Borkmann's point

40

“Well, what the hell was I supposed to do?” said Wilmotsen with a sigh, contemplating the layouts.

“All right,” said the editor. “If we’ve printed a double run, we might as well make everything double.”

The news of Inspector Moerk’s disappearance and the cir cumstances in which it took place had clearly proved to be a trial of manhood for Wilmotsen, the headline setter on de

Journaal. The opposing concepts Important Information and

Big Letters were simply not possible to reconcile within the space available, and for the first time in the newspaper’s eighty year-old history, they had been forced to prepare two separate placards.

In order not to abandon the duty to provide full informa tion, that is. In order not to undervalue the dignity of this hair raising drama that was now entering its fourth (or was it the fifth?) act in their peaceful hometown of Kaalbringen. next victim? it said on the first placard, over a slightly blurred picture of a smiling Beate Moerk.

Have you seen the red mazda? the public was asked on the second one, where it was also stated that baffled police appeal for help.

Inside the newspaper, more than half the space was devoted to the latest development in the Axman case. There were a mass of pictures: aerial photographs of the parking lot at the smoke house (with a white cross marking the spot where Moerk had left her car; since Sunday evening it had been securely garaged in the police station basement after being searched for eight hours by forensic officers from Selstadt) and another of the beach and the woods, and more photos of Moerk and of Bausen and Van Veeteren taken at the press conference. Van Veeteren was leaning back with his eyes closed, a position that was mainly reminiscent of a state of deep peace-a mummy or a yogi sunk deep inside himself was the first thing that came to mind. Far removed from the exertions and idiocies of this life, and perhaps one had to ask oneself if these people were really the ones best equipped to track down and put away crim inals of the caliber of the killer they were seeking in this case.

Indeed, had there ever been anything like this? A police inspector abducted, probably murdered! In the middle of an ongoing investigation! The question was justified.

The text was also variable in character, from the cool assessment in the leading article that the only honorable thing for the local council to do in the current circumstances was to accept responsibility for the Axman scandal and announce new elections, to the eloquent if divergent speculations about the lunatic, the madman (the ice-cold psychopath) or the terrorist

(the hired hit man from an obscure murderous sect)-and, of course, the still very popular theory featuring the perfectly normal, honest citizen, the respectable head of the family, the man in the same apartment block with a murky past.

Among the more reliable items, and hopefully also the most productive ones from the point of view of the investiga tion, was Bausen’s renewed and urgent appeal to the general public to come forward with any information they might have.

In particular, the critical period between six-fifteen and seven-fifteen on the Friday evening needed to be pinned down in detail-Inspector Moerk’s movements from the moment she left The See Warf until she set off jogging and was observed by Detective Chief Inspector Van Veeteren. If it was possible to establish the route taken by Beate Moerk during those sixty minutes, with and without her red Mazda, well, “it would be a damn scandal if we couldn’t nail the bastard,” wrote Herman

Schalke, quoting the exact words used by the chief of police.

As early as four in this infernal afternoon, Bausen and Kropke withdrew to the latter’s office in order to go through and col late the tip-offs and information that had been received so far a total of no fewer than sixty-two firsthand sightings, as well as another twenty or so pieces of secondhand information of var ious kinds. Munster and Mooser were delegated to receive and conduct preliminary interviews with the nonstop stream of witnesses, who were held in check by Bang and Miss deWitt in the office downstairs, all names and personal data duly recorded.

Nobody was quite clear about what Detective Chief In spector Van Veeteren was up to. He had left the police station after lunch to “make a few inquiries,” but he had not confided their nature to anybody. On the other hand, he had promised to be back by five p.m. for the compulsory run-through. A small press conference was then scheduled for seven-thirty; the time was a concession to the local television company, whose regular news program took place then. Anything other than a live broadcast would be regarded by viewers as a failure and a crime against all press ethics, the company had argued peremptorily, and even if Bausen could have taught the young media guru a thing or two about the law and justice, he had swallowed his objections and acceded to his request.

“Damn Jesuits!” he had nevertheless exclaimed after replac ing the receiver. “Inquisitors in silver ties, huh, no thank you!”

But given the circumstances, of course, it was a question of making the most of a bad job.