CHAPTER 41
The taxi driver dropped Grant and Sara off outside a stylish town house in Gothersgade, opposite the Botanical Gardens. From the lights in the three storey house and the loud music which blasted from the windows they knew they had the right venue. Grant paid the driver with some of the Danish money he had changed up in the hotel. He rang the brass doorbell and waited. A bearded youth, no more than 19 answered. He wore black trousers and a white shirt unbuttoned to the waist. His chest was matted with thick dark curls and around his neck he wore an iron cross on a silver chain.
“We were invited by the receptionist at our hotel,” Grant began to explain, but there was no need. They were ushered inside. The hall of the house was littered with bodies, people talking, drinking, smok
