Mind's Eye Page 13

  “I need to be able to find my way back to the hotel,” he said by way of explanation.

  “Why not stay the night with us? We’ve got bags of room.”

  “I don’t doubt that for a second,” said Van Veeteren. “But I’ve already checked in, and I prefer to sleep where my toothbrush is.”

  Berger shrugged.

  “I have to get up rather early tomorrow morning as well,” said Van Veeteren. “Would you have any objection to our coming to the point now, Mr. Berger?”

  “Of course not. Don’t be afraid to ask, Chief Inspector. If I can help in any way to throw light on this terrible tragedy, I’d be only too pleased to do so.”

  No, Van Veeteren thought. I’m not normally accused of being afraid to ask questions. Let’s see if you are afraid of answering them.

  “How did you discover that Eva was being unfaithful?” he asked to start with.

  It was a shot in the dark, but he saw immediately that he had scored a bull’s-eye. Berger reacted so violently that the ice cube he was in the process of dropping into his glass landed on the floor.

  “Oh, bugger,” he said, groping around in the shaggy carpet.

  Van Veeteren waited calmly.

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  It was so amateurish that Van Veeteren couldn’t help smiling.

  “Did you find out yourself, or did she tell you?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Inspector.”

  “Or did somebody else tip you off?”

  Berger hesitated.

  “Who has told you about this, Inspector?”

  “I’m afraid we shall have to stick to the rules, Mr. Berger, even if you have served me a delicious dinner.”

  “What rules?”

  “I ask the questions, you answer them.”

  Berger said nothing. Sipped his drink.

  “You really have been most hospitable,” said Van Veeteren, making a vague gesture that incorporated the food, the wine, the whiskey, the open fire, and all the other things Berger had provided: but your thinking time is now over!

  “All right,” said Berger. “There was another man. Yes, that’s the way it looked.”

  “You’re not certain?”

  “It was never confirmed. Not a hundred percent.”

  “You mean that she didn’t confess?”

  Berger gave a laugh.

  “Confess? No, she certainly didn’t. She denied his existence as if her life depended on it.”

  Perhaps it did, Van Veeteren thought.

  “Can you tell me about it?”

  Berger leaned back and lit a cigarette. Inhaled deeply a few times before answering. It was obvious that he needed a few seconds to plan what he was going to say, before starting to speak. Van Veeteren acceded to his wish.

  “I saw them,” Berger said eventually. “It was the spring of 1986, March or April or thereabouts. I saw them together twice, and I have reason to believe that they carried on meeting occasionally until the middle of May, at least. There was something…Well, I could see it in her, of course. She wasn’t the kind of woman who could keep a secret, you might say. It was sort of written in her face that something was wrong. Anyway, I suppose you understand what I mean, Inspector?”

  Van Veeteren nodded.

  “Can you say exactly when it all started?”

  “Easter. It was the Thursday before Easter in 1986. I don’t know the date. It was one of those cases of sheer coincidence—I’ve thought a lot about that afterward. I saw them in a car, during the lunch break. I had to drive through the center of town in order to meet a researcher in Irgenau, and they were diagonally in front of me, in another car….”

  “You’re sure it was your wife?”

  “One hundred percent.”

  “And the man?”

  “Do you mean what did he look like?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t know. He was driving. Eva was sitting next to him; I could see her in profile when she turned her head to talk to him, but all I could see of him were his shoulders and the back of his neck. They were in the right-hand lane, ready to turn off; I was going straight on. When the lights changed to green, they turned right. I had no chance of following them, even if I’d wanted to. I think…I think I was a bit shocked as well.”

  “Shocked? How could you know that she was being…unfaithful? Wasn’t it possible for your wife to be sitting in somebody else’s car for some perfectly innocent reason?”

  “Of course. That’s what I tried to tell myself as well. But her reaction when I asked her about it was quite…well, it left no room for doubt.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “She was extremely upset. Claimed that she had been at home all day, and I was either mistaken or lying and was trying to destroy our relationship. And lots of other things along similar lines.”

  “And it’s not possible that she might have been right?”

  “No. I started to query what I’d seen, naturally…. But after a few weeks, we were back there again. A colleague of mine saw them together in a café. It was most distressing. He mentioned it in passing, as a sort of joke, but I’m afraid I lost my cool.”

  “What did Eva have to say this time?”

  “The same as before. That was what was so odd. She denied everything, and was just as upset as the previous time, said that my colleague was a liar, claimed she’d never set foot in that café. It was so flagrant, the whole thing; I thought it was beneath her dignity to lie, as you might say. And to lie over and over again. I told her it was much more difficult to cope with the lies than with her infidelity. The odd thing was that she seemed to agree with me.”

  “What happened next?”

  Berger shrugged.

  “Our relationship hit the rocks, of course. She became a stranger, you might say. I couldn’t stop thinking about it and asking myself questions. Asking her as well, but she refused to discuss it. As soon as I tried to start talking about something, she shut up like a clam. It was sheer hell for a few months. And it got worse. I’d never expected anything of the sort. We’d been married for five years, had known each other for ten, and we’d never had any problems like that before. Are you married, Chief Inspector?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Hmm…Ah, well…Before long I suppose I started to think that maybe I’d got hold of the wrong end of the stick after all. It started to feel as if everything was beginning to move in her favor, somehow or other…. As if I was to blame for everything, because it was me who’d accused her. I recall thinking that the whole business was beginning to look like a real folie à deux, if you understand…”

  “Don’t underestimate me.”

  “I’m sorry…”

  “You said you caught her out several more times?”

  “Yes, but never in quite the same way. I caught a glimpse…I overheard a few telephone calls…”

  “Did you hear what they were talking about?”

  “No. But it was pretty clear even so.”

  “I’m with you.”

  “I caught her out telling lies several times as well. She claimed she’d been at home, despite the fact that I’d gone home during the lunch break and found the house empty…. Said she’d been at the cinema with a woman friend of hers. To see a film that had finished its run the week before.”

  “What did she have to say about all these things?”

  “I never confronted her with them. I didn’t know what to do. I suppose I was just waiting for something crucial to happen. The whole situation seemed so unreal, I simply didn’t know what to do.”

  “Did you speak to anybody about it?”

  “No…. No, unfortunately not. I thought it was something that would blow over, that we’d sort it out between ourselves eventually, somehow.”

  Van Veeteren nodded.

  “Is that a Vrejsman?” He pointed at the big watercolor over the fireplace.

  “Yes, you’re right,” said Berger in surprise. “D
on’t tell me you’re an art expert as well as a detective chief inspector?”

  “Of course,” said Van Veeteren. “I’m familiar with Rembrandt and Vrejsman. Vrejsman is my uncle. Are you absolutely certain, Mr. Berger?”

  “Excuse me? I don’t really understand…”

  “Certain that she was unfaithful. Could it possibly have been something else?”

  “Such as?”

  Van Veeteren flung out his arms.

  “Don’t ask me. But what you discovered wasn’t especially compromising. You never found them in bed together, as it were.”

  “I didn’t think that was necessary.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us about this last time? When you spoke to Inspector Münster?”

  Berger hesitated.

  “It…it never cropped up. I suppose I didn’t think it was important. I still don’t, come to that.”

  Van Veeteren didn’t respond. Berger was rather annoyed now. Van Veeteren almost wished he’d been in a position to have him locked up in a police cell overnight and been able to continue questioning him first thing next morning. That would have made his next move easier. But while he was wondering what to do next, Mrs. Berger appeared and informed her husband that he was wanted on the telephone.

  The Devil looks after his own, Van Veeteren thought. Berger went to answer the call, and Van Veeteren was able to spend the next ten minutes staring at the embers and the fading blue flames while thinking over his own infidelities.

  They were two in number; the most recent one was eighteen years ago, and had been just as catastrophic as the first one. His marriage had been catastrophic as well, but at least it had the advantage of not affecting any innocent party.

  Perhaps it wasn’t a bad idea to let the same thing apply to the marriage of Andreas Berger and Eva Ringmar as well? He decided to accept another whiskey and water while waiting for the next round to commence. He would have to make sure it took up rather less time than the last one. The clock on the mantelpiece was showing half past nine, and even if he generally paid no attention to the requirements of common decency and decorum, there were limits.

  He lit a cigarette, and put another four in his breast pocket.

  28

  “Could you please tell me a bit about the accident, Mr. Berger? I promise I shan’t trouble you for much longer.”

  Berger poked around in the glowing embers. Remained sitting for a while with his arms between his knees, staring into the fire, before he started.

  “It was the first of June. A Saturday. We were invited to the Molnars, a colleague of mine: they have a house in the Maarensjöarna lake district. We were going to stay overnight. When it was time to eat, we realized that Willie had disappeared. He was four, had just celebrated his fourth birthday. The Molnars had two children, a few years older. They’d all been playing in the garden. Willie had said he needed to go to the lavatory. We didn’t find him until Sunday morning. Some fishermen pulled his body out of an inlet—he’d floated with the current for nearly three kilometers.”

  He fell silent and lit a cigarette.

  “How far was it from the house to the lake?”

  “Only a hundred meters. We’d been swimming earlier, but Willie knew he wasn’t allowed to go there on his own.”

  “Was there a thorough investigation?”

  “Yes, but there wasn’t much to say. Willie had presumably wandered onto the jetty and fallen in the water. He had all his clothes on, so he hadn’t gone swimming on his own. Chief Inspector, do we really have to go through all this? I told the full story to your colleague…Münster, was that his name?”

  Van Veeteren nodded.

  “What about Eva’s reaction, could you talk about that? I understand that it’s difficult for you, but I’m looking for a murderer, Mr. Berger. Somebody killed Eva, somebody killed Janek Mitter, her new husband. There must be a reason why. I’m afraid it’s necessary to follow up every clue.”

  “I understand. I hope you can understand the trauma caused by the death of a child. We can accept that adults die, even if it happens suddenly and unexpectedly; but when a little boy, only four years old, is snatched away from you…Well, it can seem as if everything—and I really do mean everything—is meaningless. Any reaction at all has to be regarded as normal.”

  “Eva was the one who reacted worst?”

  Berger nodded.

  “Yes.”

  There was a pause. Berger poured himself a small whiskey.

  “Would you like some?”

  Van Veeteren shook his head. Berger dug into the ice cubes with the tongs, but failed to ensnare one. He put the tongs on the table and used his fingers instead. Dropped three or four half-melted ice cubes into his glass and licked his fingers.

  Manners, Van Veeteren thought.

  “Eva, yes…” said Berger. “She lost control of herself completely, it would be fair to say.”

  “How?”

  “How? She became hysterical. She seemed out of her mind. It was impossible to make her see reason, or to get a sensible comment out of her. She wanted to kill herself—we had to keep an eye on her all day and night. And fill her with drugs, of course.”

  “How long did this last?”

  “The whole summer. It was…it was sheer hell, Inspector. I didn’t get a chance to grieve myself; all my strength was needed to keep Eva alive. As I was the stronger, I had to carry the whole burden. But I suppose that’s the way it is…” He laughed. “Nineteen eighty-six is not a year that I would like to live through again, Inspector. Everything happened in 1986; maybe I should have gone to an astrologer and checked the stars. There must have been some terrifying constellations.”

  “Was Eva at home or in the hospital?”

  “Both. At first she was mainly in the hospital. She had to be watched over constantly. I was there as well most of the time. As the weeks went by I took her home more and more, but I didn’t dare leave her on her own. I didn’t start work again until October.”

  “But she got better?”

  “Yes. When the summer was over it was clear to me that she no longer intended to take her own life.”

  “Did you discuss the accident?”

  “Never. I tried, of course; but it was absolutely impossible to talk about that. We never mentioned Willie, and she insisted that we throw away all his things. I managed to hide some away for myself. But it was as if he’d never existed, as if she wanted to obliterate even his memory.”

  “Photographs?”

  “The same. I gave a few pictures to a good friend, who kept them safe for me.”

  “Didn’t you think her reaction was strange?”

  “Yes, of course. I spoke to several psychologists and psychiatrists, and it’s obvious that Eva’s behavior was psychotic. But even so, it was an improvement compared with the summer. She managed to survive some days with hardly any problems at all.”

  “Did she get help?”

  “You mean psychiatric help? All the time.”

  “When did she start drinking?”

  “Around the time I started work again, I think. Possibly a bit earlier. But it was when she was alone at home that it really got out of hand.”

  “Why didn’t she go to work?”

  “We spoke about it. She’d been at home ever since Willie was born. I thought it would make things easier for her if she had something to do during the day. I think she agreed, but we kept putting it off. In any case, she wasn’t exactly in the right condition to stand in front of a class of schoolchildren.”

  “That doesn’t usually seem to be a problem,” said Van Veeteren, and Berger gave a little smile. “And the drinking got worse?”

  “Yes. It went very quickly. Before we knew where we were, she was like a sponge. Every single day she was dead drunk by the time I got home. She was drinking four or five bottles of wine a day; it was awful. In November, about the same time of year as now, in fact, I decided we couldn’t go on like that any longer. I called a good friend of mine in Rejmershu
s, and they took her in right away. I think that was her salvation, they really did manage to help her. She stayed there until May, May 1987. And when she came out, she was in working order again.”

  “When did you divorce?”

  “In April. It was what Eva wanted. She was absolutely adamant. Right from the very start, when she was at her worst, she was quite definite that she wanted a divorce. Ah well, shit and hellfire.”

  His voice suddenly broke, weighed down with bitterness. About time, Van Veeteren thought. He fumbled in his breast pocket for a toothpick, but found a cigarette instead. He lit it, and waited for what Berger was going to say next. But he said nothing.

  “You must have had a hell of a time,” Van Veeteren said eventually. “Your wife is unfaithful, your son dies, your wife goes crazy, you rescue her and bring her back to life. And by way of thanks, she divorces you….”

  Berger laughed dryly.

  “Did you love her?”

  “What do you think?”

  “How long?”

  “November, or thereabouts. All the drunkenness and vomiting and humiliation—it became too much.”

  “I understand.”

  “Maybe I managed to raise some new hope in January or February, when I saw that she was getting better, but there again…”

  “What?”

  “I’d met Leila by then.”

  Van Veeteren nodded. Sat there for a while without speaking, thinking things over, then made to stand up. He asked his last questions on his feet, while Berger remained seated, rotating his whiskey glass and staring into the fire.

  He’s suffering, Van Veeteren thought. The whole business is still very much alive and painful as far as he’s concerned.

  Thank God for that.

  “Do you know a psychiatrist by the name of Eduard Caen?”

  “Yes, he took care of Eva at Rejmershus. Later on as well, I think.”

  “What do you think of him?”

  “Very good, as far as I know. But I’ve only met him very briefly.”