The Inspector and Silence Page 24

  Silence again.

  ‘What about the third woman?’ Tolltse asked. ‘Madeleine Zander. Maybe we shouldn’t forget that there are three of them. It seems a bit presumptuous to lump them together all the time. Of course they give the impression of sticking together, but there’s nothing to say that there aren’t cracks behind the united front. Loads of cracks, perhaps.’

  ‘And deep ones,’ said Servinus. ‘Personally I think it goes against nature to believe that three women can stick together like this. And keep silent as well.’

  ‘Sauna philosophy,’ said Lauremaa.

  ‘Men’s sauna,’ added Tolltse.

  ‘Except when they’re trying to trample all over a man, of course,’ said Servinus.

  Kluuge began to look worried.

  ‘Anyway,’ he said, trying to change the subject, ‘I think I’m inclined to agree with Reinhart in this case. It does make sense. The question is simply: where does it get us – the women not knowing anything about where he is? What do you think?’

  Nobody thought anything, for at that moment the door opened and Miss Miller came in.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt,’ she said. ‘There’s a telephone call for the chief of police.’

  ‘Not now,’ Kluuge began. ‘I said that—’

  ‘I think this is important,’ said Miss Miller.

  ‘All right,’ Kluuge sighed. ‘I’ll take it in your office then.’

  He apologized and left the room.

  ‘Well,’ said Suijderbeck when Kluuge returned. ‘Was that the murderer calling to give himself up?’

  ‘Not quite,’ said Kluuge.

  ‘Why are you so white in the face?’ Servinus asked. ‘Are you not feeling well?’

  ‘Green,’ said Suijderbeck. ‘I’d say it was more of a green shade.’

  Kluuge sat down.

  ‘That was Mrs Kuijpers out at Waldingen,’ he explained. ‘She says they’ve discovered another body. Or rather, her dog has.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ said Tolltse.

  ‘Another one?’ said Reinhart. ‘What the hell . . . ?’

  ‘Those fucking lap dogs?’ said Suijderbeck.

  ‘That’s not all,’ said Kluuge. ‘She seemed pretty sure whose body it was as well.’

  ‘Who?’ said Lauremaa.

  ‘Oscar Yellinek,’ said Kluuge with a sigh. ‘I assume the name is familiar to you.’

  SIX

  31 JULY TO 1 AUGUST

  34

  The fourth person to lose his life as a result of the Pure Life camp in the Sorbinowo forests this summer was a certain Gerald deGrooit.

  DeGrooit was fifty-seven years old and for more than twenty years had been news editor on the Telegraaf – the last three years as editor-in-chief. He had a wife and two children, and the reputation of being a good husband and father, experienced and competent at his job, albeit a bit irascible when things grew too stressful in the office. The heart attack that put an end to his journalistic career and his life was no real surprise to his close circle of workmates. Being responsible for coverage, despite being short-staffed on account of people being on holiday, of two explosive events like the burning down of the church in Stamberg and the discovery of the murdered priest in Sorbinowo – on the very same day, dammit! – well, it was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

  The Telegraaf was probably the only newspaper in the country that didn’t have a reporter present at Waldingen that scorching-hot Wednesday.

  Inspector Reinhart claimed that he had never seen so many bloody hacks gathered together in one place before. While the crime scene team was still crawling around in the taped-off area in the lunchtime heat, searching for clues, he estimated the comparative strength between the forces of law and order on the one hand, and the fourth estate on the other, to be about 25 to 75.

  In percentage terms, that is. In actual numbers it was around double those figures. Twenty officers from the uniformed police in Oostwerdingen, Rembork and Haaldam had been hastily called in; the less than successful investigative patrol was on duty again, and together with the senior officers, doctors and technicians, they made a pretty good fist of justifying claims made by all the extra television and radio broadcasts that the police had turned out in full force. If it really had been a hallmark of the Pure Life (ever since the court proceedings against the sect) to keep a low profile, such aspirations were shattered on an almost parodic scale. In one news bulletin after another throughout the afternoon and evening, reporters trumpeted the latest developments in Waldingen, Sorbinowo and Stamberg. Half a dozen psychologists and behavioural scientists of various schools of thought pronounced sagely on this and that – as did also a handful of criminologists, a bunch of sect members (not necessarily linked with the Pure Life), two bearded religious scientists, an ex-pyromaniac and a bishop on holiday.

  It wasn’t much worse at Waldingen itself. At a comfortable walking distance from the place where the body had been discovered (some five hundred metres west of discovery point number one and about six hundred metres from the so-called bathing rock), various temporary installations were set up for the convenience of all concerned: two practical portable toilets (one for each sex), a stall selling beer and soft drinks, a sandwich bar and two hot dog vans. Sorbinowo had flexible and well-practised routines for dealing with sudden influxes of tourists.

  An initial press conference (later re-broadcast in a hundred and eleven other media outlets, somebody worked out) was held between two o’clock and half past on the terrace of the manor house at Waldingen, and was anything but a success. On several occasions such unvarnished criticisms were made of the investigation team that Inspector Suijderbeck felt obliged to give a thorough dressing-down to a radio reporter of overblown proportions, both mentally and physically – in such terms that he was later reprimanded by no less a person than the Minister of Justice himself.

  Oh yes, it was one hell of a Wednesday.

  At about six in the evening the hard-pressed investigation team decided to leave Waldingen in the hands of the sentries provided by the Oostwerdingen force, plus any reporters still hanging around, and every other Tom, Dick and Harry with no home to go to. Any clues they had found were fully documented. Any leads had been followed up, interviews had taken place with families living nearby (Finghers and Kuijpers) – the first round, at least – and the earthly remains of pastor Yellinek had been placed in a body bag and transported to Sorbinowo as a part of the caravan which they themselves also joined. On Reinhart’s advice, Kluuge had announced a rest period of two hours before convening once more for continued and intensified discussions – a decision that was received with restrained acclaim.

  Reinhart retired to his hotel room during the truce. Jung dined with Suijderbeck and Servinus at Florian’s, while Tolltse and Lauremaa were rumoured to have collected a packed meal and gone swimming in the lake.

  As for the acting chief of police, he drove back home to his Deborah, declared that he loved her, and that he intended to start studying in order to transfer to an entirely different profession as soon as he had the time. Firefighter, monk, any damned thing but a police officer.

  When Reinhart spoke to the receptionist at Glossman’s hotel in Stamberg for the third time – and was given the same negative report with regard to Mr Van Veeteren (a travelling salesman specializing in woodwind instruments and libretti) – he gave up and called Winnifred Lynch instead. They spoke for twenty minutes about love, obstetrics, attractive names for children, and whether or not it was advisable to drink red wine during pregnancy. When he replaced the receiver, he experienced two seconds of utter oblivion, during which he had no idea where he was.

  Or why.

  But then he remembered.

  ‘Okay now I’m going to sum up where we’ve got to,’ said Suijderbeck ‘Sorry but I don’t have the strength to listen to anybody else. And don’t try to correct me if I say anything wrong.’

  ‘We’re all as deaf as a post,’ said Reinhart, but Suijderbeck took no notice.
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  ‘Oscar Augustinus Yellinek has been lying dead out at Waldingen for about ten days. There is nothing to suggest that he didn’t die that same Sunday evening when all the other things happened – 21 July, in other words. Why he should have first run away and hidden himself, and then come back to get murdered – well, I don’t understand why he should do that. Mind you, I have to admit that there are a lot of things in this messy business that I don’t understand.’

  ‘You’re in good company there,’ said Lauremaa.

  ‘Unlike the dead girls,’ Suijderbeck continued, ‘Pastor Yellinek displays no signs of having been raped, to borrow Servinus’s elegantly worded statement on the television.’

  ‘Kiss my arse,’ said Servinus.

  ‘Another difference from the girls is that he was killed by blows to the head. What does the latest missive from the post-mortem say?’

  Kluuge fished it out.

  ‘“Several violent blows with a sharp instrument”,’ he quoted. ‘It still hasn’t been established what that can have been. Something pretty heavy with sharp edges. Or a sharp edge, perhaps.’

  ‘How many blows?’ asked Jung.

  ‘More than necessary,’ said Reinhart. ‘Ten or eleven. Presumably the killer carried on hitting him for a while after Yellinek was already dead. He might have finished him off with the first blow, but wanted to make sure.’

  ‘Not a very professional job, in other words,’ said Suijderbeck. ‘It seems he panicked. Anyway, if we believe what the experts tell us, there were several blows to the chest and shoulders as well. He was evidently a bit desperate.’

  ‘And no resistance,’ said Jung.

  ‘Apparently not,’ said Servinus. ‘But it’ll be another three days before the analysis is finished.’

  ‘What are they looking for?’ asked Kluuge. ‘Fragments under the fingernails and so on?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Reinhart. ‘And strands of hair and dandruff and fingerprints.’

  ‘After ten days?’ wondered Tolltse. ‘Is there any point?’

  ‘It’s almost impossible to get rid of dandruff,’ said Jung, scratching his head.

  ‘And we had that pouring rain of course,’ said Kluuge. ‘Whenever that was . . .’

  ‘Now I’ll take over again,’ said Suijderbeck ‘He probably wasn’t killed at the spot where he was found either, our pastor friend. But this time the murderer was probably trying to hide the body. It was a bloody good piece of luck that the pooches found him. A big pile of twigs and pine needles, we saw that with our own eyes. But it ought to have been possible to hide him more efficiently.’

  ‘If there was time,’ Servinus pointed out.

  ‘Time, yes,’ said Suijderbeck, looking thoughtful.

  ‘Wasn’t Miss Miller supposed to fix coffee and sandwiches?’ wondered Reinhart, fiddling restlessly with his pipe and tobacco pouch.

  ‘She’ll be serving them up at ten o’clock,’ Kluuge promised. Half an hour to go. ‘Anyway anything else? What do you think?’

  Suijderbeck seemed to have got tired of summing up. Instead he stood up and began wandering around the room.

  ‘My artificial leg is itching,’ he explained. ‘This always happens when my brain stops working.’

  ‘What about the Kuijpers?’ said Servinus. ‘They seem a pretty odd couple, don’t you think?’

  ‘I’ve seen odder,’ said Tolltse. ‘I don’t think the Finghers seem much better.’

  Nobody spoke for a few seconds.

  ‘You don’t think they are involved somehow, do you?’ asked Lauremaa, frowning.

  Suijderbeck paused.

  ‘Hardly,’ he said. ‘But then, whichever way you look at it, somebody must have done it.’

  ‘Good thinking,’ said Lauremaa.

  ‘Can’t anybody draw any other . . . any sensible conclusions?’ Tolltse wondered, looking round the table. ‘Because if not, I shall.’

  ‘Please do,’ said Reinhart, lighting his pipe.

  ‘It wasn’t Yellinek who murdered the girls,’ said Tolltse.

  ‘Really?’ said Jung. ‘Are you sure of that? He presumably didn’t kill himself, I can grant you that, but as I understand it he could still have murdered the girls.’

  Tolltse thought for a moment.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I take it back. But who killed him, then? Isn’t that what we’re trying to discover?’

  ‘Good question,’ said Servinus. ‘How do you women do it?’

  Reinhart blew a diversionary cloud of smoke over the battlefield.

  ‘I don’t know who killed Yellinek,’ he said. ‘But what I do know is that it’s time to present him to his fancy women at Wolgershuus. The fact that he’s dead, I mean. The sooner, the better. If we don’t have anything more sensible to do, I suggest we attend to that detail right away.’

  Kluuge looked around for signs of any views on that proposal, but when he didn’t detect any, he cleared his throat and made up his mind on the hoof.

  ‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘Let’s do that. Reinhart and Jung can drive out there, that should be enough. It might be best to take them one at a time, or what do you think?’

  ‘What else could we do, for Christ’s sake?’ snorted Reinhart. ‘We’ll wait for a bit before showing them the actual corpse. It should be sufficient to show them a video of the news and a few newspapers – in case they don’t believe us.’

  ‘Do we have any video recordings of new bulletins?’ asked Jung.

  Kluuge shook his head and looked worried.

  ‘It could be arranged, but it would take some time, I assume.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Reinhart. ‘A radio will do – they’re broadcasting news bulletins eight times an hour. We’ll be able to convince them that the Prince of Light is dead.’

  ‘The Prince of Light,’ said Suijderbeck. ‘Fucking hell!’

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ said Servinus. ‘Can we be sure that they don’t know about it already?’

  ‘They’re isolated,’ said Kluuge. ‘I phoned Schenck and gave him strict orders before we set off this morning.’

  ‘Good,’ said Reinhart.

  ‘Who’s Schenck?’ said Servinus.

  ‘He relieves Matthorst now and then. It’s necessary – Matthorst says he’s beginning to feel peculiar.’

  ‘I can well believe it,’ said Tolltse. ‘He’s been hanging around up there for as long as the women.’

  ‘There are some people who’ve been in there for fifteen years,’ Suijderbeck pointed out.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Lauremaa, ‘I reckon that if those three ladies know anything about Yellinek’s death, it means that they’ve known all along. Right?’

  ‘Correct,’ said Reinhart. ‘That would put the cat among the pigeons. Come on, Jung, let’s get going.’

  ‘Leave a few sandwiches for us,’ said Jung, getting to his feet.

  ‘Has anybody heard anything from the chief inspector?’ wondered Lauremaa when Reinhart and Jung had left.

  ‘Not a dicky bird,’ said Suijderbeck. ‘I have to say he made a good impression on me, but now he seems to be like any old deserter. What the hell’s he up to?’

  ‘Hmm, I don’t know,’ sighed Kluuge. ‘Let’s try to make some headway even so. It would be good if we could make a bit of a better impression at tomorrow’s press conference.’

  ‘I’m going to give it a miss,’ said Suijderbeck.

  ‘I’d thought of suggesting that you should,’ said Lauremaa, and smiled for the first time all day.

  35

  Van Veeteren met Marie-Louise Schwartz in a terraced house in the southernmost suburb of Stamberg. The visit lasted for an hour, and fifty of those sixty minutes were spent slumped in a cretonne armchair, observing his weeping hostess in the cretonne armchair opposite.

  She occasionally managed to pull herself together to some extent, but as soon as he asked her a question, she started crying again. Eventually he tired of even making an effort; simply sat there and let her despair speak for itself.
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  Perhaps there was a sort of point in doing that, he thought; and when he stood up to leave she grasped hold of both his hands and looked at him with tear-stained eyes. As if he had really achieved something – exhibited great warmth and fellow-feeling, or whatever it was she had been looking for. Maybe she hadn’t even realized that he was a police officer. In any case she succeeded in explaining that she was very grateful for his visit, and she would now go upstairs to the bedroom and look after her husband, who was finding it difficult to handle his sorrow.

  Oh my God, Van Veeteren thought.

  He took his leave, got into his car and drove around aimlessly for half an hour, accompanied by Pergolesi and Handel. When he parked again behind Glossman’s in order to collect his case, he happened to switch on the car radio and heard that Oscar Yellinek had been found murdered in Waldingen.

  For a brief moment he didn’t know if he was dreaming or awake.

  Then he realized that it didn’t matter which.

  His next meeting was fixed for seven o’clock that evening (appointments had to be attended, children needed to be collected, a piano tuner needed to be told what to do), and so he spent the whole of the afternoon sitting in various cafes, leafing through Klimke, and listening to radio and television broadcasts. Eventually the first of the evening newspapers turned up, and as usual they didn’t improve matters.

  He called the police station in Sorbinowo several times, but all Miss Miller could tell him was that the others were out in the forest, and he didn’t leave a message.

  After all, he had nothing to tell them.

  Apart from a suspicion that had not yet been confirmed.

  And which didn’t fit in specially well with the latest development. The murder of Oscar Yellinek. Or did it?

  Might as well leave them in peace to get on with their work, he thought.

  Might as well keep out of the way and let others take over. Wasn’t that what he’d already decided he was going to do?