‘I’ll pin down her whereabouts and we can see her this afternoon or evening,’ said Tansu.
They took Scholz’s VW. The address Scholz had for A la Carte Escorts was in Deutz so it took them only a matter of minutes to get there. The street was a mix of small businesses and apartment buildings. There was a restaurant, a bar, a delicatessen and a computer sales and repair store. Scholz referred to his notebook and led Fabel to a doorway between the computer shop and the deli. There were a number of business names listed on the buzzer panel.
‘Here we are,’ said Scholz. ‘ A la Carte Escorts. Second floor…’
Everything had been done to communicate that this was a serious, professional business. Leo Nielsen was dressed in a sombre business suit and the offices of A la Carte Escorts could have been those of a civil engineer. There were no tarty types in reception and the receptionist herself was mousy and conservatively dressed. Nielsen almost carried the whole thing off and could have been any kind of businessman, except that his neck was as thick as his head and his shoulders strained against the material of his suit. In addition, there was a line down one cheek where the skin was paler than the rest of his face. Fabel guessed that Nielsen’s human-resource management experience had started with slapping loose change out of drug-dependent whores hanging around the main railway station.
‘What can I do for you?’ asked Nielsen in an unbusinessman-like way.
‘There was an incident,’ said Fabel. ‘In the Hotel Linden. One of your girls claimed that a customer had bitten her. Badly. We’d like to talk to her.’
‘We’ve been all through this already,’ said Nielsen with a weary sigh. ‘We… she isn’t interested in pressing charges.’
‘We understand that.’ Scholz sat on the corner of Nielsen’s desk and knocked a desk-tidy full of pens and an expensive-looking calculator onto the floor. ‘But – how can I put this? We don’t give a fuck. I want the name of the girl right now or I will go through every file, every client credit-card receipt and personally visit every punter who has dipped his wick in one of your whores.’
‘I don’t have to put up with threats.’ Nielsen maintained his composure and grinned at Scholz contemptuously.
‘No one is threatening anyone,’ said Fabel and looked meaningfully at Scholz. ‘We just need to get this girl’s name. She may have some important information relating to a murder case we’re working on.’
Nielsen made a show of going through files on his computer. ‘Sometimes these girls don’t give us their proper names,’ he said.
‘Well, I hope this one did, Herr Nielsen,’ said Fabel, ‘or things could get difficult. Listen, we’re not interested in you or your business here. We’re not even interested particularly in this girl. It’s her client we’re after. But if you like, we could take a closer look at your operation here. Talk to some of your clients…’
Nielsen glowered at Fabel for a moment, then yielded. ‘Okay. I’ll get her to contact you…’
‘No,’ said Fabel. ‘That won’t do. We need an address and we need to see her now.’
Nielsen sighed, scribbled an address on his notepad and tore it out, handing it to Fabel. ‘She’s with a client. She’ll be through by the time you get there. I’ll tell her you’re on your way and to stay put. I’ll have her wait in the hotel lobby.’
‘I don’t think Herr Nielsen liked us,’ said Scholz, grinning as they made their way back to the car. ‘God, I’d like to take that place apart. I bet there’s a bucketload of misery hidden in those files. If our organised-crime guys and the Federal Crime Bureau are right, then A la Carte is one of the end-users of Vitrenko’s human trafficking operation.’
Fabel thought back to the Vitrenko Dossier. He couldn’t remember seeing A la Carte amongst the list of premises tied into the trafficking operation. But, there again, there had been dozens. Whoever was providing the information to the Federal Crime Bureau was worth his weight in gold. Fabel had asked to see the full version of the dossier, but the name of the informant and all references that could possibly have given a clue to his identity had been removed.
Scholz’s cellphone rang.
‘That was Tansu,’ said Scholz after he hung up. ‘She’s done a check on our chum Nielsen. He did a three-stretch in Frankfurt about ten years ago. Serious assault. Drugs-related. Nothing since then but he stinks of organised crime to me.’
‘Me too,’ said Fabel. ‘But not the usual Vitrenko foot soldier. It looks like our Ukrainian friend’s business is truly globalising. Maybe he’s franchising some of his operations.’
‘Tansu also says she’s been unable to speak to Vera Reinartz, or whatever she calls herself now, but she’s got both a business and home address for her. Tansu’s asked if we can meet her about four this afternoon. But first I think we should visit this Internet company. The hotel this hooker is in is on our way.’
The hotel was one of the more luxurious kind that line the right bank of the Rhine. Fabel and Scholz waited, as agreed, near the entrance. The entire front of the reception area was glass-walled and Fabel marvelled at the panorama of the Hohenzollernbrucke bridge and, on the far bank, the Altstadt and the tower of St Martin’s. Of course, dominating it all was the looming presence of Cologne Cathedral.
‘Spectacular,’ said Fabel.
‘Yeah,’ said Scholz uninterestedly as he looked around the reception area. ‘This looks like our girl.’
A young woman approached them with an expression on her face somewhere between apprehension and suspicion. She was dressed more soberly than Fabel would have expected but, when he thought about it, this hotel was not the kind of place to encourage her type of enterprise. As she approached Fabel noticed her shape: slim except for the pronounced swell of her hips. Exactly like the Karneval Cannibal’s victims.
‘Are you Lyudmila Blyzniuk?’ Scholz struggled over the surname.
‘Yes. But I never use my full first name. I’m known as Mila. What have I done? My papers are all in order.’
‘But you also go by the professional name “Anastasia”?’
‘Yes. I never give clients my real name. What’s this about?’
‘Let me see your identity papers.’ Scholz held out his hand.
‘What? Here?’ She glanced nervously at the reception desk. Scholz made an impatient gesture and Mila took her identity card and a couple of immigration papers from her handbag.
‘Maybe we should sit down somewhere a little more private…’ Fabel suggested, indicating a group of low sofas by the window.
‘Mila, we want to talk to you about the incident with the client a few weeks ago. The man who bit you.’ Fabel tried to sound less confrontational than Scholz. ‘This is nothing to do with you or what you do for a living. We think the man who bit you is dangerous.’
‘You don’t need to tell me that,’ said Mila, her expression still hard and resistant. ‘Everybody thought it was a big laugh. Me getting bitten on the… I forgotten the German word for it… on my sraka…’
‘Arse,’ said Scholz.
‘Yeah, big joke. I have a big arse and he bites me on it. Very funny. But he is a very bad man. Dangerous man. I had to have stitches. He was like an animal, not a human being. I saw his face afterwards, covered in blood.’
‘Let’s take this one step at a time, Mila,’ said Fabel. ‘Describe this man to us.’
‘He was about thirty to thirty-five, a little less than two metres tall. Medium build… he looked fit, like he worked out a lot. Dark hair, blue eyes. He was good-looking. Not the usual sort of client.’
‘What type of person was he? I mean rich, poor, educated or not?’
‘He was definitely educated and had money. I mean from the way he was dressed.’
‘He paid cash?’ asked Scholz.
‘Yes. And he gave me a little extra. I knew he had special requirements. The agency told me.’