Copenhagen Noir (19 page)

“Actually, we’re in a situation right now where we need someone to replace Alette. When can you start?”

“Tomorrow,” Claire answered. “I need to take a look at all this.” She nodded at the DVDs.

Just as she was leaving, Cindy and Lara walked in with Lasse, a friendly, smiling, solarium-tanned bodybuilder with a ponytail. They had been at a customer’s place on an out-call.

Lasse tossed four thousand kroner on Bonnie’s desk.

“This is Michelle, she’s starting with us tomorrow,” Bonnie said as an introduction.

“Michelle, you’re totally gorgeous!” Lasse said, and groped her breasts appreciatively, winking flirtatiously at her.

The two Thai girls held limp hands out to her and smiled shyly, their eyes on the floor, then they walked into the dressing room together to get ready for the evening customers.

Claire Winther stopped by the fitness center on the way home and spoke loudly and amiably with the receptionist and the man beside her on the treadmill, making sure that she was noticed.

At home, she poured a double gin-and-tonic, which she drank while taking a long and luxurious bubble bath. Just as she had settled in her adjustable bed with her laptop and Bonnie’s DVDs, John’s goodnight text came in:
Dear, what do you think about spending Christmas and New Years here in Brazil, I’ve found a wonderful beach hotel and the weather is great?

She answered:
Wonderful. Just what I need--to get away from this wet and cold darkness.

I’ll reserve the luxury suite and arrange the trip. Okay with you if we leave around December 20?

That’s great for me. Kiss hug and goodnight.

Then she put the first DVD in to study the whores and their customers in action.

By midnight she knew she could do this. She had a plan. Abandon her body mentally during the act, but leave her brain in charge. Most of it was banal and cliché-ish—as Bonnie had said it would be.

“They want to believe that they’re fantastic, that they have an enormous cock and make you really horny. If you play that role you almost can’t go wrong.”

First and foremost in her mind was to take good care of herself. No sadism, no anal sex, no kissing, no sex without a condom, and no appointments without security. There were alarm buttons at the clinic, and Lasse was on duty with his phone on out-calls.

She could be firm with her demands because of her status as a luxury escort.

A week passed, and the others at the clinic were impressed with the stylish novice.

The customers were also thrilled.

A local politician, a police sergeant, and a real estate tycoon made new appointments with her as soon as they were finished. That was unusual. Most customers slink off, slightly embarrassed after the conclusion of a session, and aren’t heard from again until the urge overcomes them.

She learned quickly how to answer the eternal question: “What makes a sweet, pretty girl like you …”

“Times are tough right now, and it’s a job just like any other,” she would answer.

On the third day, a straightlaced high school teacher already wanted to “save” her.

“You are far too good for this. I’m single and wouldn’t mind having a girlfriend like you,” he said.

When she told the story to the others in the kitchenette, they doubled over with laughter.

The catastrophe came on the seventh day.

A sadist went amok with Cindy down in the S&M room and ran off without paying. Cindy was shaken up from several violent blows to the head, in addition to suffering a hand wound from trying to avoid being knifed.

She sat in the kitchenette with a dish towel wrapped around her wounded hand, crying in anguish.

“She has to go to the emergency room,” Claire said.

“That’s a problem, because she’s here illegally,” replied Bonnie.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna work, but I’ll call Teddy Bear,” Lasse said. He punched the brothel owner’s number, explained the situation to him, and had a long talk, after which he updated the others: “Teddy Bear will under no circumstances have her go to the emergency room. But we can send her home and get a new … You want to go home?” he asked her in English.

Cindy looked at him blurrily, then her head fell on her chest.

“I think she has a concussion,” Claire said. “I have a proposal: I know a doctor at a private hospital who will be discrete about this. Let me take care of it.”

They all agreed, provided no one told Teddy Bear.

“But I have to drive Lara and Theresa out on three outcalls, so you’ll have to take a taxi,” Lasse said.

First Claire had the taxi take them back to her home on Kystvejen. She picked up her Philippine au pair’s residency permit and passport, then they rode to the private hospital.

“My au pair has been hurt. She hit her head and cut her hand …” she explained to the doctor.

“She seems disoriented. We’ll have to do a brain scan and hold her for observation. Her hand isn’t serious, no tendons or vital parts have been cut, but it will have to be stitched,” the doctor said, after a quick examination. Then he looked questioningly at Claire. “It looks like an assault.”

“Yes, she had a fight with another Philippine, a boyfriend, but he was on his way out of the country, leaving today, presumably he’s already flown the coop, and she won’t go to the police … Would you like me to pay a deposit?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Cindy was wheeled away on a trolley while the doctor did her case sheet on his computer, entering various details from the passport.

“Her name is long and it’s hard for us to pronounce,” Claire said. “So she calls herself Cindy. She doesn’t speak Danish and understands only a little English, but we’ve found ways to communicate, so get in touch with me if there are any problems—and let me know when she can be picked up. I’ll stay in touch.”

First name: Cindy
, the doctor wrote, and nodded politely at Claire.

She paid a deposit of twenty thousand kroner, putting it on her gold card.

That evening she told Bonnie: “I have some family coming next week. I’ll have to work quite a bit from home, so don’t put me on any shifts.”

The truth was, John was coming home from Brazil the day after tomorrow. She had given a lot of thought to how she would conceal what she was doing. Her excuses would have to be the fitness center and visiting friends. Fortunately, he wasn’t the controlling or suspicious type.

It was Sunday evening, and he would be home Tuesday morning. She debated whether she should surprise him by going out to the airport. No, that would seem peculiar. His car was parked out there, he always drove home alone. She should just stay home and greet him with a warm bath and a nice lunch. That’s how he liked it.

“Monday is okay, but I’ll have to take Tuesday off,” she said to Bonnie.

Bonnie frowned, worried: “Then I’ll have to start calling around to freelancers. It’s tough right now. Christmas rush. But anyway, it’s okay. You have to take care of things at home,” she sighed.

Monday, Claire had three out-calls before Bonnie rang her at six o’clock:

“Okay, listen. Teddy Bear wants a session tonight. He’s coming in at nine, and he’s really looking forward to you after all the good things Lasse has told him. As you know, Teddy Bear is a little bit special. He wants it really hard, for a long time. Bound and gagged. The rack, cage, gallows.”

Claire looked at her watch: “I have appointments until nine, and I have to get something to eat.”

Bonnie: “Perfect. Lara and Theresa can tie him up and gag him, then he can stand there and wait until you appear as the dark mistress of the night, the slavedriver … Also, he likes the big black wigs and lots of black around the eyes. Oh, and by the way: when he blinks with one eye, stop with the pain. That’s the game.”

Claire visited the private hospital with flowers for Cindy and to hear the results of the scan. The news was bad. The scan revealed a hematoma in the brain, and Cindy needed a serious operation.

“We’ll operate tonight and hope for the best, but there is a risk of permanent damage. The hematoma is in an unfortunate location …”

The doctor brought out the scan and pointed and explained. Claire was only halfway listening. Her other half boiled with anger.

Back at the brothel, she put on the entire circuslike garb: stilettos, net hose, leather costume, half-mask, whip, and black wig. Then she slipped on the long gloves.

The long gloves that she had never taken off in the S&M room.

“The deal is, he’ll stay down there until tomorrow, but you can just leave him after he’s had two or three ejaculations. That’s the deal. Then he’ll have another ejaculation early tomorrow before he goes home to his wife, but Lara and Theresa will take care of that …”

Just before ten she walked into the soundproof basement room.

John Winther, nicknamed Teddy Bear, stood buck naked on a small platform that his leg irons were fastened to. His hands were manacled behind him, and the handcuffs were chained to a heavy iron shackle. The lower part of his face was covered by a peculiar leather creation that served as a gag. And loosely around his neck hung the gallows noose.

He could communicate only with his eyes, and Claire read the eager anticipation in them. She let her gaze glide down the length of his body, to where his erection presented itself.

He hadn’t recognized her, she was surprised at that.

She fought off a sudden impulse to flog him as an outlet for her rage, for his penis already stood greedily up on his stomach, and the mere thought of giving him a climax nauseated her.

Instead she first flung off her wig—and then her leather mask. His penis fell and shrunk into itself like a frightened snail, and she read genuine terror in his eyes.

In a moment of weakness she considered removing his gag so he could answer her question: WHY?

But no, she had made up her mind long ago. No explanations and excuses, no more lies. Instead she held a monologue: “You’ve surprised me in two ways, John. One: I’d been expecting you, but not tonight. And two: I didn’t know that you were the pimp. Just thought you were a customer.”

His cheeks moved, and a weak whistling sound escaped from the leather clump in his mouth, while his questioning eyes shone with horror.

“How did I find out? Oh, it was so banal: your secret cell phone with the prepaid card! It was lying in your desk drawer, vibrating, the day I was waiting in your office—when you were late for lunch at King Hans. I read all the text messages about Alette’s death. It was a bit cryptic:
A is dead from an OD—that’s how it looks.
I understood that. My own mother died of an overdose. Murder or suicide? That’ll never be solved, right? I call it murder, whether the poor woman stuck the needle in herself or not!”

She drooped and went quiet. Tried to recall the image of her mother but could remember only her scream and her frightened eyes.

When her mother entertained customers, Claire had hidden in a cubbyhole behind the clothes hanging in the closet. That evening she’d fallen asleep in the cubbyhole, and when she crawled out the next morning her mother lay cold, dead on the sofa. The needle lay in the ashtray.

Claire was put in an orphanage and later placed with a number of foster homes. She did okay for herself, and had never set foot again in Vesterbro.

John Winther rattled his chains desperately.

She continued: “At first I only thought divorce, but then it hit me: why should I divorce myself from a few billion kroner? A text from ‘the mistress’ gave me the idea. I’ve been waiting for you, waiting for this hour in this room. Before you die, I want you to know that Cindy, the girl you wanted to ship out of the country with a brain hemorrhage, was operated on tonight. She’ll be okay. I’m guessing that the only reason you bought this building was to have easy access to sexual services, and the income from the whores was just a little bonus that in your habitual greed you pocketed. But it’s a lot of money to them, so I plan to pay them back when your estate is settled. Goodbye, John.”

All she had to do was tighten the noose around his neck.

He climaxed as he died.

The next morning, wearing her warm mink, the tall, elegant Claire Winther stood in the airport and waited for her husband. When he didn’t show up on the flight from Rio, she contacted the airline, then the police. She showed them the text message about his arrival and seemed to be on the verge of tears. A few hours later it was discovered that he had arrived the previous day.

At approximately the same time, the police were notified of a brothel customer found dead in Vesterbro. The two incidents weren’t immediately seen as being connected. Claire Winther received a call on her secret cell phone with the prepaid card. The conversation was short, something about her making sure that the bill would be paid.

Then she tossed the cell phone down one sewer drain and the card down another.

Toward evening the police showed up at the coast road villa. There was reason to believe that Claire’s husband was dead, and would she like to sit down.

Claire broke down when she identified the body, and she was offered emergency counseling, to which she said yes, please.