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two numbers that Dicta Møller had given her, but no one answered at either. Dicta’s friend’s cell phone went to voicemail, and her parents’ landline rang and rang until Louise hung up.
    “Hi,” everyone said as she came in.
    “I ordered something for you,” Søren said, “but you should tell them what you want to drink.”
    There was no one in the restaurant besides them, and the waiter was busy talking through the swinging door that led off to the bar. She walked over to him and ordered a Coke before taking the empty seat her former partner had saved her.
    “So you think it may be the girl’s classmate?” Storm asked as she sat down.
    “Can’t rule it out. There are several similarities,” Louise replied, looking at him.
    He was speaking from across the table four seats away from her, so she had to raise her voice.
    “She said her friend is from Jordan, she has a beige jacket, and she wears white Kawasaki shoes. I think we have to take her information seriously and follow up on it.”
    Storm nodded.
    “How long has it been since she was heard from?” he asked.
    “She wasn’t at school, and she missed a date with her friend this afternoon, so it’s only really been today,” Louise replied.
    “None of those things are uncommon,” said Mik, who was sitting across from Storm. “What was her name—the girl you talked to?”
    Louise hesitated until she realized he was asking because he thought he might know her. That’s how it was with small-town life, she reminded herself. People knew each other.
    “Dicta Møller,” she answered, adding that the girl and her missing friend were in ninth grade at Højmark School.
    Mik shook his head; apparently the name didn’t ring a bell. Holbæk wasn’t quite that small.
    “Shouldn’t we focus on our food now? That way, we can throw ourselves back into our work afterward,” Storm suggested, apparently forgetting entirely that he had started the whole conversation.
    The waitstaff started bringing in huge plates of Wiener schnitzel, with slices of veal as thick as phone books. The meat was served with pan-fried potatoes, peas, anchovies with lemon, and horseradish on the side. Gravy was set out in a little boat next to each place setting. Normally Louise would have lost all appetite when confronted with an enormous portion like this, but the last thing she had eaten was some oatmeal she’d dished up at seven that morning. So she tried to ignore the oversize portion, reminding herself there was no shame in not cleaning her plate.… She could just hear her grandmother: No shame in not cleaning your plate.… Nowadays, if anything, there was more shame associated with overeating. After dinner, several of the others ordered apple cake with whipped cream, while she made do with coffee.
    She could already tell what direction things would go if she was to be living and eating with a pack of hungry men like this for any period of time. Not that she was some kind of delicate lettuce eater, but she was going to have to keep an eye out. Otherwise she’d just end up having to run off the weight during her morning jogs.
    “Let’s meet again in the command center for our briefing,” Storm said once everyone was almost done with their coffee. They split up and left the restaurant in small groups, chatting away.
    Bengtsen was waiting for them by the time they got back. He had made a fresh pot of coffee, and had a baking sheet of chocolate cake on the table in front of him.
    “It’s from Else,” he said, passing it around.
    Louise tried to call the two numbers for the girl and her parents again, but since there was still no answer, she sat next to Bengtsen and was happy to take a piece of cake. She had regretted not ordering the apple cake almost immediately, even though she felt as if she were bursting at the seams.
    “Is Else your wife?” she asked, slicing a corner off the cake and tipping it onto a piece of paper towel. She had decided to ignore the somewhat