35Dawna was easy to spot among the shorts-clad tourists wandering near Langelinie at eight o’clock that evening. Dressed in khaki slacks and a blue blazer, she’d parked herself on a bench beside the arrow pointing to Den Lille Havfrue. She sat with her elbows on her thighs, chin cradled between her palms. Above her, the top branches of the birch trees were tipped with gold. The same tawny light gilded the flat surface of the harbor. Offshore, the dainty statue of the mermaid perched on her boulder, sharing Dawna’s view of holding tanks and loading cranes on the far side of the open water. Dawna and the mermaid, two benched players waiting to get back in the game.
No one had followed me from the downtown train station. I watched Dawna long enough to make certain that she was alone. At eigh
