Her accent sounded Polish, Heloise thought, maybe Ukrainian.

“We’d like two rum and cokes,” Frank said. “Double the rum and use the dark one.”

“Oh, no thanks. Just one. I’m not having anything,” Heloise said.

“We’ll take two,” Frank repeated, and then to Heloise he said, “That way she doesn’t need to get up again in a couple minutes.”

The woman poured the drinks and set them on the bar. Frank raked them in like a casino croupier gathering up the house winnings.

“Three hundred eighty kroner,” the woman said.

Frank looked at Heloise.

She nodded faintly as she got out her Visa card and passed it across the bar.

“Cash only,” the woman announced, pointing at the wall behind her, where that same message was written in marker on a piece of lined binder paper, which had been taped to the mirror. “There’s a cash machine down the street if you don’t have cash with you.”

Heloise pulled a crumpled five-hundred-kroner bill out of her wallet and handed the bill to the woman, who threw it into the cash register without entering the amount and handed her the change.

“Okay, Frank, you’re the one who called me. What can you tell me about Anna?” Heloise asked.

“What do you want to know?”

“When did you last see her?”

Frank shrugged and took a big swig of his drink. “I don’t remember the exact date.”

“Your ex-wife says that she hasn’t seen Anna since she moved away from home. That was seventeen years ago, so she didn’t have much to contribute, and as far as I know, you moved to Greenland when Anna was eight years old. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Have you seen her since then?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“When?”

“I saw her last year.”

Heloise looked at him for several seconds without saying anything. “You saw Anna after Christoffer Mossing’s murder?”

“Hmm … was that before or after? I don’t remember.”

“Mossing was killed more than three years ago.”

“Well, then you’re probably right,” he said, and drained his first glass.

“Where did you see her?”

“In a bar.”

“Here in Copenhagen?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“What was the name of the bar?”

“I think it was … I think we met at Andy’s.”

“The dive over on Gothergade?”

Heloise thought about what Ulrich Andersson had said about his source at the racetrack. It was someone he knew from Andy’s.

“Yeah.”

“Do you go there often?”

“A couple of times a week.”

“Does the name Ulrich Andersson ring any bells?”

Frank leaned his head back as he thought about it. “Yeah, he’s one of the guys from ABBA, right?”

Heloise closed her eyes to stop herself from rolling them.

“No, he’s a journalist. He works for Ekspressen.” She watched him attentively. “He has red hair, freckles …”

“Maybe,” Frank said. “I know so many people, so I’ve probably met that guy too.”