The following morning, the plan was modified somewhat.
Thanks to her husband (who worked in the art world and regretted that Winderhuus was an awful dump full of amateurish crap), Inspector Moerk was able to inform her colleagues that there was currently a relatively well-attended exhibition on at the gallery (featuring work by local artists — pretty crappy stuff, according to her source).
After a few telephone calls it was agreed that the obvious next step was for Bausen to play the role of somebody with paintings to sell, while Van Veeteren played the rather more discreet part of a straightforward visitor interested in seeing the pictures. If things proceeded as the Chief Inspector had foreseen with regard to identifying Christopher Nolan, this approach would give him an excellent opportunity to take a closer look at the man in question. And to hear his voice. Münster and Rooth had been on a reconnaissance expedition and concluded that there was no real distinction — not even a door — between the gallery and the more commercially directed activities, such as the sale of frames and reproductions and picture postcards and goodness only knows what else.
Stiller was first on the scene. He was sitting in a strategically positioned car in the extensive car park by the harbour quite close to Winderhuus, and was able to observe the arrival of fru Nolan, who opened the doors at just a couple of minutes past ten. Stiller’s task was to make a phone call and report the exact time of arrival of herr Nolan. According to a theory evolved by Rooth, this was likely to happen around lunchtime — and for once it transpired that the inspector had hit the nail on the head. At exactly half past twelve Christopher Nolan drove up in his Bordeaux-red Rover, parked about ten metres away from Stiller’s significantly more modest Fiat, walked over Esplanaden and entered Winderhuus. Apparently in order to relieve his wife, and give her an opportunity to go off and have lunch.
She duly emerged after a few minutes: a slim woman in her fifties, wearing court shoes, a red dress, and with dark hair. Noticeably more modestly dressed than in the photographs, Stiller noted — but the very same woman, no doubt about it. She lit a cigarette, and headed for Fiskartorget. Stiller phoned the police station, where Bausen and Van Veeteren were messing around with a chessboard and four oil paintings depicting the sea.
The call lasted four seconds. A seagull came soaring down and landed on the Fiat’s bonnet. The sun was shining.
So, Operation G has started, Stiller thought. He noticed that he was sitting like a coiled spring at the wheel of his car.
‘Good afternoon,’ said Bausen. ‘I don’t know if we’ve met, but my name’s Bausen.’
‘Nolan. No, I don’t think so.’
Bausen put down his unwieldy package and started separating the art works from the blanket he had used to protect them.
‘An old aunt of mine died last summer, and I inherited some works of art,’ he explained. ‘I don’t have room for them. I thought you might like to assess them and buy anything you’d like to have.’
‘Let’s have a look,’ said Nolan, assisting with the blanket. ‘You never know.’
Bausen placed the paintings carefully along the wall opposite Nolan’s desk. It suddenly struck him why he had kept them in a dark room in the cellar — but he stood up and looked pleased with himself even so.
‘Well, what do you think?’
‘Hmm. .’ said Nolan, stroking his well-groomed beard with his hand. He picked up a pair of spectacles from the table and put them on. The door opened and Van Veeteren came in.
‘Where’s the exhibition?’ he asked.
Nolan glanced up at him over the edge of his glasses.
‘Through there. Go on in. There’s a leaflet on the table.’
Van Veeteren nodded.
‘What time do you close?’
‘Six o’clock.’
‘Thank you.’
Bausen cleared his throat to regain Nolan’s attention.
‘They’re not bad, are they? And very attractive frames.’
Van Veeteren paused and took a look at Bausen’s paintings.
‘What a load of crap,’ he said.
‘What the hell did you say?’ demanded Bausen.
Nolan smiled in amusement.
‘I must say I’m inclined to agree with you,’ he said. ‘I think you’ll find the exhibition more to your liking.’
‘I hope so,’ said Van Veeteren, moving on into the rest of the premises.
‘That was the most insulting thing I’ve ever heard,’ said Bausen.
‘If you’d like a professional opinion, you’d better wait until my wife comes back,’ said Nolan. ‘She’s out having lunch at the moment, but she’ll be back in three quarters of an hour or so.’
‘Huh,’ said Bausen. ‘I won’t bother. I’ll burn them in the garden instead.’
He wrapped the paintings up in the blanket again and stormed out of the Winderhuus Art Gallery in a simulated rage.
‘Well?’ said Münster.
Van Veeteren made a vague movement of his head and picked a loose thread off the sleeve of his jacket. Three seconds passed.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It’s him all right.’
There was a deathly silence in the room for several more seconds, then deKlerk exhaled in a long, whistling stream.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Bloody hell!’
‘You’re quoting,’ said Van Veeteren.
‘Eh?’
‘Bloody hell!. . that’s what Verlangen wrote before he came here in April.’
‘Oh dear!’ said the chief of police, looking surprised. ‘Maybe that’s a bad omen?’
‘Bollocks to omens,’ said Rooth. ‘So we’re dealing with Jaan G. Hennan, are we?’
‘It looks like it,’ said Van Veeteren.
He lit a cigarette, blew out the match, then realized that the rest of them were waiting for him to say something.
‘It looks like it,’ he said again, slowly. ‘But I think how this case is dealt with from now on needs a great deal of thought. Is there. . is there anything to prevent Bausen and myself sitting in on future discussions for a while?’
DeKlerk rapidly sought the support of his colleagues, and received it.
‘Of course we would like you to continue working with us,’ he said. ‘Naturally. We have a long way to go yet. Anyway. . we now know that it really was Hennan that Verlangen was interested in here in Kaalbringen, and we’ve found him. But what else we know. .’
‘. . is far from easy to understand,’ said Beate Moerk, completing the sentence for him. ‘He didn’t recognize you, I take it?’
Van Veeteren said nothing for a moment or two. Then shook his head.
‘I don’t think so. I didn’t see the slightest trace of anything to suggest that he did. Glasses and a moustache are pretty effective, in fact, as long as you don’t go on too long. No, I think we can take it that he didn’t recognize me.’
‘But he won’t forget me so easily,’ said Bausen.
‘Nobody ever does,’ said Moerk with a quick smile. ‘Anyway, we can assume that for now at least, Hennan doesn’t suspect anything. Is that right?’
Van Veeteren nodded.
‘Let’s hope not,’ said deKlerk. ‘But if he is in fact behind the murder of Verlangen, as we are assuming, he must have raised his awareness levels since we found the body. Or at least since they wrote in the newspapers that we had found the body. And let’s face it, we haven’t come up with much in the way of proof so far. Am I right? Even if we know that he’s the one, we haven’t exactly managed to pin the crime onto him.’
‘No, not exactly,’ said Rooth. ‘In other words, what do we do now? Personally, I have to say that I get goose pimples as a result of pussyfooting around all the time. Don’t you agree that it would be good to have a straightforward, honest house raid, and a hundred-watt lamp shining into the bastard’s face?. . I know that we couldn’t put the wind up him last time, but maybe he’s grown softer as the years have passed?’
‘Do you think so?’ said Münster.
‘Not really,’ said Rooth. ‘I’m just sitting here daydreaming, as you doubtless realize.’
‘Anyway,’ said deKlerk, turning to Bausen and Van Veeteren at the narrow end of the table. ‘Perhaps our somewhat more experienced colleagues have a few points of view?’
‘Of course,’ said Bausen. ‘Rooth is right, naturally, and sooner or later we have to put our cards on the table. . Tell him we know who he is, in other words, and that he’s under suspicion. But perhaps it would make sense to lie low and make a few investigations before we go that far — what do you reckon?’
‘That seems to me a correct summary of the situation,’ said Moerk.
‘What investigations?’ wondered Stiller.
‘That is precisely the question that needs answering,’ said Bausen, starting to scratch the back of his neck. ‘Perhaps we could approach him via his wife, but that’s just a thought that occurred to me and. . well, I don’t know. .’
He paused, but Münster took up the thought.
‘I’ve also thought about her,’ he said. ‘Shouldn’t we try to extract a bit of information from England as well? If they’ve been living here for ten years, Hennan must have found her pretty soon after he disappeared from Maardam. . Within three or four years, in any case. It could be interesting to tell her a bit about his background and see how she reacts. In view of what happened to his previous wives we could congratulate her on still being alive.’
‘That sounds fair enough,’ said deKlerk. ‘The suggestion about extracting information from England, at least. Approaching the wife would be a bit more dodgy, of course.’
‘If it’s not possible to frighten him, maybe we could frighten her?’ suggested Rooth.
‘Excuse me,’ put in Stiller. ‘Are we assuming that fru Nolan doesn’t know anything about this Verlangen business?’
Rooth waved his hand, but he had just stuffed two biscuits into his mouth and it was Münster who responded.
‘I think so,’ he said. ‘But if that isn’t the case, there’s all the more reason to have a chat with her. . Quite simply to find out just how much she knows. Yes, I agree with Bausen. Our next move ought to be to talk to her, on her own. But God only knows how we can set that up.’
‘There’s one more thing I’m wondering about,’ said Stiller. ‘Wasn’t there going to be a search of Verlangen’s flat in Maardam? Have we had any information about that?’
DeKlerk nodded and produced a sheet of paper.
‘Apologies,’ he said. ‘I forgot about this in all the rush. We had a fax this morning. Negative, unfortunately. Signed by an Inspector Moreno — I assume he is familiar to you?’
‘She,’ said Rooth. ‘The inspector is a she. But she is familiar to us.’
‘Really? Anyway, they haven’t found anything. And they were very thorough, she writes.’
‘That was only to be expected,’ said Münster. ‘He didn’t keep a diary, that’s all there is to it. Which is hardly surprising.’
‘Thank you,’ said Stiller. ‘I just wondered.’
‘No problem,’ said the chief of police, checking his watch. ‘Might I suggest that we make a pause now. There are seven of us involved in this business, but I don’t think it would do any harm if each one of us spent an hour or two thinking our own thoughts. Stiller and I will get in touch with England, and we’ll see if we can get anything of interest from there. I suggest we meet again at four o’clock, is that okay?’
‘That’s okay,’ said Rooth.
‘As far as Bausen and Van Veeteren are concerned — ’
‘- they’ll do whatever they want, of course,’ said Bausen, rising to his feet.
‘You didn’t have much to say,’ he said when they were seated in the car again.
‘I just sat there thinking,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘And I’m a bit tired. And I didn’t sleep very well last night, I’m afraid. . And there were so many bright sparks involved.’
‘That isn’t always an advantage.’
‘No,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘Not always.’
‘You’re sitting there brooding about something.’
‘In a way.’
‘About what?’
‘That suggestion about a hundred-watt lamp. Would he really cope with another session?’
‘Hennan?’
‘Yes.’
‘So you reckon we ought to get tough with him?’
Van Veeteren produced a toothpick from his breast pocket and stared at it in disbelief.
‘Where the hell has this come from? I gave them up five years ago.’
‘It seems that a lot of things from the past are turning up just now,’ said Bausen. ‘Should we get tough?’ he repeated.
Van Veeteren snapped the toothpick in two and threw the bits out through the window.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I simply can’t pass judgement on that.’
‘Really? said Bausen. ‘As far as I’m concerned there’s something else I just can’t understand.’
‘Hmm?’ muttered Van Veeteren. ‘What’s that?’
‘Why the hell did I need to take those damned paintings to the gallery? You could have identified Nolan-Hennan anyhow.’
Van Veeteren eyed him from the side for a few seconds.
‘It was your idea to start with,’ he said. ‘I thought you played your part brilliantly, incidentally. Have you had ambitions to become an actor? I don’t think you’ve mentioned-’
‘Shut your gob!’ said Bausen, then burst out laughing.