How the team at 'CSI: Denmark' stole my computer

Remember last week, how a three-blessing combo had me thinking that terrible things must lie just around the corner? Well, this week was the corner. Not only did the neighbor fracas escalate (Him, leaning out his window: 'Close your Goddamn blinds!' Me: 'No!' Him: 'Typical American!'), but I had my wallet stolen at an Australia Day party last weekend. 'Shit,' I thought. 'That's two. For this to really even out, at least one more crappy thing has to happen to me.'

Then the cops came.

At 7 am last Wednesday, I got a door-buzz and a 'politi!' from the little door-phone. They were from Hvidovre, a non-place somewhere out in the suburbs. Thinking it was about my stolen wallet, I let the mid-40s, ripe-bellied officers into my apartment, the whole time thinking, 'Wow, your wallet gets stolen in Denmark and the cops visit to make sure you're OK. The service.' After they sat down in the kitchen, I asked what was up, and was told, 'Well, you stole a credit card and ordered a bunch of shit online. And we know about it.'

Coppa what?

'What? Wait. Wait. What. What?!' I said. 'Can we do this in English? I thought you just said I stole a credit card.'
'Your Danish is fine,' the dough-faced one said in Danish. 'We know you stole it, we know what you did. We're here to take your computer.'
'My computer, why?'
'We traced the transaction back to the wireless network in this apartment.'
'But we have an open wireless connection. It's unsecured.'
'The internet doesn't work that way.'
'What? Wait. What?'

This conversation repeated itself three or four times, and somehow moved into the bedroom, in front of my laptop.

Doughface: 'That one. We're taking it.'
Me: 'Well, I just bought that one two weeks ago, so it's not going to be much help.'
Doughface: 'What were you doing the night of November 15?'
Me: 'Rented a car, fucked your father and played some backgammon. I'm sure I have receipts...' [OK, so I actually said 'I don't know']
Doughface: 'If you can't prove what you were doing that night, we're arresting you right now.'
Me: 'First of all, no you're not.' [Remember how I said I'm a dick when I'm speaking Danish?] 'You have no evidence against me at all. Secondly, it's not up to me to prove I didn't do this. It's up to you to prove that I did.'
Doughface: 'November 15!'
Me: 'Fine, lemme check my e-mails. I was probably at a concert or something.'

I sat down, opened my e-mail account and scrolled through to November, looking for invitations, confirmation e-mails, whatever.

Doughface: [audible gasp] 'If that computer's only two weeks old, how are you checking your e-mails from November?!' [Makes 'gotcha' face.]
Me: 'Wait. What?! These are on the internet. They aren't on my computer.'
Doughface: 'You just said it was two weeks old, but those e-mails say November!' [Gotcha Face intensifies to David Caruso Face]
Me: 'Internet!'
Doughface: 'If it's only two weeks old --'
Me: Internet.

The italics seemed to do it. Doughface backed off for a few minutes. We moved into my roommate's room.

iMac

She has an original iMac.

'We have your roommate's permission to confiscate her computer,' the Ichabod Crane one said.
'Whatever,' I said. They had already assured me that we would get our laptops back that afternoon, so I figured the damage had already been done. Ichabod started rooting around under her desk.
'Where's the computer?' he said.
'On the desk. That's the computer,' I said.
'No, the computer.'
'That's the computer, dude.'
'That's the screen.' He had lapsed into the voice you use when you explain to your 6-year-old cousin how the toaster works. 'I mean the compuuuuuter. Understand?'
'Dude. That's the whole computer. Right there. The blue object the size of an armadillo.'
'No. Where the daaaaata goes. The computer part.'
'That is the computer. For Hell!' Danish swear words aren't as satisfying.
'So that's the entire computer, right there?'
I was standing there with a look on my face like I was watching a dog walk on its hind legs.
'New technology, huh?' he said.
I blew the dust off the keyboard and handed it to him. 'Do you mind if I check your badge again?'

Once I figured out the italics thing, it went a bit smoother.

'Could one of your friends have committed this crime on your computer, when you weren't looking?'
'I have unsecured internet. That means anyone can use it.'
'You mean your neighbors can log on to this internet connection?'
'YES THEY CAN. UNSECURED.'
'Oh. So maybe this wasn't done on your computer, just on your wireless network.'
'Will wonders never motherfucking cease. Yes. It could have been anyone.'

They still took my computer. And my roommate's state of the art iMac 1.0. And our wireless router. I got a phone call two hours later ('Thank god,' was my first thought. 'They're actually cops.'), and was informed that there is a 'mountain' of police work for their IT department to do, so they don't know when I'll get my computer and router back. This was a week ago. I'm writing this at a smoky yet frigid internet cafe, blinking from the nicotine and ignoring the pube-scalping death metal coming from the overhead speakers. I blame you, suburbs.