peter Møller took over. “When he thinks he has made a big enough profit, he shuts down the business, goes bankrupt, or sells. Of course, there’s no money left in the company. A colleague I spoke with says it’s estimated that he must owe a minimum of twenty million kronor in unpaid taxes. It may be a much higher sum, but no one knows. He has the best tax lawyers in the country working for him.”

“Have you spoken with Hillman?” Irene asked.

Møller shook his head. “No, he’s in the States. Left on Friday morning, after we found Isabell. Someone probably tipped him off, and he felt things were getting too hot to handle.”

“When is he coming back?”

“His wife didn’t know.”

“His wife?”

“Yes. Jytte Hillman. Danish. They have two small children and they live-very well off-in Charlottenlund.”

“Where is that?”

“North of Copenhagen, along Strandvejen.”

Irene remembered the fashionable neighborhood she had driven through on her way home the week before.

She looked at Møller’s blond hair with its sun-bleached strands, his short-sleeved light gray shirt in thin silk, and well-pressed chinos in a slightly darker shade of gray. He looked healthy with his suntan. Suddenly, it struck her that she didn’t know where he had gone to get his tan. Thailand? Also a question that had to be asked. But not right now; she would have to wait. Instead, she smiled and said casually, “Is the house located on the right side of the road?”

Møller raised his eyebrows and said ironically, “Of course. Own beach and dock. Hillman paid nine million kröner for the place. His occupation, as listed in the phone book, is businessman. Business seems to be going well.”

Birgitta Moberg had said the sex industry brings in more money than the drug trade in the USA today. It’s called an industry . Industries produce products for consumption. Women, men, children, animals …all are sucked into this industry, enslaved, converted to money, broken down, and spit out as worthless industrial refuse.

In order to stop her thoughts, Irene asked, “What have you found out by questioning the other girls at the bordello?”

“Isabell was requested via phone by a man who called himself Simon 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.