by John Schou
John Schou
When Civil Servants Fail
Copyright 2012 by John Schou
ISBN 9781476241593
Cover Photo by Ahmad Mesleh ©
Used by permission (eyeonpalestine.com)
John Schou
When Civil Servants Fail
Table of Content:
Preface: Which Civil Servants?
I – Crime Does Pay
1 – A fresh Breath
2 – Shocking revelations
3 – Welcome to Copenhagen
4 – A Long Travel Home
5 – If You Can’t Beat Them, Join Them
6 – End of the Journey
II – Honour the Liars
1 – Fight for Work
2 – Locked Up in the Woods
3 – Locked Up in the Hospital
4 – A Traitor Confesses
5 – How Kelly Died
6 – With Such Friends, You Don’t Need Enemies
7 – Meeting Members of the Board
8 – Back in the Woods
9 – Culprit or Victim?
10 – Kelly’s Mimic
III – Civil Servants
1 – A Christmas Present
2 – Lunch at Shepherd’s
3 – George Departs
4 – Breaking Up
5 – The First Bomb I Ever Threw
6 – Being Famous
7 – Home with Honour
8 – A New Household Help
9 – Christmas Visitors
10 – Finally Snow
IV – What a Waste
1 – A Sour Introduction
2 – Frozen Gulf
3 – Rule the Waves
4 – A Small Addition
5 – Return to Sender
V – Dark Shadows
1 – Endangered species
2 – Eric, we have Case
3 – Discrete Appearance
4 – Operation Fafner
5 – Nightly Encounter
6 – Four Murdered Suiciders
Author’s Construct of Mr. Smith
Mr. Smith’s House
Which Civil Servants?
Which Civil Servants are dealt with in this book? The reason for this question is the quotation in Wikipedia: “Civil Servants are those who are employed by the Crown.” It does not characterize this bunch of most non-British subjects, which are dealt with here. In this book, we are concerned with our security agents, and if the tenor of this description is right, we are then dealing with the greatest terrorists, according to their accomplishments. In contrast, normal citizens are treated as their enemies, so far without justification since we tolerate their actions without noteworthy resistance. Ironically, if you redefine a terrorist from their destruction of civil rights, the biggest terrorists of our time will be found in various governments. But when the ministers of the interior (home secretaries) actually (and exceptionally) defend human rights, I excuse this comparison. May he or she be succesfull with this task; be sure there is a lot to do after the grave setbacks experienced in the first part of the Third Millennium.
John Schou
Crime Does Pay
1 – A Fresh Breath
I was jogging through the park a late November morning. Dawn was slowly emerging. It had been frosty during the night and the branches of the trees, together with the few leaves, which had not yet left them during the autumn as brave leaves are expected to do, were covered with ice, giving the whole park a glassy appearance. The park lies in the middle of the suburb, and all day, but particularly in the morning, joggers are on their way. It is not a big park and there is only one logical way round; then, there are two ways how to run around, clockwise and counter-clockwise, and since the path was rather narrow as jogging became a widespread sporty event, people tried to agree which way to run. In the city hall, there was an agreement that there should only be one way around permitted but, fortunately, they never agreed upon, which way that should be. As a compromise, they enlarged the path, and I keep changing the direction, partly to demonstrate my independence of the two parties, partly to make sure that it remains open possible both ways around. In the last months, however, I generally used the counter-clockwise route as counterweight to the tendency to a new attempt to make the clockwise route the standard. Perhaps it sounds ridiculous but in a deeper sense, this is a symptom of people becoming less liberal, setting up standards for their compatriots to follow – yes, patriots is ‘in’ again, and they should run the same way around in the park. Needless to say that I meet more joggers now and the majority meets me with a sour expression in their face, with a small minority simply ignoring me. Anyhow, joggers are not underway to say hello to anybody, so I try to ignore most of them, too; except Alice, whom I only met exceptionally in the park since she started being ‘counter-clockwise’ like me and for the same reason. More important, since she got a new job, she only runs much earlier, if at all.
My boss generally does not care much about what I do before 9 a.m., at which time we enjoy a mutual breakfast without discussing the days’ programme, since business matters are banned during all meals – but more to that later. Now, I am enjoying the fresh air and do not want to think about him, who is the opposite of fresh and healthy, but also more to that later. Since he plays a central part in the story, I am going to tell, I anyhow cannot avoid introducing you to him soon, I just have to turn another round. It is quarter past eight, so I just have the time to look through newspapers and mail. I said he does not care about what I do, but there are things that must be done, sometime between night and morning. When is then up to my decision.
Joggers are practically dressed, in winter even more than in summer, and it is difficult to distinguish the wealthiest from the rest of us. But it all depends on a shower after that. Since the big house of my employer, Mr. Smith, has plenty of rooms, many of which are staying unused since his wife died, I have conquered a bathroom to be called my own, so I do not need to go back home after having completed my circles in the park. Actually, Mr. Smith had offered me to stay in the house, an offer I politely rejected since I need a private sphere after the job and he does not. After a period of some weeks’ cool sentiments after my surprising decision, our relation gradually normalised. Anyhow, Juanita, his Spanish householder, lives there. She is also the one preparing the breakfast at 09:00 sharp. It was occasionally difficult for me to stick to that rule, not to speak about business during the meals, when we were having an urgent case. In the meantime I have learned my lesson and accept it as practical. “We are not competing with the police and emergency services,” Mr. Smith had said once, “Therefore we need to relax our strained brains during the meals.” He was a real master of relaxation, but I must admit that he was also my superior when it came to brainpower.
I approached the white villa in Hellerup, the suburb to Copenhagen North of the city, adjacent to the sea. It is the last house before Øresund, with an own bridge to the boat that was said to have been there in the former owner’s custody. For now, this luxury was totally superfluous since Mr. Smith seldom left his luxury villa and never by the sea. Outside the garden gate, a luxury car was parked. As I approached the villa in a running pace, the driver opened the door and asked: “Are you Mr. Smith?”
“No,” I simply said and tried to imagine the mentioned person running.
“Are you working in Mr. Smith’s house?”
“Yes,” I confirmed and continued to the garden gate.
“Please wait. We tried to ring the bell an hour ago, but nobody opened. Milady needs urgently to speak to Mr. Smith.”
If they asked if I was he, it could not be a very cordial visit, I thought. “I can arrange a meeting at 11 a.m. the earliest,” I said. “Who may
I announce?”
“Who are you anyway yourself?”
I hate this intrusion and, as a principle, then keep my own name back until the fine visitor has delivered his name first. So far, we have not lost any clients on that behalf. “I am Mr. Smith’s confidential assistant.”
The driver looked at me sceptically. “And your name, please?”
“I asked first.”
“I am Sebastian Olsen.”
“So you need to speak to Mr. Smith, Mr. Olsen,” I asked innocently, as if I forgot his question.
He blushed. “No, not I, Milady want to consult him.”
“Then who shall we expect at 3 p.m.?”
“But you just said 11 a.m., and we need to consult him immediately.”
“Well, I thought that if the introductory formalities are taking so long time, we better go for the afternoon session.”
The driver looked back angrily, but before he could react, the back door of the car opened and a woman in her forties showed up. She was dark haired (or her hair was coloured so), then there were some black shoes and in-between, most was covered by an elegant dark brown fur, which had probably cost the life of hundreds of small animals and the bearer a stiff sum of money. “My name is Dorothy Wilson. I really need to see Mr Smith quite urgently. I cannot wait another couple of hours.”
“For very urgent cases, I can only recommend the police. Mr. Smith will only be available at eleven o’clock.”
“Where is he and when does he come?”
“I do not strictly know.” I mean, I did not know whether he was in the bedroom or the bathroom, at this time of the day, there were only the two possibilities. “Do you want to make use of the offered term?”
She shook her head, and then recognized her defeat. “I have been advised only to talk to Mr. Smith about this ... case. We shall be back at eleven. Sebastian, we are leaving.” She did not say goodbye.
I went directly to my bathroom for the shower. I dressed like a businessman with a blue tie, as Mr. Smith wanted when clients were coming – I never saw him with one. This was the only indication that guests were expected, and I did not mention it with a single word before they were almost there. I had only told Juanita, so that she would let them in, at earliest a quarter before. The discussion with the potential clients had stolen 3 valuable minutes of my time, so I was rushing through the mail. I read without understanding, later there was time to understand without reading. At 9:00, I was sitting at the breakfast table in the kitchen. The dining room in the North-East corner of the house with a view to Sweden was called ‘morning room’ by the previous owner, but discharged for this function as Mr. Smith did not like so much light in his sensible eyes just after getting up. The sky was grey but somehow, the sun gave light and warmed the temperature above zero, so that the icy cover of the plants rapidly melted. Now, Mr. Smith finally entered. His breakfast was what I might desire twice a year, but for the everyday, I was going for the opposite. I looked sceptically as he ingested his bacon and eggs (and what an amount), each day made or attempted in the same way: one package of bacon first roasted on one side at low heat, thereby yielding its own fat for the continued process, then immediately after the bacon is turned, 6 eggs are added, the yellow immediately mixed with the rest. When it is rather solid, Juanita has the biggest challenge of the whole process: turning it all on the pan, then waiting 15 seconds (not 14 or 16) and off it goes to Mr. Smith, who immediately engulfs it, helped by two glasses of fresh pressed orange juice – at least that should be healthy, but he drank it only because
