Sunday. October. Nearly three in the morning, parked on a patch of gravel between Aqqusinersuaq and Svend Jungep Aqqutaa, with an almost unobscured view of a small white van and the orange glow of the tip of the driver’s cigarette lighting his face each time he sucked on it. Constable Gaba Alatak made a mark in his notebook when the driver flicked the b…
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