‘I won’t keep you long. Me and the wife are in the city looking for a place to live. We’re moving over this autumn. I thought I’d look you up while I was here, see if you could help me clear up a problem that’s been bothering me this last month. I went in to Police HQ and your wife, I think it was, sent me out here.’
‘And what kind of problem would that be?’
‘Well, it’s like this. You people asked me to find out where this person stays… the one who goes to Esbjerg once a year… if I could. But the only thing I’ve had to go on is a name. So far it’s turned up a blank, so I sent an e-mail and phoned to get some more info. The man’s age, a photo, whatever. Only no one was getting back to me. Eventually I got an e-mail with some likely arrival and departure times.’
He paused, before continuing:
‘Obviously, Esbjerg’s nowhere near the size of Copenhagen, but… well, it’s not on.’
Simonsen could see how unreasonable it was.
‘Who was the officer you were in touch with?’ he asked with trepidation.
‘I can’t tell you, can I? Some of the lads say you can get a bit narky if the mood takes you, and I’m not here to get anyone into trouble, just to ask for some help, that’s all.’
‘So you won’t tell me?’
‘Nope.’
‘What if I order you to?’
‘You can’t. I’m on holiday, and so are you.’
Simonsen looked at the man’s torso. It wasn’t easy to see, even to a trained eye:
‘But you’re carrying a firearm?’
The Jutlander nodded:
‘Yeah.’
‘What for?’
‘I received threats, back in the spring. The family, too. I don’t like to think about it, but… since then I’ve protected myself. And we’ve invested in a gun safe at home, so everything’s by the book. But don’t think I’m some cowboy, because I’m not. That’s not what it’s about.’
The man smoothed the bulge of his jacket where his shoulder holster was.
‘Do you want a beer or something?’ Simonsen asked.
He ran through the case for Arnold and found it depressingly quick to get to the end. Annoyingly, Arnold stressed the point:
‘It’s not much, is it? Mind if I have a look at these posters?’
He walked slowly round the room without speaking. Simonsen followed him and felt like a custodian. At the end of the tour, the Jutlander asked:
‘Which is the first?’
Simonsen pointed:
‘We think it’s one of those two.’
They went over and stood studying them both. Again, Arnold was silent, but after a while he spoke.
‘It’s hard to tell with the naked eye, but a photo technician would probably be able to say.’
‘Say what?’
‘He might well have taken the first one himself rather than from a book, the way you said. On a trip. And that’ll be where he met her. Unless she was with him from the outset. Maybe it’s the Hurtigruten, the boat from Bergen to Tromsø. Didn’t you say he was saving up so he could travel?’
Simonsen was impressed and said so. But he needn’t have bothered. Praise cut no ice with Arnold.
‘Who decorated this room? Was it you? It’s nice. My kids’d love it.’
‘Thanks. Everyone else thinks it’s dreadful. How many have you got?’
‘Five. But the last two are twins. Couldn’t be helped.’
He laughed engagingly.
‘What makes you want to move to Copenhagen? Change of air?’
‘No, the wife’s got herself a new job, so me and the kids have to tag along. It was hard for me to get sorted out with something. No one wanted a redneck like me. Someone did eventually, though.’
‘Where’s that, then?’
‘Helsinge. Between…’
‘I know where Helsinge is. What does your wife do?’
‘New member of parliament. I was hoping it’d never happen. She was only a substitute, but then her member went and got ill and had to pack it in.’
‘How long are you staying in Copenhagen?’
‘I’m off back tonight. Going to work in the morning.’
‘No, you’re not. I want you to come in to my office. I’ll square it with your chief constable.’
‘What for?’
‘Because there are some people I want you to talk to.’
CHAPTER 6
Restaurant Sult on Vognmagergade in the heart of Copenhagen was a bright and pleasant place with a cheerful atmosphere and plenty of room between the tables. So thought Konrad Simonsen, who had arrived at the appointed time, albeit resigned to the thought that his partner’s shopping spree would hold her up for some while yet. He was right. He had ordered tea and sat down at a table by the window, absently stirring a teaspoon in his cup, though he took neither sugar nor milk. It was his lunch break and he was feeling guilty. First two days off that he hadn’t felt entitled to after his long period of sick leave, and now a break that could easily last an hour and a half if the Countess didn’t get a move on.
His morning had been mixed. On the minus side, it looked like it would be some time before they could get a dog in on a search of Jørgen Kramer Nielsen’s effects. Simonsen still hadn’t found the negatives he was so convinced had to be there somewhere, but the dog had gone down with a cold. Or at least, that’s what its owner had said when Simonsen had spoken to him earlier in the day. Most probably it wasn’t true, revenge for the bollocking he’d given the officer in question the week before. But what could he do about it? Order the animal to the vet on suspicion of shirking? They could get another dog in, of course, but there was a backlog in the booking system. The advantage of the one that had now taken ill was that it wasn’t yet fully trained. As such, it wasn’t a part of any roster and he shouldn’t have to wait. And yet here he was, waiting anyway. Perhaps until a month of Sundays came round. It was frustrating, to say the least. He had put Pauline Berg on to the matter and was hoping she’d be able to talk some sense into the dog handler so he could get his charge back on its paws again as soon as possible.
Klavs Arnold had been a more positive help. Simonsen had got the Jutlander’s sojourn in the capital extended by two days, having spoken to his chief constable over in Esbjerg. Arnold was permitted a day off to traipse about and explore the city on his own. Which was much needed, insofar as the man seemed hardly able to find his way from one corner of Rådhuspladsen to another. Today, Simonsen had introduced him to selected colleagues in Homicide, and this had gone off well. Arnold and Arne Pedersen had taken an instant liking to each other, which pleased Simonsen no end. He had been worried about a clash of testosterone and territorial markings, but they had put his concerns to shame. Pedersen had even taken the time to show Arnold around Police HQ and had not displayed the slightest reticence in deploying a detective constable to go back with him to Esbjerg so that he wouldn’t be on his own trying to find out where Kramer Nielsen had stayed on his annual trip. This was a job made all the more feasible when Arnold at long last was given a photo of the deceased postman to help him in his enquiries. Simonsen had himself taken on the task of picking out a suitable officer, though as yet he had done nothing about it. On the other hand, Pauline Berg’s reaction to the new man from Jutland had been swift: a redneck nonentity was her appraisal. The thought occurred to him that he might send her off to Esbjerg with Arnold, but… well, it probably wasn’t that good an idea, on second thoughts.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and for a brief second thought it was the Countess.
‘Do you think you could stop doing that? It’s rather annoying, to say the least.’
The man from the next table jabbed a finger towards Simonsen’s tea and it took a second for him to realise the man meant the teaspoon he was still stirring in his cup.
He apologised and put the spoon down, then looked at his watch, despite the presence of a large clock on the end wall. At the same moment there was a tap on the window next to him. He turned his head to see the Countess standing outside, burdened like a bag-lady. At the top end of the scale, naturally.