Borkmann's point

19

It had started quite promisingly, in fact, but after ten minutes it was the same old story. The DCI’s 5–1 lead was transformed via 6–6 and 7-10 to the usual and satisfying score of 9-15. In subse quent sets, Munster’s greater mobility and better precision reaped their reward. His short, angled strokes interspersed with long, high lobs were triumphant as always. It was the same old story, and perhaps Van Veeteren was not in peak con dition after the last few days’ cigarettes and wine. In any case, after 6-15, 8-15 and 5-15, he’d had enough; and they handed possession of the court over to two young men who had spent the last few minutes watching them with a degree of scorn.

“The light is poor in this hall,” muttered Van Veeteren, and they ambled back to the changing rooms.

“Very,” said Munster.

“Not much of a floor either. Easy to slip.”

“Exactly,” said Munster.

“Hard to play with borrowed rackets as well.”

“Hopeless.”

“But we’ll have another joust the day after tomorrow even so,” Van Veeteren decided. “We need to keep in training if we’re to solve this case.”

“You could be right,” said Munster.

The dining room at The See Warf was practically empty when they sat down at a window table. Only Cruickshank and

Muller were adorning a table not far away, accompanied by a man and a woman from TV6. Van Veeteren had spoken to all four of them at the press conference a few hours previously, and none of them showed any sign of wanting to disturb their dinner.

“Nobody seems to be venturing outdoors anymore in this town,” said Van Veeteren, looking around him. “People are a bit illogical. This last time, he actually struck in somebody’s home-Ruhme’s, that is.”

Munster agreed.

“I’ve started to believe it’s a pretty weird business, this thing we’re mixed up in,” said Van Veeteren, helping himself to salad. “They do excellent fish here, by the way, especially the turbot, if you are inclined that way.”

“How do you mean, weird?” asked Munster politely.

“God knows,” said Van Veeteren, chewing away. “Just a feeling-but I generally have my hunches.”

Munster leaned closer to the windowpane in order to see through the reflections. The sea looked dark and choppy out there. The weather had changed during the morning; banks of cloud came scuttling in from the northwest in rapid succession and one shower had followed hard on the heels of another all day. The boats in the marina were tossing about in the high waves, and Munster suddenly felt tuned to the raging of the elements, Nature’s own protest at the deeds and sayings of mankind-murderers roaming around unrestrained and all that crap.

Or was it his relationship with Synn? He still hadn’t been in touch with her and was starting to be annoyed by the DCI’s smug musings. Still, he had a fair amount of experience, and this is how things usually went-and he hoped that everything would be back to normal when he could get through to her. It seemed selfish, to say the least, sitting here and fretting about his private life while people were expecting him to do all he could to set traps for the Executioner, or the Mad Axman, or whatever name happened to be in vogue at the moment.

“I can’t work out what his motive is,” said Van Veeteren.

“He must have a hell of a good reason for going out there and cutting three people’s heads off.”

“You don’t believe it’s a madman, then?”

“Not for a minute,” said Van Veeteren. “On the contrary, I think we’re looking at some very carefully planned acts. His intention has been to kill these three men-Eggers, Simmel and Ruhme-and that’s what he’s done. We won’t nail him unless we can find the motive, Munster. The motive!”

“And there aren’t any more names on his list?”

Van Veeteren took a sip of beer and gazed out to sea.

“God knows,” he said again. “We must sit down and take a good look at this, Munster. There are several different pos sibilities, and I want us to make up our minds what our priori ties are going to be.”

“What possibilities?” asked Munster, as was no doubt the intention.

“Well,” said Van Veeteren, “off the top of my head I can only think of two. The first is, of course, that there is a clear and distinct link between the victims, that he’s had an all important reason for murdering these three particular individ uals. As yet, we don’t know what that link is, but it could very well be that as soon as we do, everything will fall into place.

We’ll have him in a little box.”

Munster nodded.

“Moerk’s idea?” he said.

“Of course,” said Van Veeteren. “That’s the only one we’ve discovered so far. All three of them arrived in Kaalbringen this year, that much is certain. It could be a coincidence, of course, but I don’t think so. There’s an opening here, but where the hell does it get us?”

“Not very far,” said Munster.

“No,” sighed Van Veeteren. “We need something more.

Although it may be that they’ve nothing more in common than the link with the murderer. Obviously, you’d expect the local police to find out what the connection is before we do, but if this is all there is, well… that means-”

“-that we’ll see everything as clear as day as soon as we find him,” interrupted Munster. “But not until then.”

“Not a damn thing until then,” said Van Veeteren. “Would you like dessert, or just coffee?”

“Just coffee,” said Munster.

“Just let things take their course, then,” said Munster, trying not to sound impatient. “Sooner or later we’ll fall over some thing. Or else he’ll strike again. How many new arrivals are there, by the way? He might be after all of them.”

“About fifty this year, Bausen says. But let’s hope the motive is a bit more specific than that. I think we should cross our fin gers and hope the press doesn’t latch on to Moerk’s thesis. It could be a bit awkward, providing police protection for all incomers; we’ve got enough panic as it is. No, let’s solve this like greased lightning, Munster; I think that would be best for all concerned! I want to get home as soon as possible.”

Same here, thought Munster. He toyed with the idea of suggesting a changing of the guard, that Reinhart and Rooth should come and relieve them; but of course, that was not very realistic. No, it would doubtless be best to consider themselves citizens of Kaalbringen for the immediate future, and if only he could get a call though to Synn, as he’d already established, he was sure he’d be able to put up with everything fate threw at him.

“What’s the other possibility?” he remembered to ask.

“Huh,” said Van Veeteren, scratching the back of his neck.

“That it’s all a bluff, pure and simple. The ABC Murders — have you read it?”

Munster shook his head.

“The murderer launches a whole series of murders to cam ouflage the fact that there’s only one victim he has his sights on. He kills them in alphabetical order, but it’s only the C mur der that is significant-from his point of view, that is.”

“I see,” said Munster. “So Eggers and Simmel might be red herrings, as it were? The victim who really counts is Ruhme. A bit far-fetched, I’d have thought.”

“It could be Eggers or Simmel as well-the main character, that is-don’t forget that! That would be even more far fetched.”

“But would he keep going afterward? No, I think that’s psy chologically impossible.”

“Not impossible,” said Van Veeteren. “Less credible, per haps. The one who matters might also be number six, or num ber thirteen, although I’m inclined to think this isn’t an ABC affair.”

“What is it, then?” Munster ventured to ask after a pause.

Van Veeteren stirred his coffee slowly with a toothpick.

“A murderer,” he said deliberately, “who is a perfectly nor mal citizen of this town, and who had a damn good reason to kill Heinz Eggers, Ernst Simmel and Maurice Ruhme. All of them men, all of them recent arrivals.”

Great, thought Munster. So now we know.

“How many candidates are there?” he asked.

“I’ve done a few sums,” said Van Veeteren. “If we leave out the women-”

“Can we do that?”

“No,” said Van Veeteren, “but we’ll do it all the same. And the elderly, and children, which we’re not really permitted to do either. Well, that leaves us with about fifteen thousand people.”

“Excellent,” said Munster. “Can we ask all male citizens between the ages of fifteen and seventy-five to turn up at the station and produce an alibi?”

“Of course we can,” said Van Veeteren. “I’ve no doubt that

Kropke would be delighted to feed them all into his computer.

Should be ready by around Christmas, I would think.”

“A shortcut might not be a bad idea,” said Munster.

“That’s what we’re going to find,” said Van Veeteren, finish ing off his coffee. “That’s why we’re here.”

“Really?” said Munster. “I was beginning to wonder…”

“Who do you think we should concentrate on?” asked Van

Veeteren as Munster reached for the door handle.

“Meaning what?”

“Well, even if this isn’t an ABC affair, it might be an idea to off-load a couple of the murders. Concentrate on just one of them, as if the others had never happened. That way you avoid diluting your concentration. If we solve one, we no doubt solve them all. Three flies with one thwack.”

Munster approved.

“Maurice Ruhme, in that case,” he said. “No point in pok ing around old corpses when there’s a fresh one at hand.”

“My view exactly,” said Van Veeteren. “You’ll go far, one of these fine days.”

“Just now I’ll settle for going to bed,” said Munster. “Good night, sir!”