Call Me Princess by Sara Blædel

started toward the exit with Susanne’s sweater over her arm, thinking it would probably be a good idea to send it down to the crime-scene investigators. Not that it was very likely they would find anything on it, but it was worth a try.
    —
    “R ESTAURANT B ALKONEN,” SHE SAID IN RESPONSE TO THE HOPEFUL LOOK Lars gave her. Then she shook her head and added, “Nada.”
    She stuffed Susanne’s sweater into one of the CSI’s paper sacks, wrote the case number on the outside, and put it on the bookshelf by the door so she would remember to drop it off.
    “They ate there, and she left this. Bjergholdt paid in cash. Strangely the waiter was able to remember that, but otherwise his recollections were pretty limited.”
    She went in and dropped off her report for Heilmann.
    “I’ve got the names of twelve women who exchanged messages with ‘Mr. Noble,’” Lars said when she walked back in.
    “Have you contacted any of them?” she asked.
    “Not yet. But when you set up a profile, you have to provide an e-mail address.” He showed her a piece of paper with a list of e-mail addresses on it.
    “Do you have to give your own e-mail address?” Louise looked at him in surprise, assuming up until this point that people could just set up dummy accounts.
    “It’s only visible to the company that runs the site, so they can send information to their customers.”
    She noticed a quiet germ of anticipation starting to sprout. They hadn’t hit a total brick wall. Once they pinned down the description a little more, she would talk to Susanne again, and then they could go to the press and search for him. She felt a primal joy at the thought of interrogating him after they caught him. Just you wait, you sadistic pig , she thought and went over to find the folder for the case on Kim Jensen from Hørsholm, who’d disappeared into thin air. Karin Hvenegaard was the name of the woman he had raped. She lived in Rødovre, and Louise wrote the phone number down on her notepad and picked up the phone.
    She sat drumming her fingers on her desk while she waited for the phone to be picked up. A quiet click told her it had gone to voicemail; but instead of the subscriber’s own voice, there was a recorded operator’s voice saying that the number was no longer in service. Louise sighed and hung up. She called information and asked if there was a new number for that name.
    “It’s unlisted,” the woman replied.
    Louise went through the slightly complicated procedure the police used to circumvent the standard security measures and access unlisted numbers.
    “She doesn’t have a landline, and there’s no cell-phone number listed for that address,” the woman said after an artificial pause.
    “Thanks,” Louise said and hung up, thinking it might not hurt to drive out to the address the next day. She dialed Heilmann’s extension and explained that Karin Hvenegaard no longer had a phone. She could tell from Heilmann’s voice that she wasn’t going to sanction Louise putting this off until tomorrow, so she hurried to add that she’d find her in the Danish national population registry and then go pay her a visit in person.
    She knew she wouldn’t make it home in time for dinner now, but Peter was prepared for that, and it occurred to her that she didn’t even know if he was home. His New Year’s resolution seemed to be working, because it had been a long time since he’d complained about her unpredictable work hours.
    She packed up her bag and nodded absent-mindedly to Lars, who was talking on the phone. Thoughts of Peter were running through her head. She didn’t have the least desire to live apart from him, but she also didn’t feel any pressure to spend time with him, either, now that he lived with her. Although they’d been going together for six years, she’d been afraid, when Peter moved into her apartment, that living together would start making her feel chronically suffocated; but to her own surprise, she was actually