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 À 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.’