by Håkan Nesser
“Your father,” said Münster. He’s been through this himself, he thought.
“Right. And what does your father do? He drinks like a fish and demeans himself. He hits you. He really beats you up, not just once, but night after night, perhaps. He tortures you, he insults you. Your mother is too weak to intervene. She’s as scared of him as you are. You pretend it isn’t happening. You keep quiet and let it carry on, keeping it inside the family. You are defenseless. You have no rights: he’s your parent and he’s fully within his rights. You’ve nowhere to turn to, nowhere to find consolation—apart from one person. There’s only one person who can comfort you….”
“Your sister.”
“Who also gets beaten sometimes, but not nearly so often. She is there, she’s a bit stronger than you are, a little less wounded. She’s there in the room you share when you finally get away from him. Let’s say you’re fourteen years old, both of you. You lie in bed together, and she consoles you. You snuggle up to her and she protects you. She places her healing hands on your body…you’re fourteen years old…you hold tightly on to each other, you feel safe in each other’s arms, and you can hear him ranting and raving. He sets on your mother instead, demands his conjugal rights…. Hell and damnation, Münster!”
Münster coughed tentatively.
“It’s night now and you are naked. You’re fourteen, you’re brother and sister. There’s nothing wrong in what you do, Münster—who the hell is going to blame them for it? Who apart from the gods has the right to condemn these two children for the way things turn out? For becoming lovers? Who, Münster? Who?”
“I don’t know,” said Münster.
“Can you understand what she gave him?” said Van Veeteren, taking a deep breath. “To be able to come to a woman when you are beaten and degraded and worthless…To a woman who is your lover, your mother, and your sister. All at the same time. Is there any love that could be stronger than that, Münster? Just imagine being in love for the first time, and everything is perfect from the very start…. That love, that relationship is so strong that it must be more durable than anything else you will ever experience in the rest of your life…. Hell and damnation, Münster, what chance did he have?”
“How long did that go on for?” Münster asked.
“Two or three years, I’d have thought. He seems to be a bit vague about exactly when it began. Most likely it was just as strong on both sides for quite a long time. I think Eva eventually managed to escape from it—not because she really wanted to, but because she knew it was wrong. Forbidden. Impossible to keep going.”
“But for him it was just as impossible to stop,” said Münster.
Van Veeteren lit a cigarette.
“Yes, but she rejected him. What went on in that household, both while the father was still alive and afterward…well, I’d rather not think about it, Münster.”
“And then there was Paul Bejsen,” said Münster.
“Yes. Perhaps it was no more than an attempt from her side; I don’t think she was really in love with him. She probably took him to demonstrate that what had been was now over and done with, beyond recall. And Rolf, well, he…”
“Bided his time,” said Münster.
“You could say that, yes,” said Van Veeteren. “He waited for an opportunity to show how serious he was. And when that party took place, he saw his chance.”
“He waited out there on the moor,” said Münster.
“Exactly. Wandered around in the darkness hoping for an opportunity. Like a werewolf, almost.”
“Did he tell you all this as well?”
Van Veeteren nodded.
“Yes. Telegram style, mind you. That was almost twenty years ago. The statutory limitation is twenty-one years—so we’d be able to prosecute him for that murder as well, if anybody thought there was any point in doing so.”
“And Eva forced him to go away?”
“Yes. She gave him an ultimatum. Either he disappeared or she would turn him in. Put yourself in his situation, Münster. He committed murder, not only because he was jealous, but also to demonstrate how strong his love was. And she rejected him. I think he came close to committing suicide during those months; he hinted as much. And during the early part of his exile as well. Perhaps…”
“…it would have been just as well,” said Münster, finishing the sentence for him.
“Have we any right to think that?” Van Veeteren asked.
“Have we?”
Münster made no reply. Glanced at his watch. A quarter to six.
“What time does the plane leave? Half past seven?”
Van Veeteren nodded.
“I have to check in an hour in advance.”
“We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
Neither of them spoke for a few seconds, but Münster could sense that they needed to go through everything.
“What about this Ellen Caine?” he said.
“Ah, yes,” said Van Veeteren. “He got by for eight years—pretty remarkable, that, to say the least, but he got a grip on himself. Settled down in Toronto, drifted from one job to another, but kept himself afloat. Until he met a woman. He claims she was the one who went running after him, rather than the other way around, and that’s probably right. In any case, she was unable to give him a fraction of what he received from Eva. God only knows what goes through his mind when it comes to sex and women, Münster. But he demands the impossible, because he has experienced the impossible. Then he killed Ellen Caine because she let him down. I don’t know if she left him, he didn’t want to speak about that. Perhaps he couldn’t cope with being a lover, perhaps there was an element of good old honest jealousy involved. Anyway, he killed her. Threw her off a viaduct in the path of a long-distance truck. It never occurred to anybody that it was anything but an accident, or possibly suicide. Nobody knew he was anywhere in the vicinity.”
“Why did he change his name?”
“I think he’d started to think about coming back to Europe with a new identity. As early as that, after the Ellen business. In 1980 or thereabouts. He moved to New York, in any case, became an American citizen after a few years, and changed his name to Carl Ferger. He seems to have led a more or less normal life. Superficially, at least. But nevertheless, it’s a riddle, Münster. What made him come back here in January 1986? Not even he can give an explanation.”
“The determinant, perhaps?” said Münster with a faint smile.
“What?” exclaimed Van Veeteren in surprise. “God Almighty, I do believe Inspector Münster has begun to catch on to a few things! Whatever, he came back here, tracked down Eva, and started pestering her. In every possible way, no doubt. Presumably the very fact of suddenly being in her vicinity became more or less unbearable for him. That’s what he says, at least. Naturally, he was extremely jealous of Berger; but the worst thing was the child. The fact that she’d had a child with somebody else. Ah well, everything is in a hell of a mess now, Münster.”
“So he kills the child in order to punish her?”
“Yes, I think so. His concept of his ego seems to oscillate between an all-powerful god of retribution and a desperate young boy trying to cope with puberty and a lack of identity.”
“What about after that murder?”
“Eva protected him again, despite the fact that she was starting to go out of her mind herself. I think this is the point when she gave up on her life, when she realized that nothing could ever be normal. Maybe she also recognized that the bond between her and Rolf was stronger than she had imagined. Sexually as well. They resumed their forbidden relationship several times over those years. He lived in France—she didn’t want to have him too close—but she occasionally paid him a visit. That’s what he says, at least. Perhaps he imagined that everything would turn out as he wanted in the end, perhaps she breathed life back into his hopes.”
“But instead, she discarded him again.”
Van Veeteren nodded.
“She moved here. A new begi
nning. Maybe she didn’t tell him where she’d gone, but he tracked her down, of course. He even managed to get a job at the same school eventually. It must have been a nasty shock for her when the headmaster introduced the new school janitor.”
“Was that this year?”
“Yes, in January. The beginning of term after the Christmas holidays.”
“And so she married Mitter just to show him the way things stood?”
Van Veeteren sighed.
“Yes, could be. Perhaps she was just as mad as he was. I had the impression from Mitter that their relationship was something that exceeded his comprehension. That their lovemaking was a matter of life or death all the time. Well, something along those lines, I think.”
“Why did he kill her instead of Mitter?”
“I think it was an impulse, something he did on the spur of the moment. Possibly an attempt to get rid of the awful circumstances once and for all. Whatever, it was all a series of accidents, pure chance. The fact that Mitter was so drunk that he lost his memory was not something Ferger had anticipated, of course. He’d expected Mitter to say that Ferger had been with them earlier that evening, but was confident that there was nothing to indicate that he’d returned later and murdered her. He must have wondered why on earth he heard nothing from the police.”
Van Veeteren shook his head.
“Six murders,” he said. “I thought there were four, or possibly five. But there were six.” He paused, and gazed out the window into the darkness.
“What do you think it is,” he asked, “that makes his mother want to keep on living? Why the hell doesn’t she take her own life? Or just lie down and die?”
Münster thought for a moment.
“Hamlet? Too scared?”
“No. You’ve met her.”
“Is she religious?”
Van Veeteren couldn’t help laughing.
“What sort of a god would allow your husband to mistreat and degrade you, your children to indulge in incest, your son to murder your daughter…”
Münster hesitated.
“I don’t know. Perhaps she is punishing herself—by carrying on living, I mean.”
Van Veeteren turned to look at Münster.
“Excellent,” he said in surprise. “Well done, Münster! I shall have to remember not to underestimate you in the future.”
“Thank you,” said Münster. “We’re nearly at the airport. There was just one more thing.”
“Well?”
“I’d be grateful if you could send a card, sir. For the sake of the stamp. My boy has started collecting stamps….”
“Of course,” said Van Veeteren.
Münster parked the car and took out the bags.
“So, I’ll see you in January,” said Van Veeteren.
“The end of January,” said Münster. “I’m taking two weeks’ vacation after New Year’s.”
“Good for you, Münster! Where are you going?”
“The Maldives,” said Münster, smiling modestly.
“Excellent, Münster,” said Van Veeteren, shaking his hand.
“But keep in form. I’m not going to be easy to handle when I get back.”
“I know,” said Münster.
45
The woman grabbed him by the arm.
What now, for Christ’s sake? Ingrun thought. He had just sat down and lit a cigarette. Why could they never leave him in peace?
“What do you want?” he said, trying to shake his arm free. Her nails were digging into him.
“Luke, chapter 15, verse 11!” she hissed.
“Eh?”
“Luke, 15:11! I was going to read the Bible, and found that somebody’s been scribbling in it!”
He saw that she was holding a Bible in her other hand. Brandishing it, with a bony index finger stuck inside it.
“Let me see!”
She let go of his arm. Opened the Bible and handed it to him. Right across one of the pages was written in large, bold letters: Carl Ferger.
“God will never forgive that!” she cried in anguish, wringing her hands.
Ingrun hesitated for a moment. Then he tore out the page and threw it into the waste bin.
“Read something else!” he said, closing the Bible.
A NOTE ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Håkan Nesser was awarded the 1993 Swedish Crime Writers’ Academy Prize for new authors for his novel The Wide-Meshed Net (published in the United States as Mind’s Eye); he received the best novel award in 1994 for Borkmann’s Point and in 1996 for Woman with Birthmark. In 1999 he was awarded the Crime Writers of Scandinavia’s Glass Key Award for the best crime novel of the year for Carambole. Nesser lives in Sweden and New York City.
A NOTE ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR
Laurie Thompson taught Swedish at the University of Wales and was the editor of Swedish Book Review from its launch in 1983 until 2002. He has been a full-time literary translator for several years and has translated more than forty books from Swedish. He was born in York, England, but now lives in rural West Wales with several cats and a Swedish wife.
A NOTE ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR
Laurie Thompson taught Swedish at the University of Wales and was the editor of Swedish Book Review from its launch in 1983 until 2002. He has been a full-time literary translator for several years and has translated more than forty books from Swedish. He was born in York, England, but now lives in rural West Wales with several cats and a Swedish wife.
ALSO BY HÅKAN NESSER
Borkmann’s Point
The Return
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Translation copyright © 2008 by Laurie Thompson
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Pantheon Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York. Originally published in Sweden as Det grovmaskiga nätet by Albert Bonniers Förlag AB, Stockholm, in 1993. Copyright © 1993 by Håkan Nesser.
Pantheon Books and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Nesser, Håkan, [date]
[Grovmaskiga nätet. English]
Mind’s eye: an Inspector Van Veeteren mystery / Håkan Nesser; translated from the Swedish by Laurie Thompson.
p. cm.
I. Thompson, Laurie, 1938–II. Title.
PT9876.24.E76G7613 2008
839.73'74—dc22
2007039214
www.pantheonbooks.com
eISBN: 978-0-307-37758-6
v3.0
