by Håkan Nesser
Incredible, he thought. Absolutely incredible.
And now the bastard is planning a repeat performance.
After lunch Reinhart and Münster had also acquainted themselves with Horniman’s report, and they assembled in the Chief Inspector’s office to discuss it.
‘One thing is crystal clear,’ said Reinhart as he filled his pipe. ‘I haven’t come across anything more suspicious than this in the whole of my career. If Hennan isn’t guilty I shall kiss the ground the Chief Inspector stands and walks upon. And the inspector as well, come to that.’
Münster recalled the promise Van Veeteren had made about clipping his toenails, but refrained from joining in the competition to do more and more outrageous things.
‘It’s so obvious that you have to be astonished,’ he said instead. ‘How the hell does he dare?’
The Chief Inspector flopped down on his desk chair.
‘That’s the problem,’ he sighed. ‘He seems to be prepared to dare anything at all, and he knows damned well that we have the problem of proving anything.’
Reinhart nodded.
‘In fact you can kill off a large number of women,’ he said, ‘provided you do it in the right way. What’s the name of that English king? Henry the what . . . ?’
‘Eighth,’ said Van Veeteren.
‘The Eighth, yes. But he wasn’t after insurance money, if I remember rightly. He just wanted male heirs. He hadn’t studied genetics.’
‘And he didn’t need to worry too much about laws and regulations and CID officers either,’ said Münster. ‘Things were a bit different in those days.’
‘Are you suggesting that our friend G is worried about the law?’ wondered Van Veeteren sarcastically. ‘That’s a new one on me.’
‘Not worried about,’ said Münster. ‘But aware of.’
Reinhart lit his pipe.
‘In any case, we don’t need to draw up a list of possible suspects,’ he said. ‘Every cloud has its silver lining. Anyway, what do we do next? Arrest the bastard? That’s the least one could ask for.’
The Chief Inspector dug down into his breast pocket for a toothpick and looked grim.
‘I’m not so sure about that,’ he said. ‘G knows of course that he’ll be arrested sooner or later. He’s prepared for the whole rigmarole – he’s been through it all before, dammit, in the land of milk and honey. As a sort of rehearsal. We’ll have to get in touch with this Horniman character – maybe there’s something else that we can get our teeth into . . .’
‘Some hope,’ said Reinhart. ‘But of course, I can phone him if you like.’
‘Please do,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘The paradox is of course that this report doesn’t change our views all that much. We’re just that bit more certain what kind of a person G is, and ninety-nine jurymen out of a hundred would be convinced of his guilt. But that doesn’t help us. What matters in a court of law is proof, not belief, as you gentlemen may be aware: so that’s what we have to produce. Proof.’
‘Beyond reasonable doubt,’ muttered Reinhart, blowing out a cloud of smoke. ‘This case feels almost classical in a way – or do I mean clinical?’
‘I couldn’t care less what you mean,’ said the Chief Inspector. ‘But what we need to do in any case is to prove how he goes about throwing his wife down into that swimming pool. And as far as I can see there is one possibility that is more likely than any of the others. Don’t you think?’
‘An accomplice,’ said Münster.
‘Exactly. We must find the bastard who did this on his behalf – or else we must destroy his restaurant alibi. This Verlangen seems very dodgy, to say the least . . .’
‘Maybe we could get him to shut up?’ suggested Reinhart.
‘That would probably not be impossible,’ said Van Veeteren with a nod. ‘But maybe a bit unethical. He’s important for the alibi after all . . . But you have to agree that it’s remarkable that the victim created an alibi for the murderer in this way . . .’
‘And that to crown it all, it’s very much in Verlangen’s interest for us to nail Hennan,’ said Münster. ‘Yes, I have to agree that it’s remarkable.’
‘The gods are playing games with us,’ said Van Veeteren, tossing a used toothpick out of the window. ‘But I think it will be difficult for us to maintain that Hennan left Columbine’s for a whole hour – with or without Verlangen. Remember that we have to prove that he did so, not simply show that he had the opportunity. And besides, our private dick wasn’t the only one who noticed his presence.’
No one spoke for a while.
‘There are not many unknowns in this equation,’ said Reinhart eventually, looking thoughtful. ‘We have more or less all the cards in our hand, and yet—’
‘Like hell we have,’ interrupted the Chief Inspector in irritation. ‘We have only one card in our hand; a very large and very scornful joker by the name of Jaan G. Hennan, who enjoys taking the mickey out of us.’
‘All right,’ agreed Reinhart. ‘That’s the way it looks. When are you thinking of interrogating him?’
The Chief Inspector pulled a face.
‘Soon.’
‘I hope so,’ said Reinhart. ‘Don’t underestimate your interrogation skills. He might break down and confess.’
‘Do you really think so?’ said Van Veeteren.
‘No. But shouldn’t we perhaps keep an eye on him anyway? If we’re not going to bring him in immediately.’
Van Veeteren stood up to signal that perhaps they had been discussing the situation for long enough now.
‘Already done,’ he said. ‘I’ve had him followed since yesterday morning.’
‘Really?’ said Münster. ‘Who’s the shadow?’
‘Constable Kowalski.’
‘Kowalski!’ exclaimed Reinhart. ‘Why the hell Kowalski? He’s about as subtle as . . . as a randy Labrador after a bitch on heat.’
‘Exactly. That’s why,’ said Van Veeteren.
Reinhart thought for a moment.
‘I get it,’ he said.
Meusse the pathologist stroked his hand over the top of his head and adjusted his spectacles.
‘Have you finished?’ asked Van Veeteren.
‘As close to finished as you could hope.’
‘And?’
‘Hmm. There was one thing above all else that you wanted to know, if I understood you rightly?’
‘That’s correct,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘Let’s hear it.’
‘It’s not possible to be sure,’ explained Meusse. ‘But then again, it’s not possible to exclude anything either. The injuries are bound to be pretty extensive after a dive like that.’
‘So it’s possible that she might have been knocked unconscious first?’
‘I don’t regard that as out of the question, as I said. But that’s all I can say. In any case, she landed head-first.’
‘Would it be complicated to push her over and get that result?’
‘Not at all. Especially not if she was unconscious to start with.’
‘I understand,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘Anything else?’
‘What do you want to know? Degree of intoxication? Stomach contents?’
‘I know that already.’
‘Perhaps there’s one thing,’ said Meusse, flicking through the file lying on the table in front of him. ‘She had given birth.’
‘Given birth?’ said Van Veeteren.
‘Yes,’ said Meusse. ‘Only one child, presumably. I thought that might be worth mentioning.’
‘Really?’ said Van Veeteren. ‘It could be. Was that all?’
Meusse shrugged.
‘Of course not. You have the full report in this file. Here you are, no need to say thank you.’
I ought to have offered him a beer, realized the Chief Inspector after he had left the office.
A child? he thought when he had returned to his room. Did it say anything about any children in Horniman’s report?
He read it for the third time, and established that
there was no such mention.
The G File.
Shouldn’t there have been something about that? he wondered, but he had no time to reach a conclusion on that point. He realized that it was gone four o’clock, and high time he was in the conference room for the run-through.
The run-through after two days of intensive work on the Hennan case.
He didn’t really like that description, but was well aware that this was how he would always refer to it. Both while it was under investigation, and in the future.
The G File.
16
‘If we are going to stick to the normal procedure,’ began Van Veeteren, ‘we should start with the technical evidence. But we don’t have any yet. I’ve just spoken to le Houde, and there will be a report on Monday or Tuesday. They have been going through Villa Zefyr with a fine-tooth comb for a day and a half, but as they don’t know what they are looking for I find it hard to believe that we shall achieve a breakthrough on that front.’
‘A bloody fingerprint on the diving tower would be quite useful, don’t you think?’ suggested Rooth. ‘Left by somebody who’s in our files.’
‘Le Houde would have mentioned it if there’d been anything like that,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘Who’d like to start? Heinemann?’
Intendent Heinemann changed his glasses and consulted his notes, which thanks to the habit of a lifetime were written in flimsy violet-blue exercise books. Reinhart had a theory that he had been presented with a gross of them as a prize for good work and excellent progress at some point in his schooldays, and there was nothing to suggest that the theory was wide of the mark.
‘Yes, hmm, well . . .’ began Heinemann. ‘Shall we start with that visit to Aarlach, perhaps?’
‘Why not,’ said the Chief Inspector.
‘Hmm. Well, it’s crystal clear that fru Hennan left her home in Linden by car at about eight o’clock on Thursday morning. The woman next door can swear to that. She filled up with petrol at Exxon on the slip-road to the motorway – they remember her: she bought a mug of coffee and a sandwich with cheese and—’
‘Carry on,’ said the Chief Inspector.
‘Of course. It’s also been established that she was at the ceramics shop Hendermaag’s in Keyserstraat in Aarlach between about twelve noon and a quarter to one. She examined quite a lot of china, and eventually ordered two sets of crockery – they didn’t have them in stock – from a series by the name of Osobowsky, royal mint-green – six soup bowls and six ordinary plates. She paid a deposit of a hundred guilders, with the remainder to be paid on delivery – yes, well, she will never be able to . . .’
‘And then?’ wondered Reinhart.
‘Then she left the shop.’
‘And?’ asked Reinhart.
‘I don’t know where she went after that.’
‘How long does it take to drive up to Aarlach?’ asked Münster. ‘Three hours?’
‘At most,’ said Reinhart. ‘She could have been back home by four. What does this tell us?’
‘We haven’t managed to establish when she actually arrived back home, have we?’ asked Münster. ‘She might have done other things as well.’
‘Of course,’ said the Chief Inspector. ‘Bought a few bottles of sherry, for instance. Anything else, Heinemann?’
‘She didn’t call in at Exxon on the way home as well, did she?’ wondered Rooth.
‘I’m afraid not,’ said Heinemann.
‘Anything else?’ repeated the Chief Inspector.
‘Yes,’ mumbled Heinemann, thumbing through his notebook. ‘I’ve looked into that company of his, as we said. Hennan’s company, that is . . . G Enterprises – he’s used the same name as he used in the USA, apparently there’s nothing to prevent that. However, it doesn’t seem to have been doing very much . . . It was registered at the beginning of May and he rented some small premises in Landemaarstraat in Linden, but that’s all.’
‘What?’ said Rooth.
‘What are you saying?’ wondered Reinhart. ‘A company that doesn’t actually do anything?’
‘That’s not forbidden,’ said Heinemann. ‘Obviously it’s usual for a company to carry out some kind of business, but this one doesn’t seem to have done so.’
‘Don’t you have to indicate what kind of business you are going to do?’ asked Münster. ‘For the tax authorities, at least?’
‘Yes, Hennan specified “trading” on his registration form. But that doesn’t tell you very much. I’ll look further into this, of course.’
‘Of course you will,’ said the Chief Inspector with a deep sigh. ‘Is that all so far?’
Heinemann took off his glasses and began polishing them with his tie.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘So far.’
‘Brilliant,’ said Reinhart.
‘Yes indeed,’ muttered the Chief Inspector. ‘Anyway, let’s continue. Rooth and Jung, perhaps?’
Rooth reported in a somewhat subdued tone on the visit to Elizabeth Hennan, and concluded, to sum up, that if the world had ever seen a prize prat more repulsive than any other, who deserved to waste away under lock and key, his name was Jaan G. Hennan.
‘If you start by raping your little sister for five long years, you have no doubt set the tone for the rest of your career,’ said Reinhart with disgust in his voice. ‘By Christ, if we can’t nail this monster I’ll be very tempted to go and finish him off with my bare hands.’
‘Steady on,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘I have even better grounds for catching him than those, but we had better stick to the rulebook in this case as in every other.’
Reinhart looked up at the Chief Inspector in surprise.
‘You’ve lost me now,’ he said. ‘What reasons could you possibly have that are better than mine?’
‘We can talk about that some other time,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘In any case, it would be good if we could catch him with the means at our disposal and nothing else. Are we agreed on that?’
‘All right,’ said Reinhart. ‘It was metaphorically speaking.’
‘Carry on, Rooth. The sister is his only relative, I assume?’
‘Correct,’ said Rooth. ‘His father died in a mental hospital fifteen years ago. And his mother died even earlier, as we know. Anyway, then we worked through the list of names of those who knew him when he was arrested the first time, in 1975. We’ve tracked down a few of them, but none had the slightest idea that Hennan had come back . . . Or so they claim. Well, we’ve interviewed only a couple of them so far, but neither Jung nor I had any reason to doubt what they told us, it seems—’
‘Hold on,’ said Reinhart, interrupting him. ‘It’s in this category that he could well have found an accomplice. An old friend from his drug-taking days. We must be very thorough here – I hope that’s clear to you?’
‘Of course it’s clear,’ said Rooth crossly. ‘Our two boys are called Siegler and deWylde. Siegler’s in jail in Kaarhuijs for bank robbery, and he wasn’t out on parole last Thursday. DeWylde was up in Karpatz – we’ve checked that as well.’
‘Good,’ said Reinhart.
‘How many names do you have on the list?’ wondered Münster.
‘Six or seven so far,’ said Jung. ‘Plus those two. But no doubt we’ll have more to add as time goes by.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ said the Chief Inspector. ‘But I assume you’ve also noted that the Hennans don’t seem to have had much of a social life.’
‘We have indeed,’ said Rooth. ‘We haven’t yet found a single berk who admits to having said as much as “Good morning” to Monsieur Hennan. Not during the last fifteen years, in any case.’
‘We mustn’t forget the neighbours,’ said Heinemann quietly. ‘The Trottas. Didn’t they have dinner at each other’s place? They must surely have had something to talk about . . . Maybe that could give us a lead?’
‘Quite right,’ said the Chief Inspector. ‘We’ll be in touch with them again.’
‘I’ve already broken the ice there,’ said Münster. ‘But
I only spoke to the wife. What about his office? There must be people around there, surely?’
Jung cleared his throat.
‘He rented it after replying to an advertisement. The property is owned by the man who runs the undertaking business on the floor below. His name is Mordenbeck, and he’s not exactly a cheerful type. Apparently he and Hennan have exchanged about twenty words since the latter moved in.’
‘What about the house?’ asked Reinhart. ‘In Kammerweg . . . How did they get that?’
‘Through an estate agent,’ said Münster, who had looked into the matter. ‘The Tielebergs, the family that owns the place, live in Almeria in Spain, and didn’t even need to come up here to sign the papers. The Hennans have only signed a contract for six months, by the way . . . The whole situation gives the impression of being stage scenery, as it were.’
‘Stage scenery, yes,’ said the Chief Inspector glumly. ‘Roughly made backdrops so that he could strike and earn one point two million. I need hardly mention that both their cars were rented – both the Saab and the Mazda.’
‘Holy shit,’ said Reinhart. ‘I can’t believe this is true.’
‘But it is true,’ insisted the Chief Inspector, looking distinctly ill-humoured. ‘Absolutely bloody true. And Barbara Hennan has been murdered. And we are the CID officers investigating the case. Would you like to hear some more facts?’
‘Yes, please,’ Rooth was so bold as to request. ‘That would certainly liven things up.’
Van Veeteren glared at him and stubbed out his cigarette, which was beginning to burn the tips of his fingers.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Münster, let’s hear about Columbine’s.’
Münster stretched.
‘By all means,’ he said. ‘It will be a pleasure. It’s not yet one hundred per cent certain, but I’m afraid it looks as if the staff there can give Hennan an alibi for the critical moments. Barbara Hennan died at some time between half past nine and half past ten, and one of the waiters at the restaurant is certain that Hennan paid his bill at a quarter to ten – plus or minus five minutes. The barman is just as certain that he served him a whisky shortly before half past ten. That was when he stopped working. So there’s a gap of forty-five minutes at most – but there are others who can probably fill it. Our friend Verlangen, for instance.’
