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said. “He lost his grip on reality years ago. He does better when he keeps to his own world. He drinks a liter or more a day, but he wouldn’t hurt a fly. Sometimes he even makes his sofa available if someone needs a place to stay.”
    The man was walking in their direction on the sidewalk on the other side of the street and stopped to lean against the wall of a building as he rummaged through his pants pocket. He finally pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and with great difficulty he removed one from the pack and then found his lighter.
    Louise watched him as he started staggering forward again.
    â€œHe was sitting right across from the place where the body was lying. He must have seen her,” she said. Then she asked Mikkelsen if he’d consider having a word with the man. “Maybe he’d be more willing to recall something if you were the one asking.”
    Mikkelsen stopped abruptly and glanced over at Kai, but then he started walking again.
    â€œOkay, I’ll do it, but not here. I’d rather catch him at home. Kai would catch hell if word gets out he might have seen something. People consider a guy like him worthless, and the people we’re dealing with wouldn’t blink at shutting him up for good.”
    Kai was almost directly across from them now. He crossed the street, heading for the basement grocery store. When he got close, he recognized Mikkelsen and raised his hand in greeting.
    â€œÃ‡a va, monsieur?” Mikkelsen asked, going over to shake his hand.
    â€œTrès bien, mon ami. Très bien,” Kai slurred, a smile passing over his ravaged face. He let go of the officer’s hand, pointed down at the store, and then raised his hand to his mouth as if he were tipping a bottle to his lips.
    Mikkelsen smiled and gave him a slap on the back before Kai headed down the basement steps.
    â€œHe’s okay. He was the chef at the Plaza Hotel until his wife dumped him, and then his son was killed in a car accident … or maybe it happened the other way around. In any case, his whole world fell apart, and he said goodbye to his old life,” Mikkelsen explained. “Let’s take a stroll over to Istedgade. I want to show the photo to the folks at Club Intim. If this woman worked here in the neighborhood, she probably used their booths. Although I doubt the guys over there will feel particularly motivated to share, either.”
    Rounding the corner onto Istedgade, Louise smelled the spicy aroma of grilling shawarma, and her stomach instantly contracted with hunger. She found a piece of chewing gum in her pocket, hoping that it would tide her over until she could get back to the office and the box of crackers in her desk drawer.
    A group of men stood in front of the homeless shelter in the spring sunshine, clutching their beer bottles and chatting. A big dog had stretched out lazily in the middle of the sidewalk so that people had to walk in a circle around him. The street scene was a motley mixture, with everyone from bums to schoolchildren to the parents of toddlers who didn’t bat an eye at the sex shops while maneuvering their strollers home around the African prostitutes.

    Club Intim was three steps below street level. The officers edged their way single-file past racks of porn DVDs in the crammed shop.
    Louise could tell that the guy behind the counter recognized Mikkelsen, and it took him only a quick glance at Lars and her to know that they weren’t new customers. On the contrary, they were the sort of people he wanted out of the shop as quickly as possible.
    Club Intim promoted itself as Denmark’s leading porn theater, with four separate screens and signs advertising topless service and draft beer for 30 kroner. But only a certain clientele knew about the business transacted in the numerous private booths where prostitutes serviced their customers. The prostitutes paid 90 kroner per visit to rent a booth, and according to Mikkelsen, they