Borkmann's point

48

If he’d had the ability to see into the future, if only for a few hours, it is possible that he’d have given lunch a miss without more ado. And set off for Kaalbringen as quickly as possible.

As it was-with the solution of this long drawn-out case clearly within reach-he decided instead to indulge him self with a Canaille aux Prunes at Arno’s Cellar, a little sea food restaurant he remembered from the occasion more than twenty years earlier when he’d spent a week here on a course.

In any case, he probably needed a few hours to think things over in peace and quiet; how he directed the final act of this drama was of some significance-of considerable significance, in fact. The Axman needed to be arrested as painlessly as pos sible, and also as far as possible, the question of motives in vestigated and clarified. And then there was the problem concerning Inspector Moerk, of course. There were probably plenty of opportunities to put a foot wrong and, to quote

Bausen, it was a long time since anything had gone well with this case.

However, he could think of no better companion than a good meal.

After the pear in brandy and the coffee, he had made up his mind about the various problems-a strategy that seemed to him to have good odds of working and involved as good a chance of avoiding injury to Inspector Moerk as could be hoped.

Assuming she was still alive, that is. He wanted to believe it, of course, but probabilities didn’t seem to play much of a role in this case.

Probabilities? he thought. I ought to have known by now.

It was half past three. He paid his bill, left his corner table and occupied the phone booth in the vestibule.

Three calls. First to Bausen at home in his nest; then Mun ster-no answer at the cottage-no doubt he was still on the beach with Synn and the kids. Then Kropke at the police sta tion. This call cost Van Veeteren half an hour; the inspector evidently found it a little difficult to catch on to what was hap pening, but when they eventually finished the conversation,

Van Veeteren had the feeling that everything would work out well, notwithstanding.

He set off shortly after four o’clock, and he had barely reached

Ulming, after a mere seven or eight miles, when he noticed his generator warning light blinking. Before long it was emitting a constant and ominous glow, and matters were not helped by the driver cursing and beating the dashboard with both fists.

On the contrary, the bastard of a car started coughing and los ing speed, and when he came to a service station, he was forced to admit that he had no choice.

He uttered a few more choice oaths, put on his right-hand blinker and left the highway.

“A new generator,” said the young mechanic after a cursory look under the hood. “Probably not possible to do anything about it today.” He put his hands in his pockets and looked apologetic. Van Veeteren cursed.

“Well, okay, if it’s so urgent and if you’re prepared for what it’ll cost.”

Hmm. It might well take four or five hours… he’d have to drive to town, of course, to buy a new one, but if the customer was in a hurry, he could hire a car, naturally. There were one or two available.

“And leave my stereo system here?” roared the detective chief inspector, with a broad gesture encompassing the depressing sight of the workshop interior. “What the hell do you take me for?”

“All right,” said the mechanic. “Might I suggest that you wait in the cafe? You can buy books and magazines at the news stand.”

Damnation! thought Van Veeteren. Bloody car! I won’t be back in Kaalbringen until one or two in the morning.

“Phone!” yelled Bart.

Munster and his family had stayed on the beach until the sun had started to sink behind the line of trees in the west.

They had only just walked through the door after a day filled with games, relaxation and reunion. Munster carefully placed the sleeping four-year-old in bed while Synn went to answer the phone.

“It’s DCI Van Veeteren,” she whispered, with her hand over the earpiece. “He sounds like a barrel of gunpowder about to go off. Something to do with the car.”

Munster took the receiver.

“Hello?” he said.

That was more or less the only word he spoke for the next ten minutes or more. He just stood there in the window recess, listening and nodding while his wife and his son prowled around and around him in ever-decreasing circles. A single look was enough for Synn to understand, and she passed on her knowledge to her six-year-old, who had been through this many times before.

No doubt about it. The car was not what this call was really about. She could hear that in the voice of her husband’s boss at the other end of the line: a muffled but unstoppable tornado.

She saw it in her husband’s face as well-in his body language, the profile of his jaw. Tense, resolute. A slight touch of white under his ears…

It was time.

And slowly that feeling of worry surged toward and over her. The feeling she couldn’t speak about, not even to him, but which she knew she shared with every other policeman’s wife all over the world.

The possibility that… The possibility of something hap pening that…

She grasped her son’s hand firmly, and refused to let go.

Grateful despite everything that she’d had the opportunity of coming here.

“About two o’clock?” asked Munster in the end. “Yep, I’m with you. We’ll assemble here, yes… OK, I can fix that.”

Then he replaced the receiver and stared fixedly ahead, looking at nothing.

“That was the damnedest…” he said. “But he’s right, of course…”

He shook his head, then became aware of his wife and son, staring at him with the same unspoken question on their faces.

“We’re going to arrest the Axman tomorrow morning,” he explained. “The others are coming here tonight to sort out tactics.”

“Coming here?” said Synn.

“Wicked,” said the six-year-old boy. “I’ll go with you.”

Plans were laid by half past four. It had taken a bit longer than

Van Veeteren had imagined; the question of motive had been kicked around, and nobody was quite sure how it all hung together. But they had sorted it out as far as possible. They couldn’t get any further now, and even if a few pieces of the puzzle were still missing, everybody was clear about the over all picture.

“No point in waiting any longer,” said Van Veeteren.

“Everybody knows what they have to do… I don’t think we’re exposing ourselves to much of a risk, but it’s just as well to take precautions. Mooser?”

Mooser tapped his bulging hip.

“Munster?”

Munster nodded.

“Chief of Police?”

Another nod, and Van Veeteren closed his notebook.

“All right. Let’s go!”