‘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.

He waited for them at the end of one row of graves, brushing snow off a memorial stone as they approached.

‘Lars’ parents and grandparents,’ he explained, pointing to the inscription. ‘Listed in the order of their deaths.’

HANNAH AKSDEN † 14.10.1947

PEDER AKSDEN † 23.3.1948

GERTRUD AKSDEN † 29.8.1963

OLUF AKSDEN † 1.9.1967

‘Pretty bloody terse,’ commented Marty.

‘Yes,’ said Burgaard. ‘Even for Lutherans. And see – just the dates of death; no dates of birth; no ages at death.’

‘So?’

‘It’s unusual.’

‘Maybe they were paying by the letter.’

‘Is there more to it, Karsten?’ asked Eusden, confident there had to be.

‘Oh, yes. Much more. But shall we talk in the car? It’s cold out here.’

There was no argument about that. Eusden sat in the front with Burgaard. Marty took the back seat. Burgaard whirled round when he heard Marty fumbling in his pocket for his matches. There was already a cigarette in his mouth.

‘Please don’t smoke, Mr Hewitson. I am astmatiker.’

‘Pardon me,’ groaned Marty, dolefully replacing the cigarette in his pack.

‘What are you going to tell us, Karsten?’ Eusden prompted.

‘One thing. And I expect one other thing in return.’

‘We’ll see,’ said Marty.

‘I want all information you have on your grandfather.’

‘OK.’ Marty’s agreement sounded suspiciously airy to Eusden.

‘All right. Saukko Bank. The coincidence. I found out everything I could about Hakon Nydahl when I realized he was Tolmar Aksden’s great-uncle. As a courtier, I wondered if he’d… done Tolmar any favours. Nothing turned up. But there was a strange event… just before he died. Summer of 1961. He was in hospital by then. He never came out. While he was there, his housekeeper was arrested for stealing money from his apartment. He had a safe and she knew the combination. The papers got interested in the case because what she stole was… very unusual money. Finnish markkaa, nineteen thirties issue. She’d tried to change it for Danish kroner, but the notes were no longer legal tender. Also, she was trying to change a massive amount: several millions in kroner. She didn’t realize how much the notes were worth – or would have been worth. No one could understand why Nydahl should have had all this out-of-date Finnish money. He was too ill to be asked for an explanation. But during the case they reported that the Bank of Finland had traced the serial numbers on the notes to a batch of currency supplied in 1939 to-’

‘Saukko Bank,’ said Eusden.

‘Yes. Exactly. Saukko. Now owned by Tolmar Aksden.’

‘You think that’s why he bought it?’

‘Somehow, yes. There’s a connection. I just can’t… work it out. But maybe I can… if I know all there is to know about Clem Hewitson.’

‘It’s possible,’ said Marty. ‘But here’s the deal, Karsten. I’m expecting a call later today. I’m hoping it’ll join up the dots in what we know about Clem’s relationship with Nydahl.’

‘Join up the dots?’ Burgaard frowned dubiously at Marty over his shoulder. So did Eusden. What call? What the hell was Marty playing at?