When Civil Servants Fail

by John Schou

  Part of the parking place and the immediate surroundings of the tree where I had found Mr. Lockwood on Tuesday were blocked by a red-and-white plastic band, set up as a police barrier, as if they would ever come back and complete the search. Someday, an animal may rip them apart and wind and weather will do the rest while the police may forget their previous interest. Anyhow, we had found what was necessary and I did not waste my time looking for more where the police had turned each stone.

  But just a few trees further, I was rewarded for my curiosity. Here a bike had recently been parked; its wheels had made clearly visible tracks in the ground on a spot, presently uncovered with leaves. Of course, I cut not guarantee that the bike had been used by Mr. X, but there was a good chance for it. It had rained in the beginning of the week, but not since Tuesday afternoon. The best I could do was making a picture of it with the camera of my mobile phone – the police could have done better, but I hoped that it would suffice.

  Then I crossed the road and soon found a path, going southward through the wood. It was simply perfect for a jogging run, but there was a surprise to come. When I approached the green lawn, there was a free view to the old hunting castle – and to another adorer of the nature. Suddenly I found myself face to face with Cynthia Lockwood. Of course she was surprised of the encounter – so was I – but she was obviously negatively affected.

  “I am sorry, I have no time yet,” she claimed and turned around. As if this was a suitable greeting between two nature adorers.

  “Neither have I. However, Mr. Smith wants to see you tomorrow morning at 10:30. Can you come?”

  “I’ll be there,” she exclaimed, already from a certain distance, heading south. She had probably come here all alone, but what for?

  I looked around. Not very far away was the gulf club. I proceeded in that direction, trying to make up if she met anybody there. There were several candidates. I decided to test if she was a known person in the restaurant.

  “Have you seen Mrs. Lockwood,” I asked a servant.

  “I didn’t know there was one particular Mrs. Lockwood,” he answered. “Mr. Lockwood comes here rather often and occasionally in company with varying females, but I didn’t realize any of them were his wife.”

  “No, if you mean Andrew, he uses to play ‘a-hole-in-one’ with them at home. I was referring to his father’s young wife of approximately the same age.”

  “I’m sorry, I am not so intimately acquainted with the family. Whom shall I report asked for her if she comes?”

  “Never mind, I’ll anyhow see her tomorrow,” I said and went. It does not harm to tell the truth if you can thereby avoid further serious questions.

  I ran away without further questioning, leaving the many players and spectators in peace being devoted to their sport. Turning north, I nearly ran into a group of deer, the ones who had given name to the forest. Especially one showed an aggressive attitude, reminding me not to come to near them now in the autumn. Quietly I called the king of the herd ‘Mr. Lockwood’ because he had so many horns. I don’t know if that comparison was justified, but it would not surprise me when an elderly man with a very young wife had too little time for privacy.

  Somehow, I reached the place where I had parked the car. There I realized that I by accident had set my mobile phone silent when I had taken the picture. That was why I had enjoyed my excursion so much: there had been seven calls, two of them from Mr. Smith who today was forced to eat lunch alone (just in Juanita’s company). That reminded me that I was hungry and I called home. Mr. Smith would be sleeping now in the middle of his siesta and not hear the phone.

  “You did not tell me that you would not be there,” she said.

  I apologized. “Urgent affairs,” I said. “Do you have something left for me to eat?”

  “No, Mr. Smith swept it all up. That should be a lesson to you, not to leave home without telling where you went.”

  “Mr. Smith knows where I went, but never mind. We have a guest at 15:30. I shall be there in time but maybe not long before.” I interrupted the connection.

  After a long jogging, you need a shower, so I didn’t change clothes. I drove backwards but stopped where I yesterday found the plastic bag which perhaps was used to try to suffocate Mr. Lockwood. There is a broad parking lot on a slope that faced the old hunting castle, which at this distance looked like a grey cube with a green roof from the oxidized cupper plates. Across the road, almost to the sea, there was a restaurant with direct view to Sweden, to their nuclear power plant Barsebäck, which is fortunately now being closed. I hope they did not notice the car that might have a negative effect on the prices. Therefore, the jogging clothes could act in the other direction, though nowadays it is difficult to judge people from their clothes.

  It was shortly before two p.m., but I was let in. It was a perfect round-up of a beautiful autumn day, the beer tasted great, just the right temperature, but it arrived as usually too early, so I needed another to brush down the meal when it finally arrived.

  I collected the bill and decided to try to deduct it from Mr. Smith if occasion should appear. Two beers could be deduced as two persons, meaning business meal.

  It was nearly three p.m. as I ended my restaurant visit, the last occasion to do it by my own will and avoid being thrown out.

  I was a different person as Mr. Lockwood junior arrived, a few minutes after the projected time.

  Mr. Smith had risen and received a brief report of my day, with emphasis of the issues that interested him, the construction of an imaginary partner, a Mr. Schulz, for my business lunch, who could unfortunately not contribute further to the case. I saved any remarks of a beautiful day.

  Juanita brought coffee, cookies and three cups, and left. Only then did Mr. Smith begin. “Mr. Lockwood, I welcome you here again. Our searches have revealed some – eh – personal issues, which I hope are not too embarrassing for you to comment upon.”

  “You make me curious, Mr. Smith. You can ask be anything – as long as you do not expect answer to them all. Shoot!”

  Mr. Smith had asked me to begin the questioning. “OK. How would you describe your … eh … profession?”

  “I am studying at the University of Copenhagen.”

  “What exactly are you studying?”

  “This year, I am studying political science. Last year, I stopped trying to become a lawyer. I recognized that I am too weak in the Danish language for that speciality. I have only been here for two and a half years. I was living with my mother in Cambridge until she suddenly died, and then my father invited me to come here.”

  “I guess you studied in Cambridge, too?”

  “Physics. No to your next question: I graduated, only there was no job associated with it.”

  “I understand that your father was divorced several years ago. How would you describe your family life?”

  “As difficult for an outsider to understand. My stepmother is but three years older than I. We have a good relation, but certainly no mother-son model. Cynthia is to me a very good friend, to my father a devoted wife. Yes, I respect him for taking a young wife, although I was, of course, unhappy as my parents divorced, but I was old enough to accept it. I am living in a part of the large house in Charlottenlund with separate entrance. I am invited or even not invited on a daily basis to come to Cynthia and Timothy. This way, we can live as a family or independently from time to time.”

  “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  “I have a crowd, I should say. Since my father presented me the Ferrari, the girls are coming like fish for the appropriate bait,” said the playboy.

  “And still, there are none of them expected to be the future Mrs. Lockwood?”

  He smiled and denied the question by shaking his head.

  “Did you more recently have a relation with Miss Brehm from your father’s firm?”

  “I wouldn’t call it a relation, an affair is a better word. She’s a man-eater, in some way the female pendant to me, but that was not exac
tly the prerequisite for a stable connection. You know, she has become representative of the employees at the board of the firm?”

  “Yes, we heard about that.”

  “How do you think of a young sexy secretary, who knows nothing about worker’s right and also now do not seem to care about it, get such a rocket career?”

  “She must be very skilled – or very sexy,” I answered.

  “Exactly – the last is the case. She screwed herself the career. Her colleagues are performing better without her – you know, in a firm of our size, the employee’s representatives are having an office open for complains of the co-workers, but there are no predefined opening time, so Miss Brehm is not a frequent guest at work.”

  “When was this … affair and how long did it last?”

  “Only a few days, last month. It fills me with disgust. Do I have to talk more about it?”

  “Perhaps later,” Mr. Smith intervened. “Your relation to Mrs. Lockwood – in all discretion – has it included sex?”

  “No, for heaven’s sake, I am not sawing the branch off on which I am sitting. Besides, she is, after all, three years older than I.”

  “I have heard of more extreme cases, but never mind,” I resumed. “Do you think that she may have any extra-marital relations? That would not be exceptional, speaking of age differences.”

  “No, I haven’t gotten that impression.”

  Here Mr. Smith intervened again. “Mr. Gusto met a man today around the gulf club where you are also active. He said that he also had seen Mrs. Lockwood occasionally.”

  Andrew reacted with a jerk. “Who was that man?”

  “I think he was called Schultz,” I answered, regretting that I had thought up that person.

  “Oh, Schultz – the gossip distributor. I guess each gulf club has a few of that kind. That is not a serious source of information.” At least, he adopted my imaginary person; maybe he also believed in his existence?

  “I’m afraid you are right. Let us not talk more about him,” I broke off. Next topic, please! “I guess, you have no economic worries.”

  “On the contrary, I have deep debts, which are getting worse every month.”

  “But you said that the car was a present and I guess you don’t pay any rent at home.”

  “That is true, but I have other expenses.”

  “From what?”

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Please don’t ask further.”

  Here Mr. Smith again took over: “For the moment, it suffices to know that you have debts, plus the small addition whether or not you are susceptible to blackmail.”

  Andrew Lockwood looked distracted. “Blackmail? No, certainly not. Not more than any taxpayer,” he said with a grin.

  The doorbell rang. Juanita answered and came to the door, asking for me. I stood up and wanted to get out, but then all of a sudden faced Mr. Erlandsson, who could never accept waiting in the music room and simply intruded.

  “I see you have an important visitor,” he began.

  “I thought you were off the case,” Mr. Smith said.

  “This is different. I’ve got a new case: a murder case. And the suspect sits right here: Mr. Lockwood, where were you one hour ago?”

  “I have been here since 15:35. Before, I have visited a friend at the Bispebjerg Hospital at two o’clock, afterwards I came directly here.”

  “That is the question, how directly you came. Your car was seen at the street Lygten, near Nørrebro station – which is where Miss Brehm was shot close to three o’clock today. Mr. Lockwood, I must arrest you as a suspect in this murder-case. Would you please give me the keys to your car?”

  “I was just buying cigarettes after the hospital visit.”

  “Why exactly there?” Mr Smith asked.

  “I was called on my mobile to meet somebody in front of the station at three p.m.”

  “Meet who?”

  “Actually Miss Brehm,” Andrew