by Håkan Nesser
Swelled and contorted themselves in polyphonic variations that would have driven the old master Bach into a state of delirium, and eventually became so bizarre and unbearable that he realized he would have to put a stop to it all if he were not to lose the very last dregs of his sanity.
He stretched out a hand, lifted the receiver and answered.
It was Kluuge.
The chief inspector sat up and cleared his throat so loudly that he missed whatever the sergeant began by saying.
‘What did you say?’
‘Good morning, Chief Inspector,’ Kluuge repeated. ‘I hope I didn’t wake you up?’
‘Of course not,’ said Van Veeteren, as usual, and fumbled for his wristwatch on the bedside table.
‘It’s half past eleven,’ Kluuge informed him. ‘I thought we’d better get going, so I’ve summoned the others to a meeting at two o’clock, to run through what’s happened so far.’
The others? Van Veeteren wondered – but then he began to recall what had happened during the night, and who had been present. A rapid subtraction suggested he could hardly have slept for more than four hours, and how Kluuge could sound so damned bright and cheery was a mystery. He preferred not to think about the possibility of it having to do with age and general condition. Not just now, at least. He cleared his throat again.
‘Sounds good,’ he said.
‘At the police station, naturally,’ said Kluuge. ‘But there’s something I’d like to consult you about first, Chief Inspector.’
‘Go ahead,’ said Van Veeteren.
There followed a few seconds of silence.
‘I don’t really know how to put this, but the business of who is responsible and so on…’
‘Responsible?’
‘Yes, I mean who’s going to be in charge of the investigation. Obviously you are the one with the most experience and all that, but even so I thought I ought to volunteer to do it. I mean, I’m the acting chief of police, and so it comes within my remit, so to say.. .’
Excellent, the chief inspector thought. Carry on, young man!
‘… So if you don’t object?’
‘Of course not,’ said Van Veeteren.
‘And I think it would be a pity to disturb Malijsen in the middle of his holiday.’
‘I agree,’ said the chief inspector.
One hundred per cent, he thought.
‘Obviously I hope you will stay on and give us a hand. I mean, you have so much experience…’
‘Naturally,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘No need to say another word about it. Did you say two o’clock?’
‘Yes, two o’clock,’ Kluuge confirmed. ‘And I’ve arranged a press conference for half past four. I’d be grateful if you could be present at that as well, Chief Inspector.’
‘If I live that long,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘I assume nothing significant has happened during the morning?’
‘Not a lot,’ said Kluuge. ‘The women are in isolation at Wolgershuus, as we said, and the youngsters are still at Waldingen. The police nurses have been relieved, and two psychologists are due at one o’clock.’
‘And nobody has said anything?’
‘No. They’re still staying silent. We’ll probably have to discuss how to interrogate them in future. Or what do you think? It’s all a bit tricky…’
‘You can say that again,’ sighed Van Veeteren. ‘But let’s hope it’s just a matter of time.’
‘Could be,’ said Kluuge. ‘But it must be easier to break down a teenaged girl than one of those madwomen.’
‘Be careful about the words you use,’ the chief inspector warned. ‘It can be a good idea to think before you speak to journalists, if nothing else. They like to quote people. Silence can be golden sometimes, not just for members of sects.’
‘Okay,’ said Kluuge. ‘I’ll remember that. I’ll see you in a couple of hours, then.’
‘Yes,’ said Van Veeteren.
‘Thank you,’ said Kluuge once more.
Madwomen? the chief inspector thought when he’d hung up.
He didn’t like it, but whether it was the circumstances or the sergeant’s choice of words that should be stigmatized, he wasn’t really sure.
The thunderstorm blew in from the south-west, from the direction of Waldingen, and as he ate his brunch on the terrace he was able to watch it approaching rapidly over the edge of the forest on the other side of the lake. The flashes of lightning and claps of thunder entertained him for quite some time before the first heavy drops landed on the corrugated plastic roof over his head, and the temperature dropped drastically by at least ten degrees.
The cloudburst lasted for nearly fifteen minutes, but when it was at its height it seemed to him that the surface of the lake below the hotel, previously so misleadingly calm, had been transformed into a maelstrom, nothing less than a witch’s brew, and the far side of the lake disappeared behind a wall of seething, lashing water.
The wrath of the elements, the chief inspector thought. No wonder.
When it had passed over and he had just signed the bill, he could feel how the air had suddenly become more breathable. In big gulps. After a week of suffocating shortages of oxygen in the brain, it was suddenly possible not only to think a clear thought, but to remember it.
I don’t think I’m made for the Mediterranean, unfortunately, he thought grimly as he left the table.
It wasn’t difficult to guess what effect the heavy rain must have had on the efforts of the police dogs at Waldingen. If there were any trails out there in the forest, they certainly wouldn’t be any easier to follow after rain like that.
As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods, he suddenly thought. And when they pull the strings, we dance at their beck and call. They send down buckets of rain, and we stand there with freshly washed faces.
With his briefcase tucked under his arm and two toothpicks wandering around his mouth, he set off towards Kleinmarckt in the centre of the little town. He tried to avoid the rivulets and torrents, but the gutters and grates were not designed to cope with such vast amounts of water, and by the time he reached Florian’s, he was soaking wet well up his shins. But he was surprised to find that this was not an especially unpleasant state to be in – invigorating, rather; and a few minutes later he entered the Sorbinowo police station feeling alert and ready to concentrate. Ready to cope with whatever was thrown at him.
We shall solve this lot of crap as well, he thought. Sooner or later.
17
Servinus and Suijderbeck had evidently been instructed to stay on in Sorbinowo. They were sitting beside each other underneath an oil painting of Malijsen’s predecessor – a certain J. Stagge – and it was immediately obvious to Van Veeteren that they had even fewer hours of sleep under their belts than he had. Possibly none at all. They had all split up outside the summer camp at about six that morning, and it was by no means impossible that the pair of them had been on duty all the time since then. Inspector Suijderbeck was half-lying in his corner with one leg stretched out in front of him at a strange angle, and it dawned on the chief inspector that he must have some kind of artificial limb. From just under the knee, it seemed. The fact that Van Veeteren hadn’t noticed it before bore witness to his being somewhat under the weather.
Come to think of it, he couldn’t recall ever having come across a detective officer with a wooden leg before, and he wondered in passing about the circumstances behind it. Presumably they were not nice – but this was hardly the time or place to go into that.
Kluuge was sitting at the other end of the table with a large notepad at the ready in front of him. He seemed just as perky as he had sounded on the telephone, and Van Veeteren realized that the metamorphosis in Kluuge was still continuing. He bade everyone ‘Good morning’ and sat down on the only empty chair.
‘Good afternoon,’ said Kluuge. ‘Okay now we can start.’
‘Is this the full team?’ the chief inspector asked.
Kluuge shook his head.
�
��No. We have two colleagues out at Waldingen as well. Female inspectors from Haaldam. And then there’s Matthorst at Wolgershuus, keeping an eye on the women. And I suppose that patrol is still combing through the forest; but they’ll have finished by this evening, presumably.’
‘Presumably,’ said Van Veeteren, examining his soaking wet shoes.
‘Shall we run through where we’ve got to so far?’ suggested Suijderbeck, suppressing a yawn. ‘I really must grab a few hours’ sleep soon. I expect we’ll have to stay here for a few more days? Don’t you think?’
He glanced at his colleague on the sofa.
‘Mm,’ said Servinus before yawning in turn. ‘In any case I’ve no intention of getting into the car and driving back to Rembork just now. This is a bloody awful situation, don’t you think?’
‘It certainly is,’ said Kluuge. ‘I think we ought to get down to the facts now, don’t you? So, the girl was called Clarissa Heerenmacht, and as far as we can tell she was murdered some time on Sunday evening. The day before yesterday, in other words. All traces of rigor mortis had gone by the time I found her, so the doc says it couldn’t have been later than ten o’clock at night. Probably not before six either, but we can’t be sure of that yet. What time was it when the chief inspector spoke to her?’
‘About two,’ said Van Veeteren.
‘Pretty rough sexual violence on the lower abdomen,’ Kluuge said. ‘Strangled by extremely hard and prolonged pressure on the larynx, probably not at the location where she was discovered. No clothes have been found. No fingerprints on the body either. Well, that’s about it so far. Any comments?’
‘Sexual violence on the lower abdomen?’ said Suijderbeck. ‘In other words, it’s not at all certain that we have a case of straightforward rape. I reckon we should bear that in mind.’
Van Veeteren nodded. Kluuge wrote something on his pad.
‘What are you implying?’ wondered Servinus, looking sceptical.
‘I dunno,’ said Suijderbeck. ‘I just think it’s worth bearing in mind.’
He took out a pack of cigarettes and looked round to see what the reaction was. Kluuge nodded, and produced an ashtray. Van Veeteren indicated that he had nothing against being offered one.
‘Have you made contact with the parents?’ asked the chief inspector, having taken a deep drag.
‘No,’ said Kluuge. ‘It seems there isn’t a dad, incidentally. Not any longer, that is. The mother is on a coach tour in India, so it’ll probably be some time before we can get in touch with her. But there’s an aunt on her way here – we had a bit of luck in finding her.’
‘Luck?’ said Suijderbeck. ‘Why was that lucky?’
A good question, Van Veeteren thought. Kluuge hesitated.
‘Well, identification if nothing else. There has to be a relative in order to make it legal.’
‘Yes, well,’ said Servinus, sitting up straight on the sofa. ‘That detail will no doubt sort itself out. But isn’t it about time we really started to get stuck in? It seems a bit like playing blind man’s buff at the moment, I have to say…’
Of course,’ said Kluuge. ‘It was a bit much last night. Well, what can one say? Anyway, it all started a week ago when that anonymous woman made the telephone call…’
Van Veeteren leaned back on his chair and closed his eyes while Kluuge recapitulated what had happened before, for the benefit of his colleagues from Rembork Tried to switch off and instead started to wonder how many times he’d been in a situation like this during all his years as a detective.
All those years.
It must have been hundreds of occasions, and then hundreds more. But even so he was aware that he could recall each and every one of them. Every single case. Always assuming he had the required time. There was something special about these opening gambits, he thought; something almost unique. At this early stage, when most of the logical structure that was always there behind every act of violence – behind most of what human beings said and did as well, of course – was hidden and inaccessible. Camouflaged and disguised.
But then it struck him that perhaps the term ‘opening gambit’ was wrong. Wouldn’t it be more accurate to think in terms of the final confrontation? The only thing they had to go on was the final move, and what it was all about was reconstructing from the end-game positions: with the king (the murdered high school teacher, the poisoned restaurant owner, the strangled and raped teenager) surrounded and in check under the spotlight, they had to go back to the beginning and work out all the moves from the very start.
Until you finally managed to blow away all the mists and the clouds of gunpowder, and concentrate on the chessboard without distractions; work out what had actually happened. And why.
And then – the final denouement – look up and identify your opponent at the other side of the board.
The perpetrator.
Hmm, he thought. A bit overdone perhaps, but nevertheless not a bad image for how things could turn out, a description of the vocation he had made his own. He made a mental note to consider and assess the logic of it all, when the time came – when the time came to write his memoirs. He was finding it more and more difficult not to keep thinking about them. It was remarkable how often they had kept imposing themselves upon his thoughts of late. Was it mere coincidence, mere chance – or was it more than that? A pointer? Time to get out?
‘But holy shit!’ exclaimed Servinus, intruding upon his thoughts. ‘That means there could be another one!’
Van Veeteren opened his eyes. Servinus looked as if he were petrified. Suijderbeck was staring up at the ceiling. Kluuge was leaning back in his chair, apparently having concluded his summing-up of the circumstances thus far.
‘Exactly,’ said the chief inspector, clearing his throat. ‘There’s plenty to suggest that she’s in good company.’
‘Oh shit!’ said Suijderbeck.
‘And they’re still refusing to say anything, are they?’ asked Van Veeteren, snapping a toothpick.
Kluuge nodded.
‘Both the sisters and the youngsters. It’s presumably exactly as you said: they’ve had it drummed into them that this is some kind of test they’re being subjected to. In order to be accepted into the church, or into heaven, or wherever. They have to be strong and not cooperate with us, no matter what. Presumably they’ve been brainwashed good and proper, and they’ve been promised no end of rewards as long as they do as they’ve been told and say nothing.’
‘Eternal life, perhaps,’ suggested Servinus.
‘Us and them,’ said Suijderbeck.
Kluuge nodded again.
‘Something like that,’ said the chief inspector. ‘This is the crucial battle. The Pure Life versus the Other World.’
‘Eh?’ said Servinus.
Van Veeteren shrugged.
‘Well, they seem to live in the shadow of categories like that. The worst of their fads will fade away after a few days, I hope… Because there’s nothing to support them. But that’s only my assessment.’
‘So the chief inspector is suggesting that we should wait until they make a false move?’ wondered Kluuge.
Van Veeteren scratched his head and waited for a few seconds before answering.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘There might be the odd shit-stirrer among them. We can keep our eye on them and pick out the leader types. That Belle Moulder, for instance.’
Kluuge made a note. Servinus sighed deeply and rubbed his eyes.
‘Is it really such a good idea to keep them cooped up there?’ he asked. ‘Or even possible, come to that? The whole business will surely be in the newspapers this evening and tomorrow morning, so no doubt we’ll have the parents breathing down our necks before we know where we are… I gather there’s been something on the radio already?’
‘It is a problem,’ Kluuge admitted. ‘Although we’ve sorted out the practical side. So that they can stay there for a few more days at least. We’ve fixed food and that sort of thing.’
‘But
they’re also a gang of wackos as well,’ said Servinus. ‘The parents, I mean.’
‘Wackos?’ Kluuge queried.
‘Sheep,’ Servinus explained. ‘They prefer bleating to thinking.’
‘For Christ’s sake, one of them has to start talking soon,’ said Suijderbeck, obviously annoyed. ‘They know that one of their friends has been murdered. Possibly two. Surely they’re bright enough to realize that… well…’
‘Well?’ the chief inspector prompted.
‘Oh shit,’ said Suijderbeck. ‘I’m so tired I’m beginning to see double. So you’re really saying that this Yellnek-’
‘Yellinek,’ said Kluuge.
‘That this Yellinek’s charisma is so damned strong that he can put a muzzle on his three mistresses and a dozen teenage girls while he slinks away from the crime scene, no problem at all, and scurries off out of harm’s way? Beyond belief, and that’s what I’ll think when I wake up as well!’
‘Hmm,’ said Kluuge. ‘I don’t know. But this seems to be a pretty peculiar sect, and we might just as well be clear about that before we go any further.’
‘All right,’ said Suijderbeck with a sigh. ‘Maybe you’re right. But what the hell should we do next?’
‘Hmm,’ said Kluuge again and checked his watch. ‘First of all we’d better cope with the press conference, and then I suppose we don’t have a lot of choice. Keep on questioning them until they crack, I guess. Both the girls and the ladies at Wolgershuus. Or till somebody cracks, in any case. What does the chief inspector think?’
Van Veeteren stood up and walked over to the window. Turned his back on the others and gazed out over the unsettled sky, swaying back and forth.
‘Well,’ he said eventually, ‘of course we should interrogate them while we’re waiting. But we mustn’t forget to ask ourselves what the hell has been going on out there. Or what we think has been going on, at least. I have my doubts, myself.’
