Borkmann's point

22

“Let’s walk it,” Beate Moerk had suggested. “No point in tak ing a car for five hundred yards.”

And so he strolled though the streets of Kaalbringen along side this lady police inspector, and suddenly found himself thinking about Marie behind the counter at the pharmacy again. She just popped up in his mind, and he preferred not to think about why. His two telephone calls to Synn hadn’t sorted out all the problems, but it looked as if they were on the right track. Obviously, everything would be back to normal if only he could get away from Kaalbringen. If only he could see her again soon.

Obviously.

The inspector’s hair wasn’t red. On the contrary. Dark brown, bordering on black. He was careful not to come shoul der to shoulder as they walked. Keeping a decent distance apart needed quite a lot of his concentration, in fact; and when they eventually reached their destination, he had only a vague memory of what they’d been talking about on the way there.

No great loss, he thought. They’d probably discussed mainly the names of streets and squares they’d passed through… but obviously, he’d been surprised. His sense of balance wasn’t quite as it should be, it seemed; he felt a nagging worry that wouldn’t go away. Not the best starting point for detective work, definitely not. Something gnawing away inside him.

What the hell was the matter with him?

“Here we are,” she said. “There’s the entrance, and that’s Leisner Park over there, as you can see.”

Munster nodded.

“Shall we walk up, then?” he suggested sardonically.

“Of course,” she said, eyeing him somewhat perplexedly.

Beatrice Linckx bade them welcome and gave them a thin smile. There was a new carpet on the floor in the hall, Munster noted. No trace of any blood, but he had no doubt it was all still there in the wood underneath.

You can’t obliterate blood, Reinhart always said. You cover it up.

And then there was something about Odysseus washing his hands and the constant return of the waters of the sea that he couldn’t recall exactly just now.

Pale sunlight filtered into the large living room through the tall windows, and her fragility was more obvious here. She looked composed and alert, but the surface was thin-no more than a layer of overnight ice, he thought, and hoped that Inspector Moerk was sensitive enough to recognize the signs and not fall through it.

Afterward, it was clear to him that he needn’t have worried.

This was Beate Moerk’s interview. She was the one holding the reins, and she made sure she didn’t lose control; they hadn’t agreed on how to split the questioning, but the further they got, the more the teacups were emptied and refilled and the heap of light-colored biscuits (which Miss Linckx had apparently bought from the corner shop) dwindled away, the more his respect for Inspector Moerk grew. He couldn’t have done it any better himself, certainly not, and he found his role quite sufficient and rather relaxing, sitting there in the corner of the sofa and slotting in an occasional question here and there.

Totally sufficient. It wasn’t just her hair and her appear ance. She seemed to be a damned efficient police officer as well.

“How long had you been living with Maurice, in fact?”

“Not all that long.”

Beatrice Linckx brushed a strand of hair from her face.

From right to left, a recurrent gesture.

“A few years?”

“Yes. We met in September 1988. Moved in together a year later, roughly.”

“Four years, then?”

“Yes.”

Not all that long? Munster thought.

“Were you born in Aarlach?”

“No, in Geintz, but I’d lived in Aarlach since I was twelve.”

“But you didn’t meet Maurice Ruhme until 1988. By then he’d already been living there for… six years, if I’m not much mistaken?”

“Aarlach is not a small town, Inspector,” said Beatrice

Linckx, with a new, pale smile. “Not like Kaalbringen, al though we must have seen each other in the hustle and bustle occasionally, of course. We discussed that very thing, in fact.”

“Do you know anything about what he was doing during those years before you met?”

She hesitated.

“Yes,” she said. “I know some things. But we didn’t speak about it. He didn’t want to, and it was a closed chapter.”

“I understand. No old friends from that time either? Who are still around, I mean.”

“Not many.”

“But there are some?”

Beatrice Linckx thought for a moment.

“Two.”

“Would you mind giving us their names?”

“Now?”

“Yes, please.”

Beate Moerk handed over her notepad and Miss Linckx scribbled down a few words.

“Telephone numbers as well?”

“Yes, please,” said Beate Moerk. Beatrice Linckx left the room and returned with an address book.

“Thank you,” said Beate Moerk when she had the notepad returned. “Do you find it unpleasant when we poke our noses into your affairs like this?”

“You’re only doing your job, I assume.”

“Why did you move to Kaalbringen?”

“Well…” She hesitated slightly again. “Maurice was quite negative at first, of course. I don’t know if you are aware of his relationship with Jean-Claude, his father, that is?”

Beate Moerk nodded.

“I suppose it was me who talked him around, I’m afraid.

Well, it was to do with work, of course; I assume you realize that. The posts were advertised at the same time-the very same day, in fact-and I expect I thought… that it was a sign, as it were. Maurice thought it was something different.”

“What were you doing in Aarlach?”

“Maurice had a temporary post in the long-term ward. Not exactly his specialty. I was working at three or four different schools.”

“And out of the blue you each found your dream job in

Kaalbringen?”

“Maybe not dream jobs, but a big improvement, even so.

More in line with our level of education, you might say.”

Beate Moerk turned a page of her notebook and thought for a moment. Miss Linckx poured some more tea. Munster stole a glance at the two women. Tried to imagine Synn sitting in the third, empty armchair, but couldn’t quite manage it the same age, all three, more or less, he thought; and he won dered why that thought had occurred to him. Perhaps it was about time he asked a question-was that what Inspector

Moerk was waiting for?

“Perhaps we should get down to the nitty-gritty,” he said, “so that we don’t need to take up too much of your time, Miss Linckx.”

“By all means.”

“Have you any idea at all about who might have killed your fiance?”

The question was a bit brutal, perhaps. He saw that Moerk gave him a quick glance, but the reply came without the slight est hesitation.

“No. I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“Did he have any enemies?” asked Beate Moerk, taking over again now that he’d smashed the door down. “Somebody you know who didn’t like him for one reason or another?”

“No, I think he was quite well liked by most people.”

“Anybody he was on bad terms with? At work, perhaps?” asked Munster, but Beatrice Linckx merely shook her head.

“Before we leave,” said Beate Moerk, “we’ll ask you for a list of your closest friends and the colleagues Maurice had most to do with, but perhaps you could tell us about the most important ones right now?”

“Who might have murdered him, you mean?”

For the first time there was a hint of hostility in her voice.

“Most murders are committed by somebody quite close to the victim,” said Munster.

“What are you getting at?” said Beatrice Linckx, and red patches started to grow on her cheeks. “I can’t think of a single name… I haven’t the slightest suspicion. I took it for granted that we were dealing with this madman… isn’t that the case? I mean, he’s already killed two people who had nothing at all in common with Maurice.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Linckx,” said Beate Moerk. “I’m afraid we have to ask you all kinds of questions, and some of them might appear to be bizarre or impertinent. Would you please promise that you’ll contact us the moment you think of even the slight est little thing that could have to do with the murder?”

“A telephone call, somebody who said something that seemed a bit odd, if Maurice ever acted strangely in some way or other,” added Munster.

“Of course,” said Beatrice Linckx. “I don’t want to criticize the police in any way. Obviously, there’s nothing I want more than for you to catch him.”

“Good,” said Munster. “Speaking of colleagues, by the way-Dr. Mandrijn, is he somebody Maurice had much to do with? He works at the hospital as well.”

She thought about it.

“A bit, I think,” she said. “But not much… I’m not sure who he is, but Maurice did mention his name once or twice.”

Inspector Moerk made a note, and chewed at her pen.

“You work at the Seldon Hospice, is that right?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“As a welfare officer?”

“As a psychologist, rather-”

“Do you come into contact with Pierre, Maurice’s brother?”

Beatrice went over to the window and looked out over the park before answering.

“Nobody comes into contact with Pierre,” she said at length. “Nobody at all.”

“I understand,” said Beate Moerk.

When they came out, they found that it had started raining again; and when she suggested they should have a beer at The

Blue Ship, he agreed without a second thought. It was true that they’d downed so much tea that their need of fluid intake was fulfilled for some considerable time to come; but it was a good idea to become acquainted with this establishment as well. If his memory served him correctly, it was from there that the second victim, Ernst Simmel, had embarked on the last stroll he would ever take in this life.

He opened the door and bowed somewhat chivalrously.

What the devil am I doing? he thought.

“Are you married?” she asked when they had sat down.

Munster took out his wallet and showed her a photograph of Synn.

“She’s pretty,” said Beate Moerk. “Good, I don’t need to worry.”

“Two kids as well,” said Munster. “What about you?”

“No to both questions,” said Beate Moerk with a smile.

“But that’s only temporary.”

“Cheers,” said Munster, and smiled as well.