Urban regeneration had improved the old red-light district considerably and initially the hookers had been scared off. Nevertheless the area’s reputation had been hard to shake off and a few years later the prostitutes returned to their old haunts because that was where the punters came looking for them.
I drove down Søndre Boulevard. The girls were lined up at fifty-metre intervals, some in pairs, others alone. They were mainly foreign, dark like the night or pale with angular, Russian features. When I slowed down, they would walk up to the car with a frozen smile and their eyes fixed at a spot behind me.
‘We have sex?’ they asked in a voice that sounded like a recording.
I was looking for a white girl. Verner had nothing but contempt for East European or African women and I knew they would never have been able to lure him anywhere.
The sad and bleak expressions in the women’s faces failed to move me. My brain had switched to survival mode and the feelings and predicaments of others were lost on me. I was on a mission: Mission Frank Føns.
I turned down the women’s offers, but asked if they knew a Danish girl who had worked the Marieborg Hotel last Wednesday, and described the girl from the lift. Most of them didn’t understand me or knew nothing about it. One of them suggested I went to Istedgade, a street favoured by the Danish prostitutes, and I followed her advice.
Istedgade had more traffic, better lighting and was indeed more popular with the Danish girls. There was a greater degree of presence with them and their approach seemed more genuine, or at least better rehearsed.
After only a few enquiries, I struck lucky with a tall slim woman with jet black hair, enormous breasts and a huge firm bum. The whole package was poured into a tight-fitting black catsuit and a white jacket.
‘You’re looking for Marie,’ she said with the accent of a docker, never letting her chewing gum rest. ‘That was the easiest job she has ever had.’
‘Do you know where she is?’
‘What do you want with her? You a cop or something?’
‘No, no,’ I said quickly. ‘Someone recommended her.’
‘Right,’ the black-haired woman said, still staring at me with distrust. ‘And what’s wrong with me,’ she said, opening her white jacket to give me a better view of the inflated breasts.
‘Perhaps some other time,’ I said and smiled. ‘I’ll give you two hundred if you tell me where she is.’
She looked around and held out her hand. I found my wallet and fished out two hundred kroner, which quickly disappeared down her cleavage.
‘Try Saxogade,’ she said, nodding further down the street. ‘But she has the decorators in so she’s only up for French and hand jobs.’
‘Decorators?’ I asked, but interrupted myself. ‘Oh, I get it. OK.’
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer a filly whose equipment is in full working order?’
I declined and drove on to Saxogade.
‘Ask for Monica next time!’ she called out after me. ‘Monica!’
I found Marie sitting on a doorstep in Saxogade. She was small and thin, just like I remembered her when I bumped into her in the lift. Her hair was blonde and her skin pale, where she hadn’t covered it with blusher. Her make-up was slapped on as if she had applied it going down the stairs. Her vacant eyes registered that I stopped the car and she forced the corners of her mouth into something that resembled a smile but only made her look worse.
I asked if she had been to the hotel two days ago.
She closed her eyes as if it took all of her concentration to remember what day it was and where she had been. When she didn’t reply, I thought she might have fallen asleep. I got out of the car and went over to her.
‘Lulu,’ I said, prodding her. ‘Did you go to the Marieborg Hotel last Wednesday?’
She opened her eyes. ‘My name’s not Lulu.’
I shook my head. ‘Did you meet Verner, the police officer, there?’
I spotted a flicker of recognition in her eyes.
‘Oh, Paedo? Yes, yes.’
My heart began to pound and I could barely control myself.
‘What happened?’ I asked. ‘Who contacted you?’
Marie stared at me. ‘Who the hell are you?’
I straightened up and glanced around. ‘I’m a friend of Verner’s. I need to know what happened.’
‘How much?’
‘What do you mean?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘How much do you need to know?’
I reached for my wallet. ‘What do you want?’ I asked.
She wiped her nose with her hand. ‘I need a hit,’ she said. ‘And I need it now. Business is bad when you’re on the rug and I need something now.’
‘OK, Lulu,’ I said. ‘How much is it?’
‘Why do you keep calling me Lulu?’
‘Sorry. Marie,’ I corrected myself and looked up and down the street again. ‘How much is it?’
She peered at me through half-closed eyes. ‘Eleven hundred per gram,’ she said.
I only had five hundred in cash, but I nodded. ‘Deal.’
‘That’s twenty-two hundred,’ she added quickly. ‘I need two grams.’
I protested, but she interrupted me.
‘Do you want to know what happened or not?’
‘OK,’ I said. ‘Tell me what you know.’
Marie shook her head. ‘Oh, no, that’s not how we do it. Drugs first.’
We both stood up and got into the car.
‘OK, where we going?’
‘Just drive to Enghave Plads and I’ll direct you from there.’ Her eyes stared straight ahead at the reward waiting for her.
I stopped at a cashpoint in Istedgade to get some more money. At Enghave Plads she directed me through some side streets before telling me to stop outside a 7-Eleven.
‘Here?’ I asked.
‘No, it’s a bit further down the street,’ she replied. ‘But you’ll wait here. If they see a strange car outside the flat, they’ll shit themselves.’ She held out her hand.
‘How do I know you’ll come back, Lulu?’ I asked as I counted out the twenty-two hundred kroner.
‘Cut that Lulu crap, OK?’
I held up my hand in a conciliatory gesture. ‘How do I know you’ll come back, Marie?’ I repeated.
‘I’m not shooting up in there again. Once I woke up with no knickers and spunk all over me. I’m not doing that again.’ She snatched the notes from my hand. ‘And get me some water.’
Marie left the car and walked down the street. I watched her and wondered if I had just waved goodbye to twenty-two hundred kroner and the last real clue I had.
23
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, Marie returned.
I had been into 7-Eleven to buy cigarettes and a bottle of water. I spent the rest of the time smoking and regretting that I had allowed myself to be duped so easily. Again. I knew perfectly well what people would promise in return for a hit, a drink, a beer or some dosh. Consequently I was both surprised and relieved when I saw Marie stroll casually towards the car, her hands deep in the pockets of her puffer jacket and a small smile on her lips.
The car was thick with smoke from the two cigarettes I had managed to get through.
‘That took you long enough,’ I said as she flopped down on the passenger seat. I handed her the water bottle. ‘OK, out with it.’
She shook her head. ‘You’ll have to help me,’ she said, passing back the bottle to me. ‘I can’t do it on my own.’
I looked around. ‘Here?’
She pointed to a place somewhere behind us. ‘We can drive to the railway if you’re shy.’
I started the car and drove from her directions to an area bordering the railway tracks at Enghave station. It was a site for storing railway sleepers and old rails, which shared the plot with piles of gravel and building waste. I switched off the engine and turned on the light inside the car. The yellow light made Marie looked even sicklier.