Borkmann's point

18

“If Mooser would shut the door, we can start,” said Bausen.

Kropke switched on the overhead projector.

“I think it would be simplest if we were to try to map out the series of events, insofar as we know it, to sum up the situa tion and flesh out the bare bones for Inspector Munster.”

“Thank you,” said Munster.

“The murder victim,” said Bausen, “is one Maurice Ruhme, aged thirty-one, a doctor up at the hospital specializing in ortho pedics and back injuries. He’s been working there since March.

I’d like to point out for the benefit of our guests”-he eyed Van Veeteren and Munster in turn-“that the name Ruhme is not exactly unknown here in Kaalbringen. Isn’t that right, Kropke?”

“Jean-Claude Ruhme is a consultant at the hospital,” said Kropke. “He also conducts a private practice at his house up the hill. I think he does various things for the National Health Board as well.”

“Maurice is one of two sons,” said Bausen. “The other one is in the Seldon Hospice in Kirkenau… mentally deficient since a childhood accident. Incurable.”

“What kind of accident?” asked Munster, and Van Veeteren made a note on his pad.

“Fell headfirst from the pulpit in St. Pieter’s,” explained Beate Moerk. “Fifteen feet straight down onto the stone paving.

Even I know that… it’s part of the local folklore, you could say.”

“Hmm,” said Bausen. “Anyway, Maurice Ruhme was found dead in his apartment at 26 Leisner Alle by Beatrice Linckx, his live-in girlfriend-thirty years old, psychologist, works down the road in Kirkenau.”

“Really,” said Van Veeteren.

Bausen paused, but there was no further comment.

“She found him shortly after eleven at night last Thursday, the day before yesterday, in other words, when she got home from a three-day seminar in Kiel. She appears to have had a very nasty shock-

went out and sat in her car for two hours before reporting it to us. Bang was on duty, and received the call at 0111.”

“That’s correct,” said Bang.

“Van Veeteren and I got there just after twenty past,” said

Bausen, “and it was obvious to us that our friend the Axman had struck again. Perhaps Detective Chief Inspector Van

Veeteren might like to take it up from there?”

“All right,” said Van Veeteren, taking the toothpick from his mouth. “The most interesting thing is the weapon, I assume.

Forensics are still busy with it, but he left it behind this time, which might suggest that he’s finished now and doesn’t intend to chop anybody else’s head off. That’s only a hypothesis, of course. In any case, it’s a damn effective weapon-lightweight and easy to handle, and incredibly sharp.”

“A child could kill with that thing,” said Bausen.

“Ruhme had been lying in the hall for quite some time when we arrived,” said Van Veeteren. “Is that a box of Danish pastries I can see behind Constable Bang?”

“Mooser, would you go downstairs and order some coffee,” said Bausen, and Mooser departed without more ado. Bang opened the carton and sniffed noisily at the contents.

“Today’s,” he said.

“Anyway,” Van Veeteren continued, “even if Meuritz hasn’t delivered his last word yet, we can safely assume that Ruhme had been lying there dead for at least twenty-four hours by the time we got to the scene.”

“Late on Wednesday evening,” said Bausen. “I think we can take it that was when he struck. We have that witness as well-”

“Mr. Moen,” said Beate Moerk. “I must say he seemed remarkably clearheaded, given the circumstances.”

“Can we take the forensic details first?” said Bausen.

“Kropke, I assume you’ve talked to the lab?”

Mooser returned with a tray and started distributing mugs of coffee.

“Yes,” said Kropke. “They’re not finished yet-with the weapon, that is. All the marks on the floor, in the blood, were almost certainly made by Miss Linckx. Footprints, the marks made by her suitcases-they haven’t found anything that didn’t come either from him or from her. As for the weapon, it appears to be a special tool used by butchers and is several years old, it seems. No manufacturer’s stamp or anything like that-he probably filed that away-but with a bit of luck we should be able to trace where it came from… in a few days, they thought.”

“Why the hell did he leave it behind?” asked Bausen. “Can somebody tell me that?”

“Hubris,” said Beate Moerk. “Wanted to prove he was clev erer than we are, that we’ll never catch him.”

“Presumably correct,” said Van Veeteren, but Munster wasn’t clear which of Inspector Moerk’s assumptions he was referring to.

“Let’s have a few more facts before we start speculating,” said Bausen. “How did it happen, Detective Chief Inspector?”

“The blow came from above, in all probability,” said Van

Veeteren. “Went in more or less in the same place as in the earlier cases… with the same result. He evidently died instan taneously.”

“From above?” said Kropke. “Doesn’t that sound a bit unlikely? There were no signs of a struggle, were there? Or of resistance, as I understand it?”

Bausen exchanged a look with Van Veeteren, then cleared his throat and leaned forward over the table.

“We think,” he said, “the chief inspector and I, that you could do it more or less like this, and you can make up your own minds: One, the murderer rings the doorbell. Two, Ruhme goes to open it. Three, he recognizes the murderer and invites him in. Four, the murderer crosses the threshold and drops something on the floor-”

“A scrap of paper, a coin, could be anything,” said Van Veeteren by way of explanation.

“-five, Ruhme bends down to pick it up, and six, the mur derer strikes!”

Silence all around the table. The only sound to be heard was Constable Bang chewing away on a piece of Danish pastry.

Inspector Kropke loosened his tie and looked doubtful.

“Good,” said Beate Moerk eventually. “I think you’re right-but not a coin. It could have rolled anywhere.”

“Correct,” said Van Veeteren. “Not a coin. In any case, he had time to pick up whatever it was before making his escape.”

“He planted the ax in Ruhme’s back as well,” said Bausen.

“He doesn’t seem to have been in much of a hurry.”

“Didn’t he get any blood on himself?” asked Mooser.

“That’s possible, but not enough for him to have left any traces if he did,” said Bausen. “There are no signs of blood on the stairs or anywhere else.”

“Hmm,” said Van Veeteren. “A pretty professional job all around, it seems; but I don’t think we should put too much faith in the assumption that Ruhme recognized him. There are masses of possible alternatives-”

“He could have forced him down onto his knees with a gun, for instance,” said Beate Moerk.

“For instance,” said Van Veeteren.

“The witness,” said Bausen. “Let’s examine Mr. Moen’s evi dence a little more closely. It’s crucial that we don’t mess things up here.”

“Absolutely,” said Van Veeteren.

“We’ve spoken to him, both Inspector Moerk and I,” said

Bausen, “with somewhat different outcomes, I suppose you could say. Anyway, his name is Alexander Moen, and he lives in the apartment above Ruhme and Linckx. He claims he noticed somebody coming in the front door of the apartment block shortly before eleven on Wednesday evening, and then saw the same person hurrying out again some fifteen minutes later.

For the whole of that time, Moen was sitting at the table in his kitchen, looking out over Leisner Park and the avenue waiting for and then listening to the eleven o’clock news on the radio.”

“There’s no reason to doubt that,” said Beate Moerk. “It’s part of his evening ritual to sit there listening. He’s been doing it for the last thirty years, it seems.”

“There wasn’t an eleven o’clock news until 1972,” main tained Kropke.

“Really?” said Van Veeteren. “Anyway, I don’t think it mat ters much. Can we get his description of this man? That’s the interesting bit, of course. Bausen first.”

“OK, I talked to him that same night,” said Bausen. “He awoke for the same reason as all the other tenants, hmm-” He glanced at Bang, who was still busy with the Danish pastries.

“-and evidently couldn’t get back to sleep. Stood there on the stairs in his slippers and dressing gown at three-thirty in the morning, and was keen to give evidence.”

“He’s ninety-four years old,” said Beate Moerk, to put Mun ster in the picture.

“Anyway,” said Bausen, “he claimed that he’d seen a man enter the building from the direction of the park-”

“Door lock?” asked Munster.

“Hasn’t been working for several days,” said Kropke.

“-and go in through the front door. He was wearing some kind of tracksuit, dark with lighter markings. Tall and thin and carrying a parcel, or a bundle-well, he eventually decided that it was a bundle. He didn’t see anything of the man’s face because it was in the shadows all the time, but he thinks he had a beard-and quite long hair. Anyway, a quarter of an hour passed, or thereabouts, and then the man came out again and hurried into the park. That was more or less all, but it took more than half an hour to extract it.”

“The bundle?” asked Kropke. “Was he still carrying the bundle when he came out again?”

“Moen doesn’t remember that. He was uncertain about practically every detail, and to start with, he wasn’t even sure of the day; but when we were able to link it up with what had been said on the news, we eventually concluded that it must have been that Wednesday night. The question is: Was it the murderer he saw? I have to say that I’m very doubtful.”

“Even if it was the Axman,” said Van Veeteren, “what he had to say might not be all that helpful. Inspector Moerk?”

“Well,” said Beate Moerk, sucking at her pencil. “I don’t know. I spoke to him this morning. I had the impression that he was a bit absentminded, but when we came to the point, he seemed to be clearer. Isn’t that the way it usually is? They’re generally more sure of the details than they are of the whole picture, as it were. My father’s in the early stages of dementia, so I have some idea about how it works.”

“OK,” said Kropke. “What did he have to say?”

“The same as he told the chief inspector to start with,” said

Beate Moerk. “Same times, same bundle-it’s just the descrip tion that was different.”

“What did he tell you, then?” asked Mooser.

“That it was quite a short, sturdy person-powerful, rather.

He sticks to the bit about the tracksuit, but he says he didn’t see the man’s hair because he had a hat pulled down over his eyes.”

“Did you remind him about what he’d said earlier?” asked

Kropke.

“Yes, but he couldn’t really remember what he’d said. It was in the middle of the night, and he was tired. I suspect the chief inspector is right: We’re not going to get much useful informa tion out of this gentleman.”

“Which doesn’t prevent us from keeping a weather eye open for joggers, whether or not they’re carrying a bundle,” said Van Veeteren. “It’s as long as it is short. Incidentally,

Meuritz hasn’t yet established the time of death. We shall see if he died during the eleven o’clock news or not. In Simmel’s case, he could pinpoint the time to the exact minute; don’t for get that!”

He broke the toothpick in two and gazed meaningfully at

Bausen’s pack of cigarettes.

“Well, that’s it,” said Bausen. “Any ideas? You can say what ever you like. We’ll go through the strategy after lunch, but right now, anything goes. Well, what do you think?”

Bang belched. Kropke glowered at him, leaving no doubt as to what would happen to him once Bausen was no longer in charge, assuming that Kropke would be the one who took over, that is. Van Veeteren leaned back in his chair until it creaked. Munster sighed.

“At least one thing’s obvious,” said Beate Moerk eventually.

“Regarding the motive, that is. Maurice Ruhme is the Axman’s third victim, and he’s the third one who moved to Kaalbringen this year. Don’t try to tell me this isn’t significant.”