dead.'
The Kurt Nielsen who'd owned the passport was born in Alborg in 1954. He left school when he was sixteen and started work on the fishing boats, Danish and later British. He served two short stretches for robbery, the first in '70, the second in '74. After the second term he started working on British ships and spending shoretime in England. He seemed to have developed a taste for young girls and served three years for sexual assault on a twelve-year-old in Middlesbrough. He got out in '85. He died a year later in Nottingham. He had been a lodger with the Cochrane family. Mr Cochrane came back early from his job as a scaffolder after a fall and found Kurt Nielsen having sex with his thirteen-year-old daughter over the sink in the kitchen. Cochrane hit him over the head with a full bottle of cider which had been on the kitchen table and stuck the broken end in his neck. Kurt Nielsen died 3rd June, 1986.
'What are you going to do about it?'
Leif Andersen sat on the edge of his desk with the print-out resting on his thigh and said nothing for several minutes.
'I don't want to rush you, Mr Andersen, but it's bloody cold in here and I don't want to be the first man five degrees off the equator to get hypothermia.'
'Do you drink, Mr Medway?'
'Not tea, for Christ's sake.'
'Aquavit?'
'Now I'm with you.'
He locked the door of the office and produced a bottle and two glasses from his bottom drawer.
'Not what you British would call consular behaviour, but we are in Africa.'
'How do you think the Falklands War got started?'
'I don't understand.'
'Consular behaviour,' I said. 'Skol.'
We banged back a slug apiece and he refilled the glasses. He banged that one back too, catching me on the hop so that he had to wait to fill up for thirds. He nodded and we threw the third one down, and I felt a moment's abandon and thought it might be throwing-glasses-in-the-fireplace time. He put away the bottle and glasses and unlocked the door. He sat back down, gritted his teeth, tensed his biceps and hissed out the pent-up air in his lungs.
'Good. Where were we?'
'What are you going to do about the Nielsens?'
'The Nielsens? Right. Yes, of course. You know,' he started and got out from behind his desk and walked over to the window and looked out on to a dull, grey Avenue Nogues, 'sometimes I look out of the window in the rainy season. The sky is grey. I can hear the wind off the sea around the building, the rain on the window. It's cold in here, as you know. I have a couple of glasses of Aquavit and I think I'm back in Skagen, you know it? Right on the northern tip of Denmark. Terrible place, but I like it around there.' He paused, letting the Aquavit shunt around his system, letting it take the edge off his cares. He swallowed something the size of a crab apple, as if he was trying to keep his longing down, and took his glasses off.
'You know what I think?' He turned to me. 'Mrs Nielsen didn't call herself Mrs Nielsen, she referred to Kurt Nielsen as her husband but she called herself Dotte Wamberg, she'âhe ran both hands through his hairâ'she couldn't find her husband, she called me, I asked for her husband's details, she said she'd have to find them and send them on. Then she must have started thinking and realized that she was going to have some problems if she did that, so she had her husband reappear. How's that?'
'You've done some conclusion-leaping, Mr Andersen.'
'Only since you came in asking about him and we've found that he's on a dead man's stolen passport.'
'OK, I'll buy it. What're you going to do about it?'
'I've a lot...' He looked at his watch. 'The ambassador's coming back from Lagos, the agronomists, back to...'
'Nothing, then?'
'I didn't say that.'
'Will a fourth Aquavit get us through this hazy patch we're in at the moment?'
Leif locked the door, and took the bottle and glasses out of the drawer again. We had a fourth and a fifth before he put the bottle away, but it didn't make him any more
The Kurt Nielsen who'd owned the passport was born in Alborg in 1954. He left school when he was sixteen and started work on the fishing boats, Danish and later British. He served two short stretches for robbery, the first in '70, the second in '74. After the second term he started working on British ships and spending shoretime in England. He seemed to have developed a taste for young girls and served three years for sexual assault on a twelve-year-old in Middlesbrough. He got out in '85. He died a year later in Nottingham. He had been a lodger with the Cochrane family. Mr Cochrane came back early from his job as a scaffolder after a fall and found Kurt Nielsen having sex with his thirteen-year-old daughter over the sink in the kitchen. Cochrane hit him over the head with a full bottle of cider which had been on the kitchen table and stuck the broken end in his neck. Kurt Nielsen died 3rd June, 1986.
'What are you going to do about it?'
Leif Andersen sat on the edge of his desk with the print-out resting on his thigh and said nothing for several minutes.
'I don't want to rush you, Mr Andersen, but it's bloody cold in here and I don't want to be the first man five degrees off the equator to get hypothermia.'
'Do you drink, Mr Medway?'
'Not tea, for Christ's sake.'
'Aquavit?'
'Now I'm with you.'
He locked the door of the office and produced a bottle and two glasses from his bottom drawer.
'Not what you British would call consular behaviour, but we are in Africa.'
'How do you think the Falklands War got started?'
'I don't understand.'
'Consular behaviour,' I said. 'Skol.'
We banged back a slug apiece and he refilled the glasses. He banged that one back too, catching me on the hop so that he had to wait to fill up for thirds. He nodded and we threw the third one down, and I felt a moment's abandon and thought it might be throwing-glasses-in-the-fireplace time. He put away the bottle and glasses and unlocked the door. He sat back down, gritted his teeth, tensed his biceps and hissed out the pent-up air in his lungs.
'Good. Where were we?'
'What are you going to do about the Nielsens?'
'The Nielsens? Right. Yes, of course. You know,' he started and got out from behind his desk and walked over to the window and looked out on to a dull, grey Avenue Nogues, 'sometimes I look out of the window in the rainy season. The sky is grey. I can hear the wind off the sea around the building, the rain on the window. It's cold in here, as you know. I have a couple of glasses of Aquavit and I think I'm back in Skagen, you know it? Right on the northern tip of Denmark. Terrible place, but I like it around there.' He paused, letting the Aquavit shunt around his system, letting it take the edge off his cares. He swallowed something the size of a crab apple, as if he was trying to keep his longing down, and took his glasses off.
'You know what I think?' He turned to me. 'Mrs Nielsen didn't call herself Mrs Nielsen, she referred to Kurt Nielsen as her husband but she called herself Dotte Wamberg, she'âhe ran both hands through his hairâ'she couldn't find her husband, she called me, I asked for her husband's details, she said she'd have to find them and send them on. Then she must have started thinking and realized that she was going to have some problems if she did that, so she had her husband reappear. How's that?'
'You've done some conclusion-leaping, Mr Andersen.'
'Only since you came in asking about him and we've found that he's on a dead man's stolen passport.'
'OK, I'll buy it. What're you going to do about it?'
'I've a lot...' He looked at his watch. 'The ambassador's coming back from Lagos, the agronomists, back to...'
'Nothing, then?'
'I didn't say that.'
'Will a fourth Aquavit get us through this hazy patch we're in at the moment?'
Leif locked the door, and took the bottle and glasses out of the drawer again. We had a fourth and a fifth before he put the bottle away, but it didn't make him any more
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