Heloise watched her swing around the metal pole a couple of times with all the charm of a dead body that had washed up on a beach. The toes of her knee-high patent-leather boots looked scruffy, her nail polish was flaking off, and the look in the woman’s eyes could at best be described as apathetic.

Heloise had never been to a strip club before, but she had seen the movie Showgirls when she was a teenager. It was about rivaling Las Vegas strippers and their perfect bodies, shimmering and sparkling with glitter as they twirled lustfully on the stage. Silly, yes, but also kind of hot. Still, it’s wasn’t like she had expected a go-go bar by the name of Beverly Hills located in touristy Kongens Nytorv between a McDonald’s and a cell phone store to be sexy, but still. She was at a loss for words.

There were three people sitting in the bar: a woman, who with her run-down physique and week-old makeup looked like she worked there, and two men, both looking gray and worn. They were each sitting on their own with a suitable distance between them, so Heloise figured they were there alone.

The rest of the club was empty.

That was maybe the only thing about the place that didn’t shock Heloise. Because it was only six thirty, it was still light out on the other side of the blackout curtains, and the mood in the place was about as exciting as yeast. Not exactly what you would call a crowd pleaser.

One of the men in the bar glanced over at the entrance and spotted Heloise. Their eyes met for a second, and then he waved her over.

He got up off his barstool as she approached. He was a small man, skinny and short, and Heloise felt oddly broad shouldered next to him.

“Frank Kiel?” she asked, holding out her hand.

He took it, his handshake limp and sweaty. “And you’re Louise?”

“Heloise, yes.”

“Have a seat,” he said, patting the red leather chair next to him.

Heloise kept her wet jacket on. She sat down and got right down to business. “What can you tell me about your daughter?”

“Whoa, take it easy,” he said, nodding toward her purse. “Let’s get a drink. My throat is a little dry.”

Their eyes met.

He smiled and flung up his arms. “One drink. Your newspaper can afford one drink, right?”

Heloise looked over at the bar. There was no bartender behind the counter.

“It doesn’t look like there’s anyone to serve us,” she said.

Frank Kiel turned around in his chair and raised his voice. “Hey, June!”

The woman farther down the bar looked up.

“We’re thirsty.”

The woman sighed and got up slowly. She dragged her feet as she walked around the other side of the bar and then came over to them.

“What can I get you to drink?”