“Why the hell didn’t we know anything about this Caen?”
Van Veeteren started before Munster had time even to close the door. Munster flopped down on his usual chair between the filing cabinets and popped two throat tablets into his mouth.
“Well?”
“We were told we didn’t need to trawl through the whole of her past. I don’t understand why you are still persisting with this case. I’ve just been chatting to the chief of police down-stairs in the canteen, and he said we must get down to serious work on those arson attacks now.”
“Munster, I couldn’t give a shit what Hiller thinks we ought to be doing. If it’s of any interest to you, your pyromaniac is called Garanin. He’s Russian, and it’ll be enough if we put a man on him from the twelfth onward.”
“Why?”
“He’s moonstruck. He only lights fires when there’s a full moon. I had a look at the material this morning. I’ve got his address as well, but it’ll be best to catch him in the act. Just now we’re concentrating on Caen. What have you found out?”
Munster cleared his throat.
“I haven’t spoken to him personally: I sent a fax this morning. We’ll presumably get a reply tonight-they don’t have the same time as we do down there.”
“Really?”
“Yes. And I also went to see Ruger. He didn’t want to say anything, of course, so I gave him a few tips in connection with the Henderson case.”
“Bravo, Munster! Go on!”
“Well, Caen was her therapist. He looked after her when she was in Rejmershus, and they stayed in contact after she’d been let out. Ruger doesn’t have much more than the dates of their meetings, in fact. His main intention was to clamp down on that witness who claimed she knew all there was to know about Eva Ringmar, he said.”
“Is that all?”
“He’s spoken to Caen on the telephone a couple of times, but he didn’t think it was relevant to the case. I’m inclined to agree with him.”
“Leave me to decide what’s important and what isn’t, Munster! What else do you know?”
“He moved to Australia in March this year. That was why they stopped meeting. He has a private clinic in Melbourne.
His wife comes from there, so presumably that’s why. .”
“What did he have to say about Eva Ringmar?”
“Not much, apparently; but I don’t think Ruger pressed him very hard.”
Van Veeteren scratched the back of his neck with a pencil and pondered.
“Ruger? No, probably not. What did you write in the fax?”
Munster fidgeted.
He’s gone and done something silly again, Van Veeteren thought. I’ll have his guts for garters if he’s made a mess of things!
“Er, I asked him to confirm the dates, and to be available for telephone contact-I said you would be speaking to him. If he answers the fax, you can call him tomorrow morning.”
Van Veeteren took out his toothpick and considered it for a few moments.
“Well done, Munster!” he said eventually.
Munster blushed.
A man who’s turned forty ought to have stopped blushing, Van Veeteren thought. Especially as he’s a police officer.
But never mind. Van Veeteren stood up.
“Let’s go and play badminton now!” He practiced a couple of smashes. “I have the feeling I’m going to wipe the floor with you today, Inspector!”
“But. .”
“No buts! Stick your snout round Hiller’s door and tell him we’re working our butts off with the arson case. Oh yes, we’ll have to pay a quick visit to my place first. I have to sort out that damned dog. .”
Munster sighed discreetly. When the chief inspector was in the mood to make jokes, it could mean almost anything-but one thing was certain: he didn’t want to be contradicted.
“What impression did you get of Andreas Berger?” Van Veeteren asked as Munster was trying to find his way out of the labyrinth that was the garage of police headquarters.
“Innocent, no doubt about it.”
“Why?”
“He has an alibi for the whole night. He lives right up in Karpatz, with a new wife and a couple of kids, and a third on the way. Very pleasant, and his wife as well. He tried to help Eva get back on track after the tragedy, wanted them to try again to make a go of it. She was the one who asked for a divorce.”
“Yes, I’m aware of all that. So there wasn’t anything rotten?”
“Rotten?”
“Yes, in the State of Denmark. He wasn’t trying to pull the wool over your eyes, I hope?”
Munster paused for a few seconds.
“Haven’t you listened to the recording?”
“Yes. . Yes, of course I have. I just wanted to make sure I’d got the right end of the stick. . ”
“So you can’t fill me in on why we’re still rooting around in this case? I thought you’d decided that Mitter had done it ages ago?”
“It’s only cows who never change their opinions, Munster.
It’s running on rails, the whole of this case; that’s the problem.
I don’t like trials that run on rails. For Christ’s sake, even the defense’s own witnesses managed to cast a shadow over him.
Weiss and. . what’s his name?”
“Sigurdsen.”
“Yes, Sigurdsen. And that pale-faced deputy head. They’ve been colleagues of his for fifteen years, and the best they can come up with is that they haven’t noticed any violent tendencies! What? We haven’t seen anything! With friends like that, who needs enemies? I’ll be damned if the teachers aren’t just as bad as the drips we had when we were at the same school.
Some of them are still there, of course.”
“What about Bendiksen, though?”
“A bit better, but even he doesn’t seem to exclude the possibility that Mitter did it. That’s the key, Munster. Every bastard, including Mitter himself, come to that, thinks that he did it.
But there’s barely a blemish on his record. A couple of slaps for his former wife, that she no doubt deserved, and some shitty little scapegoat fabrication from a schoolkids’ party. I’ll put money on your own history of criminal activity being ten times as bad, Munster!”
“Don’t say that, sir. At least I’ve never been arrested.”
Van Veeteren snorted.
“I should damn well think not! You’re a police officer, after all. Police officers don’t get arrested.”
He sat quietly for a while, busy with his toothpick.
“Anyway,” he said eventually, “there’s not a scrap of evidence to suggest that Mitter did it, and that means he’ll be found guilty. Then they can sit there and go on about the burden of proof here and the burden of proof there until mold comes creeping out of their mouths. It’s all irrelevant in this case. The prosecuting counsel hasn’t proved a thing. But Mitter will be found guilty even so.”
“Of murder?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. Yes, I reckon that’s what the verdict will be. But even if they send him to the loony bin, it makes no difference. The poor devil has probably lost the plot for good. A pity-he seems to be an amusing bastard, in fact-
Stop! Why aren’t you driving straight ahead, Munster? We’re stopping off at my place first!”
“One-way street, sir.”
“Oh my God!” Van Veeteren groaned. “Your catalogue of sins isn’t much to boast about, I regret to say.”
Munster sighed and increased speed. The chief inspector was lost in thought. When they came to Keymer Church he produced a slim cigarillo from an inside pocket and glanced sideways at Munster as he lit it. He wasn’t really a smoker, but he knew that the acrid fumes from this black beauty would have more of an adverse effect on his opponent’s fitness than it would on his own. Especially if he avoided inhaling. If nothing else it was an important tactical move in the psychological warfare prior to the coming match.
Munster pulled up outside Klagenburg 4. Van Veeteren carefully balanced the smoldering cigarillo on the ashtray, and clambered out of the car.
“You can wait here. I’ll be back in five minutes.”
Munster switched off the engine and wound down the window. Watched the chief inspector jogging up the steps.
He’ll retire in ten years, he thought. Ten years. . How long can anybody keep on summoning up enough strength to carry on playing badminton?
He recalled seeing old men who must have been well over seventy strutting around in the sports hall. He preferred to think about other things instead.
About Synn, for instance. His beautiful wife who wanted them to take the kids with them on a real winter vacation this year. Two weeks in December, when prices were at rock bottom-that’s what she had in mind, if he’d understood her correctly. To some island or other, far away in a blue sea, with rustling palm trees and a bar on the beach.
And about the best way of pleading for leave with Hiller.
He had plenty of overtime in the bank-but two weeks?
“Two weeks?” Hiller would gasp, looking as if he’d been asked to pose naked in the police journal. “Two weeks?”
And now he was going to play badminton in working hours yet again.