The G File

18

He was woken up by the telephone. At first he wasn’t at all clear about where he was, but then he felt a pain at the base of his spine and realized that he must have been asleep on the sofa in his office.

He looked at the clock: a quarter to eight. With considerable difficulty he staggered over to his desk and answered. It was Reinhart.

‘Do you read the Neuwe Blatt?’ he asked.

‘No,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘Do you?’

‘Very rarely,’ said Reinhart. ‘But I have done today. I happened to run past a placard.’

‘Run?’ said Van Veeteren.

‘I was out jogging — I usually do that on Saturday mornings. Anyway, I think you should.’

‘Go out running?’ said Van Veeteren.

‘Well, yes,’ said Reinhart. ‘But what I meant is that you should read today’s Neuwe Blatt. There’s an article about Hennan.’

‘What? Why is there an article about. .?’

‘A whole page. Somebody called Grouwer has written it. Devilishly well informed — we have a leak.’

‘A leak?’ said the Chief Inspector, trying to straighten his back. ‘What the hell are you on about? Have you started working for the security services?’

‘Buy the rag and read it for yourself,’ urged Reinhart. ‘Are you going to stay at the station?’

‘I think so.’

‘I’ll be there in an hour. I’ll just have a shower first. Then we can discuss it.’

He hung up. The Chief Inspector stood there with the receiver in his hand, staring into space for a while. Then he dialled the duty officer and asked for a copy of Neuwe Blatt to be sent up to his office.

Then he did the same as Reinhart: went for a shower.

Reinhart had certainly not provided him with false information, that was immediately obvious. At the top of the front page was a headline in bold print: Cold-blooded murder in Linden?

At least they’ve used a question mark, thought the Chief Inspector. Every cloud. . Both Barbara Hennan and Jaan G. Hennan were named in the introductory paragraph. As directed, Van Veeteren turned to page five which was devoted entirely to the case: The accident reported on from Kammerweg in Linden last week could well turn out to be an extremely cunningly planned murder, it said underneath a large picture of Villa Zefyr with the magical diving tower just visible behind the greenery. A photographer had simply snapped the mansion from the other side of the road, Van Veeteren established. He steeled himself in order to be able to cope with the pathetic language used, and continued reading.

It was as Reinhart had said. Devilishly well informed.

The macabre scene in the empty swimming pool was described in accurate detail, and then followed by a discussion about the insurance policy. Jaan G. Hennan, it said, without any second thoughts, had signed up to a sky-high life insurance policy for his young American wife, only a few weeks before she was found dead in her home. Herr Kooperdijk, the director of F/B Trustor, had expressed severe doubts regarding the honesty of Hennan, and hoped that the police would bring him to court as soon as possible. The author of the article implied that there was no doubt the situation involved fraud and even more serious criminal activity.

Towards the end of the article it was stated that Hennan had a criminal past, and that he had spent almost a decade in the USA, but it was not at all clear what he was doing during that time. In conclusion Grouwer stressed how important it was that the Maardam CID, which was now responsible for the case, should not mince matters but had an obligation to make public vital information.

Had the police something to hide? came the rhetorical question. Why had there been no arrest? When would the first press conference finally take place? There was a murderer on the loose.

It did not state explicitly that this Jaan G. Hennan was the suspected murderer, but any seven-year-old able to read could work that out between the lines.

Van Veeteren drank two cups of coffee while reading the article. Also tried to eat a cheese sandwich with paprika rings and a rather sad lettuce leaf, but was unable to force it down.

Ah well, he thought. Now the hacks are snapping at our heels as well. Let the circus begin.

As an immediate confirmation of this assumption, the telephone rang at that precise moment. A mildly irritated editor by the name of Aronsen from the Telegraaf wondered what the devil and what the hell?. . Van Veeteren explained that he was just about to conduct an important interrogation and referred the editor to a press release that would be issued before noon.

‘Have you got him?’ asked Aronsen.

‘Of course,’ said the Chief Inspector in a neutral tone of voice. ‘He’s down in the basement.’

He concluded the call then rang the switchboard and gave instructions that nothing from the mass media should be passed on for the next few hours, then went to brush his teeth.

By the time he got back, Reinhart had appeared.

‘A great story, don’t you think?’ he said, pulling a face.

‘Terrific,’ said the Chief Inspector. ‘I’ve promised a press release before noon. Do you feel fit enough to cobble one together?’

‘Nothing would please me more,’ said Reinhart. ‘Give me seven minutes and a cup of black coffee. Where the hell has he got the information from?’

The Chief Inspector shook his head.

‘No idea. How many of us know about it?’

Reinhart counted them up.

‘Six, I think. Plus the odd half-informed constable and probationer, of course. But I find it hard to believe that one of us-’

‘Damn and blast!’ interrupted Van Veeteren. ‘Verlangen, of course! That private dick’s the one who’s let the cat out of the bag. When you’ve finished with the press release, can you phone him and check?’

‘I’ll do it the moment it’s finished,’ said Reinhart. ‘You’re probably right. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s the culprit. I think. . I think this changes the situation quite a bit, in any case.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘If there’s a murderer on the loose and people know his name, that will increase the pressure on us to do something.’

‘You don’t say,’ said Van Veeteren with a sigh. ‘Yes, you’re probably right. I suppose we’d better ring the prosecutor pronto. . before they ring us. . That usually makes a good impression.’

‘Do you think they read the Neuwe Blatt?’ asked Reinhart.

‘Maybe they are out jogging,’ said the Chief Inspector.

Reinhart smiled wryly.

‘Okay. Ring them. When are you thinking of having another go at Mr Murderer himself?’

Van Veeteren did three or four half-hearted back stretches.

‘In pain?’

‘That sofa.’

‘Serves you right. Well, when?’

‘I don’t really know,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘I had thought of continuing this morning, but I think I’ll postpone it for an hour or two. Would you like to be present?’

‘Do you mean at the table or outside the window?’

‘At the table,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘It could be interesting to expose him to a bit of crossfire.’

‘Absolutely,’ said Reinhart. ‘You can count on me.’

Then he left the room, and Van Veeteren dialled the number of the public prosecutor.

When Reinhart had composed and dispatched the press release — a not exactly detailed document comprising fifty-five words which revealed no more than a third of what had already appeared in the newspaper, plus the fact that a press conference would be held on the Monday — he telephoned the Neuwe Blatt and was given the home number of Bertram Grouwer.

It sounded as if Grouwer hadn’t yet opened his eyes properly, but he had enough presence of mind to protect his source. As they say. Reinhart asked if it might possibly have been Maarten Verlangen, whereupon Grouwer hung up.

Bloody muckraker, thought Reinhart, whose relationship with the fourth estate was somewhat strained. You’re not much of an actor.

Verlangen sounded not much more wide awake than Grouwer — until he grasped what the call was about.

No, he hadn’t yet read a newspaper today. But yes, he did recall sitting talking to his good friend Grouwer on Thursday evening. They had been out celebrating their joint birthday, as it were, and had no doubt sunk a glass or two.

‘How soon can you get here?’ Reinhart wondered. ‘Ten minutes? We need to talk to you.’

He didn’t know if that really was necessary, but he certainly had no intention of allowing a loose-tongued berk to lounge around in the sun for hours on end on such a pleasant early summer day as this. Certainly not, dammit.

Verlangen sounded apologetic and promised to start moving immediately, and to be at the police station within an hour.

Get going, then, thought Reinhart. Hung up and lit his pipe. If I can get hold of Heinemann, he can spend the whole day interrogating you!

The prosecutor’s name was Silwerstein. Van Veeteren had dealt with him several times before, and knew that he did not like to be telephoned on matters to do with work on his Saturday off. He preferred to play golf. He reiterated this preference the moment he came in through the door. Van Veeteren explained that for his part, he never indulged in that activity; but that as far as possible he too tried to avoid working weekends.

But what could one do? He promised to keep things as brief as possible. Then he poured Silwerstein a cup of coffee and explained the situation in ten minutes. He concluded by asking the prosecutor if he happened to be a loyal reader of the newspaper Neuwe Blatt.

He most certainly was not, Silwerstein assured him, and wondered why on earth the Chief Inspector wanted to know that.

Van Veeteren handed over a copy of the paper, and as the prosecutor read the article his eyebrows were raised and his jaw dropped.

‘I see,’ he said when he had finished. ‘The man in the street’s sense of justice demands, and so on. . Why have you released this information to the press?’

‘Somebody boobed,’ said the Chief Inspector. ‘The information didn’t come from us.’

The prosecutor took off his spectacles.

‘So where did it come from, then?’

Van Veeteren snapped a toothpick and gazed out of the window. Silwerstein sighed and gave up.

‘I see. And what about proof? Can you make it stick?’

‘It’s hard to say,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘Not as things stand at the moment, but we have only interrogated him properly once so far.’

‘He denies it?’

‘Yes. And he’ll continue to deny it.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’d bet a golf course on it.’

Silwerstein said nothing.

‘I don’t think we can count on any kind of arrangement or compromise. It’s not that sort of case.’

‘It seems pretty obvious that he did it. Doesn’t it?’

‘There’s hardly any doubt,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘I would have preferred to carry on working away from the glare of publicity for a while longer, but after this newspaper article, well. .’

‘I understand,’ said Silwerstein. ‘And you have him in custody now?’

‘Since yesterday evening.’

‘What do you want, then? A warrant of arrest on the spot?’

‘What do you think?’ asked the Chief Inspector, folding up the newspaper.

Silwerstein thought for a moment and looked at his watch.

‘I don’t like to rush things,’ he said. ‘But I take it you’d like to keep him in custody?’

‘His name has been in the press,’ said the Chief Inspector. ‘There’d be an outcry if he were allowed back on the streets.’

‘Hmm, yes,’ said the prosecutor, scratching the bridge of his nose. ‘I must do my homework. If you get another forty-eight hours, we can reassess the situation on Tuesday evening. . By then you ought to have put some flesh on the bare bones of the case, I take it?’

‘We’ll do what we can,’ promised the Chief Inspector.

On second thoughts Intendent Reinhart decided it would be best for him to take charge of the discussions with Maarten Verlangen. Quite apart from the inquisition aspect, there were a few things he would like to discuss with him in more detail. And Heinemann would doubtless have things to do on a free Saturday.

Verlangen slunk into Reinhart’s office like a repentant sinner. He looked worn out and dishevelled, and seemed to be suffering from a lingering hangover.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to. .’

‘Sorry?’ said Reinhart. ‘You have undermined our efforts in a way that it’s impossible to assess. If Jaan G. Hennan goes free, he’ll come and thank you on his bare knees.’

‘What?’ said Verlangen.

‘If Hennan goes free, he will-’

‘Yes, I heard you,’ said Verlangen. ‘But it’s not possible — all I did was summarize the situation as it was, and-’

‘Sit down,’ said Reinhart. ‘You stink of booze.’

Verlangen sat down.

‘It got a bit late last night. I-’

‘Last night as well? And no doubt you took the opportunity of telling the tale to another hack?’

Verlangen shook his head and stared down at the floor.

Poor bastard, Reinhart thought. He’s a complete wreck.

‘Get a grip,’ he said. ‘I want to talk to you about a few other things quite apart from that newspaper blunder. Are you hung over? Do you need a cup of coffee?’

‘I’ve already had some,’ said Verlangen. ‘I’m really sorry, as I said. What do you want to talk about? It would be good if it didn’t take too long — I’m supposed to meet my daughter shortly.’

‘Let’s see how it goes,’ said Reinhart.

‘Thank you,’ said Verlangen.

‘Barbara Hennan. I want to talk to you about her.’

‘I see. Why?’

‘Because we need to be clear about why she came to see you in the first place. She must have had a reason, and the only reason I can think of is that she suspected something was going on. . That she suspected her husband was trying to get at her in some way or other. What do you say to that?’

Verlangen frowned.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I’ve naturally been thinking along those lines as well, but she never spoke about what lay behind her request. . Why I should keep an eye on him, that is.’

‘We know that,’ said Reinhart. ‘But if we accept the theory that she was frightened of something, and you think about that, knowing what actually happened — well, can it be true? Did she give any indication that it could be?’

Verlangen dug a crumpled packet of cigarettes from out of his pocket.

‘That she might be afraid? No, I can’t say she did. She adopted an extremely business-like approach all the time. Controlled, you could say she was. I thought. . well, I suppose I thought she was incomprehensible.’

‘Incomprehensible?’

‘Yes.’

‘But what did you decide? You must have come to some conclusion about what was going on, surely?’

Verlangen lit a cigarette.

‘No, not really,’ he said. ‘Although I suppose I probably thought it was the same old story. That he was being unfaithful, that is.’

‘That you should check on whether Hennan was seeing some other woman?’

‘Yes. Although. .’

‘Well?’

‘Although there was nothing about her behaviour which indicated that. It was just a guess on my part, because that’s nearly always what it’s about.’

‘I understand,’ said Reinhart. ‘And Hennan didn’t meet any other women while you were shadowing him?’

‘No, he didn’t.’

‘How long were you keeping a watch on him?’

Verlangen shrugged.

‘Only two days. Wednesday and Thursday. It was extremely monotonous — apart from Thursday evening, of course.’

‘What did he do?’

‘Do? He went to his office in Landemaarstraat. . Sat there, had lunch, sat there again and drove home.’

‘Was that all?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did he meet anybody?’

‘Not that I noticed. Somebody might have visited his office, but I don’t think so.’

‘What about his lunches?’

‘There was only one. Wednesday. He ate all on his own.’

‘Marvellous,’ said Reinhart, annoyed. ‘And it was the same again at that restaurant on Thursday evening, was it?’

‘The same again.’ said Verlangen. ‘As far as I know, I was the only person he spoke to.’

‘As far as you know?’

‘Yes, I was the only person he spoke to,’ confirmed Verlangen.

Reinhart sighed.

‘For Christ’s sake. .’ he said. ‘Have you any ideas? Anything that’s occurred to you since we last spoke?’

Verlangen took a drag of his cigarette and thought for a few seconds.

‘He did it,’ he said. ‘I’m sure it was Hennan who set her up, but I don’t know how. I suppose the only possibility is that he had an accomplice. I can’t see any other alternative.’

Reinhart swung round forty-five degrees on his desk chair and stared up at the ceiling. Pondered for a while, then swung back again.

‘No,’ he said. ‘Neither can we. If you can tell us where we can find his accomplice, we’ll forgive you for that newspaper cock-up.’

Verlangen squirmed and looked at the clock.

‘Was there anything else?’ he asked tentatively.

‘Not for the moment,’ said Reinhart. ‘Did you say you were going to meet your daughter?’

‘Yes.’

‘How old is she?’

‘Seventeen.’

‘May I give you a piece of advice?’ said Reinhart.

‘Eh? Yes, of course.’

‘Go home and freshen yourself up a bit before you meet her. No seventeen-year-old wants to be seen together with somebody who looks as if he’s slept on a park bench.’

Verlangen promised to take that advice to heart and slunk out of the door. Reinhart shook his head and opened the window.

Ten seconds later the Chief Inspector rang.

‘Have you finished?’ he asked. ‘I thought we could have another go at Hennan now.’

‘Yes, I’ve finished,’ said Reinhart. ‘I’ll be there in a minute.’