Robert Goddard - Found Wanting

‘Helping him.’

‘And does that explanation… “stack up”?’

It did not, of course, as Eusden was painfully well aware. What he said next was a reflex attempt to deflect the question. He regretted it as soon as the words were out of his mouth. ‘I expect you and Lars – and Michael too – all have substantial share-holdings in Mjollnir. You must be pleased how well they’re doing. I suppose that means Tolmar effectively employs you too – along with all those Lithuanians.’

Elsa carefully replaced her cup in its saucer. She treated Eusden to a contemptuous frown. ‘You should advise Karsten Burgaard to drop his campaign against Tolmar. And I’d advise you to have nothing to do with it. If family history really is Mr Hewitson’s motive, you should ask him how much it matters to him. Michael’s probably told his father about you by now. Tolmar will phone me, asking what you’re doing. I’d like to be able to tell him you’re already on your way home.’

‘You can say that if you want.’

‘But will it be true?’

‘I don’t know. It’s up to Marty.’

‘Don’t try to push Tolmar, Mr Eusden. He doesn’t like being pushed.’

‘What will he do if he is?’

‘Push back. Harder.’

‘He sounds a tough customer.’

‘As tough as he needs to be.’

‘But would asking a few questions about Great-Uncle Hakon’s friendship with Marty’s grandfather really count as “pushing”?’

‘He wouldn’t welcome your questions, Mr Eusden. I can assure you of that. You appear to be a sensible man. Listen to what I’m saying. Don’t try to contact my brother. Or any of us again. Leave us alone. And persuade your friend to do the same.’

‘Well…’ Eusden cobbled together a noncommittal smile. ‘Thanks for the advice.’

They parted outside. After watching Elsa stride away across the square towards the shopping centre, Eusden wandered listlessly into the cathedral and sat down in the nave to think. According to the leaflet he had picked up at the entrance, the walls of the cathedral had been covered with frescoes until the Reformation, when they had been whitewashed over. Parts of several had been uncovered since and restored. He gazed around at the colourful scenes that had been exposed – fragments of illustrated tales, pieces of a greater whole. It was human nature to want the full story, the picture complete. But sometimes human nature had to give way to worldly wisdom. And this, he sensed, was such an occasion.

The afternoon was growing colder as it faded towards evening. Eusden went back to the hotel and was told Marty had still not returned. He did not know what to make of his friend’s continued absence, but there was nothing he could do about it. He went up to his room and lay on the bed, watching the sky darken over the cathedral. He rehearsed the argument he would present to Marty for heeding Elsa Støvring’s advice. He convinced himself Marty would be forced to agree. And then, at some point, he fell asleep.

For the second time that day, he was woken by the telephone. His guess, as he picked up the receiver, was that Marty was calling him from his room. He was unsure of the time, but night had fallen outside. Marty surely had to be back by now.

But he was not. ‘Reception here, Mr Eusden. We’ve had a call from the hospital. Your friend Mr Hewitson was taken there this afternoon after collapsing in the street. They say he’s seriously ill.’

‘Seriously ill,’ the receptionist had said. And seriously ill was exactly what Marty looked, propped up in bed in a side ward of Århus Kommunehospital, attached to various drips, drains and monitors. According to the nursing staff, he had had a stroke, the severity of which only time could determine. He managed a smile when he saw Eusden, but it was a lopsided effort. The right side of his face was slack and it was his left hand he raised in greeting.

‘Hello, Richard,’ he said, his voice slurred as if he was drunk. ‘Good to see you.’

‘What the hell happened, Marty?’

‘A stroke, but not of luck. I was crossing the road to the bus stop after leaving that pizza parlour and I suddenly had to bolt for it when some bloke in a van nearly ran me over. Don’t let anyone ever tell you the Scandinavians are careful drivers. That one certainly wasn’t. Anyway, I made it to the bus stop, but then this splitting headache came on. Literally blinding. Next thing I know, I’m on the deck. Somebody took pity on me and called an ambulance. I can’t remember much about arriving here. They did a CT scan and found the tumour. The poor buggers assumed I didn’t know about it. I got the full breaking-bad-news works. They’ve lost interest now they know I was expecting something like this to happen.’

‘How bad is it?’

‘Too soon to say. The paralysis is only partial.’ Marty flexed his right arm feebly from the elbow. ‘And there’s a good chance it’s temporary. I might be back in fair working order within twenty-four hours. Then again… I might not.’

Eusden sighed. ‘I’m sorry we… parted the way we did, Marty.’

‘Don’t worry about it. You were right. I should’ve levelled with you. But better late than never, hey? I’ve got something to tell you.’

‘Would it involve Vicky Shadbolt, by any chance?’

‘Ah.’ Another half of a grin. ‘You know.’

‘The hotel asked me to bring you this message.’ Eusden handed Marty a sheet of paper on which was printed: Mr Hewitson – Vicky rang. She has arrived safely and will wait for you to contact her. ‘Where is she?’

‘Copenhagen.’

‘Doing?’

‘Me a favour. She has the attaché case, Richard. The real one, I mean. The one you took to Brussels was a ringer.’

‘What?’

‘Keep your voice down or they’ll chuck you out for upsetting me. It was like this. I felt pretty certain Werner was planning to double-cross me, so I set a trap for him. Bernie mocked up an old case with Clem’s initials on it. I’d never seen the original till Aunt Lily showed it to me, so I knew neither you nor Gemma were going to spot the difference. As for the contents, Bernie arranged with a Danish VAT fraudster he knows to have some letters written in old enough ink on old enough paper to pass muster. I don’t know what’s in them. The text of a few Hans Christian Andersen fairytales, I expect. Werner will have had the pleasure of reading them by now, so he’ll be on the warpath. Which means we have to move quickly. Or, rather, you do. I’m obviously not going anywhere for the moment.’

‘What exactly do you expect me to do?’

‘Go to Copenhagen and collect the case from Vicky. She’ll be staying at the Phoenix Hotel. Take Burgaard with you. Better still, get him to drive you there. He can translate the letters. It won’t take much to persuade him. I wasn’t sure about roping him in, but I haven’t got much choice now.’

‘Why didn’t you get Bernie’s Danish friend to translate them?’

‘Because I don’t know what’s in them. Bernie’s a good mate, but if he got the idea there was serious money to be made, he might be tempted to cut me out. He is a crook, after all. Tell Vicky I’ve gone back to Amsterdam. Don’t tell her I’m languishing here or she’ll be on the next train. I’ve been the man of her dreams since we first met in the visiting room at Guys Marsh Prison. Terminal illness seems only to have added to my romantic aura.’

‘Not as far as I’m concerned, Marty. You’ve been stringing me along the whole time. It’s only because you’re a sick man I’m not holding you up against a wall and demanding an apology.’

‘You can have the apology. I am sorry.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me what was going on – what was really going on?’