Free Bogman by R.I. Olufsen

his file.”
    “So maybe he’s an arse bandit,” said Eddy.  
    “I’ll check if he had a male partner,” said Katrine.
    “Girlfriend, boyfriend,” said Tobias. “It makes no difference. The point is, whoever gave Bogman the bracelet didn’t report him missing.”
    “Maybe they’d split up,” said Katrine. “Maybe he’s not Danish. I’ll check Interpol for missing persons as well.”
    “Maybe he or she killed him,” said Eddy.
    Professor Brix came back into the room. He was bouncing with satisfaction. “Birgitte has cleaned and identified coins found when the pond was dragged,” he announced. “Two kroner,” he paused. “And two Swedish decimal coins dated 1997 and 1994.”  
    “A Swedish silversmith,” said Eddy.
    “Or victim,” said Katrine.  
    “I’ll tell Larsen,” said Tobias.  

    13.

    “A foreign national,” said the Chief Superintendent. “That’s all we bloody need. A foreign bloody national.” He drummed his fingers on the desk. “Can you be sure there are no missing Danish nationals who fit the victim profile?”
    “None that has been reported missing, Sir,” said Tobias.
    “Any other reason, apart from the coins, to indicate he’s Swedish?”  
    “Not yet. The letters on the badge don’t fit any organisation, here or anywhere else in Europe. We found Danish as well as Swedish coins. He could be a Swedish national reported missing in Sweden but not in Denmark. Presumably because no one knew he was here.”
    “No one knows anything, as far as I can see,” said Larsen.  
    Tobias knew better than to say they knew more than they’d known at the beginning of the week.
    “Get in touch with the Swedish police. I’ll speak to Foreign Affairs,” said Larsen. “But if any Swedish nationals went missing in Denmark, I’d expect the name to be on every region’s list of missing persons. That kind of thing is always circulated.” He glanced at the clock. “They’ll all have gone home. And it’s Friday. Well, the poor bugger has waited fifteen years to be found and identified. He can wait until Monday. Enjoy the weekend, Lange. Anything planned?”
    “I’m going to a charity event, Sir,” said Tobias. “Raising money for street children in the Philippines and a drop-in centre here.”
    “Good, good,” said Larsen. “The commissioner likes us to get involved in charity work. That reminds me. Did Immigration find that woman Skaarup and Haxen let slip out of their hands at the hospital?”
    “I’m nor sure, Sir.”  
    “Keep an eye on it, would you? She might be an illegal, but an assault is an assault and I don’t like it on my patch.”
    Katrine and Eddy had already left when Tobias emerged from Larsen’s office. He picked up the telephone and tapped in Peter Karlssen’s number in Immigration.  
    “If you mean the Filipina who was dumped at the Assault Centre, the one called Girlie, your lot aren’t the only ones in trouble over that. I’m in the doghouse as well,” Karlssen told him. “We searched the hospital and found her hiding in a storeroom in the basement. We took her back to the Assault Centre. The doctor said she was too weak to be interviewed. I was waiting for uniform branch to turn up and keep an eye on her. I can only have turned my head for a couple of seconds.”
    “You mean a nurse turned your head.” Tobias had worked with Karlssen before. “You were chatting up a nurse.”  
    “OK. I was chatting to a nurse. Long legs, big tits. We were only a few metres away. I looked in to check on her and she was gone. Vanished. Searched the hospital again. Gone. I got a right bollocking for it. ”
    “Are you still looking for her?”
    “We’re checking the usual places. Refugee support centres, homeless charities. Nobody knows anyone called Girlie. Officially, we’re still looking. Unofficially, I think she was working in an illegal brothel. We could go looking for it but what’s the point? We have enough work on our hands.”
    “Let me