‘What about elsewhere? Clubs, associations, hobbies, that sort of thing?’
‘I haven’t got that far yet, but we do know mathematics was a hobby. Bear in mind that I’m surrounded by sticklers, however well-meaning, who make sure I go home after only four hours on the job. I’m sure they’ve got a stopwatch somewhere.’
She smiled without comment, and he went on.
‘Tomorrow I’m going to see a retired postman. None of the current people has been there anything like as long as Kramer Nielsen was. Then on Monday, Tuesday as well maybe, I’m going to go through his stuff. Something has to turn up, surely? He must have done something with his life. Arne’s said he’ll give me a hand, though I don’t know how he’s got the time with you all so run off your feet.’
The sarcasm was obvious, but she chose to ignore it.
‘It’s Arne’s job to involve himself in your investigation. But I do agree with you that Kramer Nielsen must have done something else with himself besides just sitting around at home. It’s against human nature otherwise.’
‘He didn’t watch TV. He didn’t even have one, or a computer. Pauline’s found that out already. He didn’t have a car, either.’
‘Perhaps it was a good thing, him being so anonymous.’
‘How do you mean? So far I can’t imagine why anyone would be bothered to bump him off.’
‘Because it made no difference if he was alive or dead?’
‘Not morally, or legally, of course. But in practice, yes. Like I said, I’ve still got a long way to go before any fuller picture emerges. Why do you say it was good that he was so anonymous? If not inconsequential.’
‘It makes the other things stand out more clearly.’
‘That’s true. You’re thinking about the girls and his loft?’
‘No, more about that plane crash. Losing your entire family when you’re only twenty must impact rather heavily on the rest of your life. Especially if he was, well, predisposed to certain things. There were no crisis counsellors in the seventies. I imagine he was pretty much left to his own devices.’
‘That’s why I want to talk to someone who knew him back then. But there’s something else, too, that makes him stand out, if you like. He was a Catholic, and there aren’t many of them about in this country.’
‘What about his priest, have you spoken to him?’
‘Not yet, but I will. Kramer Nielsen paid a tithe to the Catholic community, and is laid to rest in the Catholic cemetery at the Sankt Nikolaj Kirke in Hvidovre, so his faith must have been important to him.’
‘Do you think it’s got anything to do with his downstairs neighbour? Kramer Nielsen sold the house to him after all. Have you looked into that?’
Simonsen shook his head apologetically.
‘Like I said, there’s a limit to how much I can do in four hours a day.’
‘You could ask Arne to free up some resources for you again. After all, it’s a murder inquiry now.’
It had already happened, but he only made use of them when there was no other way. But then, a few more officers were a good thing to have in hand, which was why he’d asked Pedersen in the first place. Perversely perhaps he found that he was beginning to enjoy his rather modest investigation, perhaps for the very reason that it was tucked away out of the spotlight compared to the rest of the department’s activities. He hoped it would stay that way; there was no reason to involve more people in it than absolutely necessary. His next moves were lined up: first the postman’s workmates, then his stuff, then after that the priest. Once he’d got that far, he might want to bring in more resources, then again he might not. He was keeping an open mind.
‘I’ve got Pauline,’ he said.
‘Yes, you have.’
The Countess sounded curt, jealous even. Now and then, she could be quite possessive, and it was something he hadn’t seen in her before he’d moved in. He knew too that she occasionally stalked her ex-husband and his new family. Not personally, but using a private detective. Sometimes covertly, other times in the open, with a camera in public places. Simonsen only found out by chance and had not spoken to her about it yet. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t his business.
She went to the kitchen to put the kettle on. When she came back her voice was normal again.
‘The truth is you’re liking this little case of yours no one else is interested in, aren’t you, Simon?’
‘I’ve certainly become curious about it. Tell me, have you ever smoked cannabis?’
He relished bringing her off course. It didn’t happen that much.
‘Cannabis? Why are you asking me that all of a sudden?’
‘Because your eyelids were getting heavy just before and I thought the question might wake you up a bit. Usually, I’m the one who’s falling asleep. And because I’d like to know.’
‘I don’t get the chance to nap two hours a day, do I? Not like some people.’
‘No, I’m lucky. But what about the cannabis?’
‘Yes, I’ve tried it. Years ago now, though.’
‘What was it like?’
‘Fun, to begin with, then stupefying. Come on, why are you asking?’
‘I’d like to try some.’
It didn’t sink in at first. She asked again:
‘Try what?’
‘Cannabis, I just said. I’d like to smoke a joint, a spliff, whatever they call it.’
The Countess got to her feet, put her hands on her hips and rubbished the proposal well and truly.
‘Konrad Simonsen, you are not going to smoke, ever again, under any circumstances, whether it be cannabis, tobacco, beech leaves, or whatever. You can have a cup of tea instead.’
He hadn’t thought of it like that, and stopped her on her way into the kitchen.
‘It wasn’t for the sake of smoking, Countess. There’s other ways, I do know that much. I want to know what cannabis is like, that’s all.’
She seemed to soften a little.
‘And how were you thinking of getting hold of some? Just ambling over to Narcotics, perhaps, and asking if they’ve got any surplus? For private consumption, of course.’
‘I was hoping you’d know how to go about it.’
‘Do I look like a drug dealer? Is that what you’re saying, so elegantly?’
‘Now you mention it, I’ve been having my suspicions about you.’
She paused and looked at him closely.
‘You’re not joking, are you?’
‘No, I’m not. I’d like to try, just the once.’
‘Well, let’s start with some tea, shall we? Then we’ll have to see what the future holds in store.’
He followed her into the kitchen, where he made himself useful getting the cups out and said no more about it.
The next day confirmed the Countess’s assumption that Jørgen Kramer Nielsen’s life had taken a marked downturn when his parents and sister were killed. A picture of this began to emerge at a care home on the outskirts of Køge.
Simonsen introduced himself and explained why he was there and that he had found the name of the man he was visiting in the post office’s old personnel files. The old man glared. Simonsen smiled accommodatingly and found himself thinking the interview was doomed. The man smelled rather offensively. Fortunately, however, there was nothing wrong with his memory.
‘Jørgen was lively young lad when he started. That’d be in the early seventies. His dad was postmaster in those days.’
‘The summer of ’sixty-nine.’
‘That sounds right.’
‘Why did he want to join the postal service? He went to the gymnasium school, you’d have thought there were other opportunities?’
‘He wasn’t intending on staying, it was only supposed to be temporary. He was saving up to go round the world. I remember very clearly his dad wasn’t too keen on the idea. He wanted him to carry on with his studies, university and what have you. But there was no stopping Jørgen, he never talked about anything else but that trip of his, all the exotic places he wanted to go. Most of us were sick of hearing about it. We might have been a bit envious, too. We hadn’t the opportunities he had. Our wages were for rent and keeping up the family. He didn’t have any of that to think about.’