Robert Goddard - Found Wanting

‘Where do you come from, Marty?’

‘England. The Isle of Wight. We both do.’

‘And what’s brought you here?’

‘Family history. I’ve always wanted to know how my grandfather came to have a Danish friend: Hakon Nydahl. Richard’s helping me… look into it.’

‘Well, I tell you: I’ve always wanted to know that too.’

‘Did you know Clem?’ asked Eusden.

‘I met him twice. He came to see us here when I was a child, with Great-Uncle Hakon. And again, when I was older, on his own. That would have been around…’

‘Spring of 1960?’ suggested Marty.

Lars cocked his head and frowned at him. ‘ Ja . Around then.’

‘We know he… was abroad at that time.’

‘But I’m not going to be able to tell you how he met my great-uncle. That was never explained to me. Nor were his visits. My grandparents were expecting him, though. It was all… arranged beforehand.’

‘Your grandparents? What about your parents?’

‘They were dead by then. My mother died giving birth to my sister. My father was killed in an accident on the farm. Hard times, Marty. Did you have them?’

‘Not as a child.’

‘Lucky for you.’

‘You really have no idea what Clem’s connection with your great-uncle was?’ asked Eusden.

‘Idea? Oh, I’ve got several of those. But that’s all they are. Ideas. Theories. Dreams.’ And a dreamlike state was indeed what Lars seemed briefly to descend into. He moved across to one of the windows and gazed out for a moment, then rounded on them. ‘You want a drink? Beer? Schnapps?’

‘Why not?’ said Marty. And Eusden saw no point in arguing. Beer all round was agreed. At a word from Lars, Burgaard headed down to the kitchen to fetch them.

‘Karsten’s a clever boy,’ Lars confided in an undertone while he was downstairs. ‘But not as clever as he thinks he is.’

‘Who is?’ Marty murmured reflectively.

‘Ja. Exactly. Who is? Not me, for sure. Karsten first came to me saying he wanted my memories of Christiania. Y’know? Our little – well, not so little – flower-power utopia in Copenhagen. There’s a famous photograph – you see it often – of some hairy guys putting a plank through the fence round the disused barracks. Day One of the commune. November thirteenth, 1971. I’m the one whose face you can’t see. Tolmar says that’s the only good turn I’ve ever done him: looking away from the camera that day.’ He grinned.

‘Your brother’s a remarkable man,’ said Eusden.

‘Remarkably successful, for sure. And my brother’ – Lars raised his voice as Burgaard rejoined them – ‘is the Aksden my young friend really wants to know about. Isn’t that right, Karsten? Tolmar. Not Lars and his paintings and his girlfriends and his dopehead memories.’

Burgaard looked sheepish as he handed round the bottles. Glasses were evidently not part of the deal. He said something in Danish.

‘Speak English,’ Lars growled, raising his bottle in a toast. ‘ Skål .’ They all joined in. ‘Go on, Karsten. Tell them how it is.’

‘I’ve already told them.’

‘Only enough to keep them interested, I bet.’

‘They think they know why you tried to stop the ceremony in Roskilde.’

‘Is that right?’ Lars grinned coolly at Eusden and Marty. ‘You know, do you?’

‘We were just trying it on, Lars,’ said Marty. ‘We haven’t a clue. But why don’t you tell us anyway? Put us all out of our misery.’

‘Why should you care?’

‘Hakon Nydahl administered Dagmar’s affairs,’ said Eusden. ‘And you didn’t want her reburied in Russia. Why was that?’

‘It had nothing to do with Dagmar. I was protesting against the government’s plans to close down Christiania. It was a high-profile event, that’s all. An opportunity for an old revolutionary like me to make a point.’

‘But you didn’t make a point,’ Burgaard objected. ‘You never mentioned Christiania when you were arrested.’

‘They didn’t report me mentioning it, you mean. Tolmar got them to keep quiet to avoid embarrassment. He had some big deal going through at the time.’

‘The Saukko takeover,’ said Burgaard.

‘That was it.’

‘So,’ said Eusden, ‘it was just a coincidence that the ceremony involved Dagmar.’

‘Ja. Just a coincidence.’

‘Wait.’ Burgaard looked thunderstruck. ‘Coincidence. I should have thought of it. The Saukko takeover.’

‘What’s Saukko?’ asked Marty.

‘A Finnish bank. Mjollnir bought it last autumn. You’d call it a strange move by any other company. Banks are bought by other banks, not industrial conglomerates. But Tolmar Aksden always knows what he’s doing. That’s what they said. That’s what they always say.’

‘Maybe you should shut your mouth, Karsten,’ said Lars, his tone suddenly serious.

Silence fell. The atmosphere in the studio had become tense, almost electric. When the telephone began ringing, piercingly loud, Eusden started with surprise.

For several seconds, Lars made no move to answer it. Eventually, he grunted and lumbered off to the lounge area. The telephone stood atop a slew of newspapers and magazines. He grabbed the receiver. ‘ Hallo?’

As the conversation proceeded in mumbled Danish, Marty sidled closer to Burgaard. ‘What’s the big coincidence, Karsten?’ he asked in a whisper.

‘I’ll tell you later.’

‘But you think Lars is lying about why he staged his protest?’

‘For sure he’s taken a long time to explain it.’

‘Are we really getting anywhere here?’ Eusden put in, reflecting his opinion that they had merely succeeded in antagonizing another member of the Aksden family.

‘Maybe we could if you came out with everything you know,’ Burgaard hissed.

‘That cuts both ways,’ Marty responded, smiling humourlessly at him. ‘You’ve obviously been-’ He broke off as Lars slammed the phone down and strode back to join them.

‘My sister,’ he announced. ‘Warning me about two Englishmen asking questions. They tried to frighten our nephew last night.’

‘Is asking a few questions so very frightening?’ Eusden responded, giving way to irritation despite knowing it would be counter-productive.

‘You have family, Richard?’ Lars threw back at him.

‘Yes.’

‘You must know how it is, then. You might think they’re all shits. But you defend them against outsiders. Elsa says Tolmar wouldn’t want any of us to talk to you. And she’s right. She says I should throw you out.’ He took a swig of beer and grinned at them, half-apologetically. ‘So, I guess that’s what I’m doing.’

They drove away from Aksdenhøj in a recriminatory silence. Eusden sensed Marty and Burgaard were engaged in a test of nerves: which of them would tell the other what they knew first? In his opinion, it made no difference. They would achieve nothing without collaborating.

A Range Rover was barrelling down the driveway of Marskedal as they passed. The thought occurred to Eusden, as he guessed it must have occurred to his companions, that this was Elsa heading out to confirm her brother had done as she asked. If so, she did not need to worry. Lars Aksden was as efficient an ejector of unwelcome guests as they came.

‘Are we just going back to Århus with our tails between our legs?’ Marty suddenly snapped.

‘No,’ Burgaard replied calmly. ‘There’s something I want to show you in the next village.’

‘You could tell us about that coincidence now.’

‘Not yet. First the show. Then the tell.’

The village of Tasdrup was consumed in wintry stillness. It gave every impression, despite the smartness of the houses, of being uninhabited. Burgaard parked by the church – small and plain, save for some fancy crenellations on the gables of its high, narrow bell-tower. They clambered out and Burgaard struck off into the snowy churchyard, Eusden and Marty slithering after him and rapidly falling behind.