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Authors: Robert Goddard
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postmark covered both: K ØBENHAVN LUFTPOST 17.5.27.
‘What am I supposed to make of it?’ Eusden queried.
‘Danish, right?’
‘Obviously.’
‘Twenty-five øre King Christian the Tenth with twenty-five øre airmail supplement. Part of my dad’s collection. I never actually looked through it until he died. I mean, philately? Do me a favour. But ask yourself: where’d he get it from?’
‘No idea.’
‘Yes, you have. Who would a stamp-mad schoolboy cadge something like that off?’
‘His father?’
‘Exactly. Clem.’
‘So, Clem had a letter from Denmark.’
‘Yes. Which he must have hung on to, since Dad was only six years old in 1927. He didn’t get into stamp collecting until his early teens.’
‘OK. But—’
‘Did you know Clem spoke Danish?’
‘What?’
‘Well, spoke might be an exaggeration. But he certainly read it.’
‘You’re having me on.’
‘No. You asked me what’s in the attaché case. The answer is a collection of letters, written to Clem over a period of ten years or more in the nineteen twenties and thirties. In Danish. Now you can see why I couldn’t make head or tail of the contents of the case.’
‘Who were the letters from?’
‘A guy called Hakon Nydahl. Captain – or Kaptajn – Nydahl, as he signed himself. Ever remember Clem mentioning the name?’
‘No.’
‘Nor me. What about Copenhagen? Did he ever admit to going there?’
‘Not sure. There weren’t many European cities he didn’t claim to have visited at some point.’
‘True. But we know he was corresponding with someone in Copenhagen, so it seems a good bet, doesn’t it? As to what they were corresponding about , you’d need a Danish translator to tell you that. Werner’s probably contacting one even as we speak.’
‘Why’s it so important?’
‘Ah, that brings us to Werner’s father: Otto Straub. Thanks to him we know Clem came to Hamburg in the spring of 1960. It’s not something I ever remember my parents talking about. Maybe he didn’t tell them where he was going, or even that he was going. But yes. Clem was here. And why? To testify in a court case Otto was covering for his paper. Clem let us believe he came just after the War, if you remember, before he retired from the police. But that was eyewash. He’d have been seventy-three in 1960.’
‘What was the court case about?’
‘Anastasia.’
‘Sorry?’
Marty chuckled. ‘You heard.’
TEN
Anastasia. A legend in her own death-time. Eusden knew what history said of her. Born 1901, fourth and youngest daughter of Tsar Nicholas II. Murdered by Soviet revolutionaries in 1918, along with her parents and siblings. He also knew of the persistent legend that she had survived the climactic massacre at Ekaterinburg. A woman claiming to be Anastasia popped up in Berlin a few years later and spent the rest of her life convincing many and failing to convince others, notably most of Anastasia’s surviving relatives, that she was indeed Her Imperial Highness the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaievna. Opinion was still divided when Anna Anderson, as the woman came to be known, died in 1984. But it hardened in the 1990s, when the remains of the imperial family were excavated from their burial site near Ekaterinburg and verified by DNA analysis, a test which Anna Anderson’s remains subsequently failed. Seventy years’ worth of books, films, lawsuits and conspiracy theories foundered on a simple matter of genetics. The claimant to Anastasia’s identity was found to have been a fraud.
This much Eusden remembered, though he was aware there was also much more he had forgotten. He had read a book on the subject, seen a couple of television documentaries purporting to tell the full story, flicked through several magazine articles probing the mystery and scanned various newspaper reports of twists and turns in the affair. He well recalled swapping theories with Marty after they had speed-read a sensationalist work called The File
‘What am I supposed to make of it?’ Eusden queried.
‘Danish, right?’
‘Obviously.’
‘Twenty-five øre King Christian the Tenth with twenty-five øre airmail supplement. Part of my dad’s collection. I never actually looked through it until he died. I mean, philately? Do me a favour. But ask yourself: where’d he get it from?’
‘No idea.’
‘Yes, you have. Who would a stamp-mad schoolboy cadge something like that off?’
‘His father?’
‘Exactly. Clem.’
‘So, Clem had a letter from Denmark.’
‘Yes. Which he must have hung on to, since Dad was only six years old in 1927. He didn’t get into stamp collecting until his early teens.’
‘OK. But—’
‘Did you know Clem spoke Danish?’
‘What?’
‘Well, spoke might be an exaggeration. But he certainly read it.’
‘You’re having me on.’
‘No. You asked me what’s in the attaché case. The answer is a collection of letters, written to Clem over a period of ten years or more in the nineteen twenties and thirties. In Danish. Now you can see why I couldn’t make head or tail of the contents of the case.’
‘Who were the letters from?’
‘A guy called Hakon Nydahl. Captain – or Kaptajn – Nydahl, as he signed himself. Ever remember Clem mentioning the name?’
‘No.’
‘Nor me. What about Copenhagen? Did he ever admit to going there?’
‘Not sure. There weren’t many European cities he didn’t claim to have visited at some point.’
‘True. But we know he was corresponding with someone in Copenhagen, so it seems a good bet, doesn’t it? As to what they were corresponding about , you’d need a Danish translator to tell you that. Werner’s probably contacting one even as we speak.’
‘Why’s it so important?’
‘Ah, that brings us to Werner’s father: Otto Straub. Thanks to him we know Clem came to Hamburg in the spring of 1960. It’s not something I ever remember my parents talking about. Maybe he didn’t tell them where he was going, or even that he was going. But yes. Clem was here. And why? To testify in a court case Otto was covering for his paper. Clem let us believe he came just after the War, if you remember, before he retired from the police. But that was eyewash. He’d have been seventy-three in 1960.’
‘What was the court case about?’
‘Anastasia.’
‘Sorry?’
Marty chuckled. ‘You heard.’
TEN
Anastasia. A legend in her own death-time. Eusden knew what history said of her. Born 1901, fourth and youngest daughter of Tsar Nicholas II. Murdered by Soviet revolutionaries in 1918, along with her parents and siblings. He also knew of the persistent legend that she had survived the climactic massacre at Ekaterinburg. A woman claiming to be Anastasia popped up in Berlin a few years later and spent the rest of her life convincing many and failing to convince others, notably most of Anastasia’s surviving relatives, that she was indeed Her Imperial Highness the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaievna. Opinion was still divided when Anna Anderson, as the woman came to be known, died in 1984. But it hardened in the 1990s, when the remains of the imperial family were excavated from their burial site near Ekaterinburg and verified by DNA analysis, a test which Anna Anderson’s remains subsequently failed. Seventy years’ worth of books, films, lawsuits and conspiracy theories foundered on a simple matter of genetics. The claimant to Anastasia’s identity was found to have been a fraud.
This much Eusden remembered, though he was aware there was also much more he had forgotten. He had read a book on the subject, seen a couple of television documentaries purporting to tell the full story, flicked through several magazine articles probing the mystery and scanned various newspaper reports of twists and turns in the affair. He well recalled swapping theories with Marty after they had speed-read a sensationalist work called The File
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