The Inspector and Silence

24

‘But what do you think has really happened?’ asked Przebuda, lighting his pipe. ‘If we could perhaps go over to reality for a change.’

Van Veeteren took a sip of wine and contemplated the remains of the meal that had occupied them for the past hour. It was Saturday evening, darkness had begun to fall, and Andrej Przebuda had just been upstairs to fetch a few candles whose flickering light now illuminated the table. Just for a moment the chief inspector had the feeling that his perception seemed to be crackling: all at once he was in the middle of a film. As his eyes roamed slowly over the contents of the room, their dark outlines and barely lit surfaces, he understood what it must be like to be the camera-man for a Kieslowski or a Tarkovskij. Or even to be the eye of the camera itself. Needless to say, the setting was not coincidental or haphazard. Przebuda was not the type to overlook details. They had been talking again about film – its means of expression and its prerequisites when it came to creating, and making invisible things visible. Or perceptible, at least. This special raster capable of transforming a simple two-dimensional screen into something that could make the multifaceted and irrational world into something perfectly clear and comprehensible. In the right hands, of course. There were so many bunglers as well – so incredibly many.

‘Reality?’ responded the chief inspector after blinking away the illusions. ‘Oh, that… I suppose I think far too much. There are too many oddities in this business, and it’s not easy to keep them at bay. Or too many oddities in that sect, to be more precise. All those damned idiotic practices and sick ideas tend to twist the whole perspective. Away from what is basic. I seem to remember we talked about this last time.’

‘And what exactly is basic?’ Przebuda asked, blowing out a thick cloud of smoke that momentarily turned the table and the remains of the meal into what looked like a miniature battlefield.

‘The basic fact,’ resumed the chief inspector when the smoke had dispersed, ‘is that a girl was murdered out at Waldingen last Sunday evening. If we can concentrate on that, and forget about all the other goings-on associated with the Pure Life – well, maybe we might get somewhere.’

‘I understand,’ said Przebuda. ‘Anyway reconstruct last Sunday afternoon for me and see where we get to. I’m all ears.’

‘Hmm,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘I find it a bit difficult to accept that you serve me up this magnificent dinner, and then have to sit and get involved in my work as well.’

‘Nonsense,’ said his host. ‘Do you think I’m happy at the thought of a desperado prancing around in our forests? Besides, may I remind you that I run a little newspaper – so let’s not go on about whose work we’re getting involved in.’

The chief inspector conceded and took another cigarette. It was becoming a habit again. Hadn’t tasted pleasant for several days now, but once he got away from here, he would make a point of laying down strict and more precise limits. For several things.

‘All right,’ he said, sitting up straight. ‘If you insist. Harrumph! Sunday afternoon, we’ll start with Sunday afternoon. I spent a couple of hours out there. Talked to Yellinek, all three women and two of the girls. I won’t pretend that I pulled any punches, not much at least, and when I left at three o’clock I had the impression that I’d stirred things up a bit – set a few things in motion, but the question is: what exactly?’

He paused, but Przebuda continued to lean back in his chair on the other side of the table, observing him over the rim of his half-full glass. He looked studiously serious. Possibly with a touch of lenient indulgence. The chief inspector took a deep breath, and continued.

‘In any case, it had put the cat among the pigeons as far as the rest of the afternoon was concerned. The planned activities – some kind of group work based on the Commandments, it seems – were cancelled, and the girls were given a few hours off instead. They could do whatever they wanted, more or less, a most unusual circumstance as far as we can make out. The norm was to keep them occupied with sanctimonious prattling from morning till night. Hour after hour, non-stop. With no opportunity to pause and reflect, which was presumably the point. I’ve no idea what Yellinek and his fancy women got up to for the rest of that afternoon, but presumably the four of them were hiding away somewhere, holding hands. Discussing the situation, or something of the sort. Anyway, the evening meal was served at six o’clock as usual, apart from the fact that Yellinek wasn’t present. Soup with vegetables and noodles, bread and butter and cheese. A bit spartan, you might think, but nothing unusual.’

‘Yellinek?’ wondered Przebuda.

‘Wasn’t there for the meal, nor did he take part in the preprandial prayers. Nevertheless, he accompanied a quartet of girls to fetch fresh milk from Fingher’s between seven and a quarter to eight, or thereabouts. Then he turned up again shortly after nine, or so we’ve been led to believe. He took evening prayers as usual, but before that the girls had been informed by the women that the Pure Life had been attacked by the Devil, and that major and crucial things were under way.’

‘What the hell?’ said Przebuda, putting down his pipe. ‘They say things like that?’

Van Veeteren nodded.

‘Most certainly,’ he said. ‘But if we go back a bit and concentrate on the girls instead: they spent their hours of freedom in the late afternoon in various ways. Some went swimming in the lake, others lay down to read – indoors or outdoors – and needless to say, only the wishy-washy stuff available out there: lives of the saints, parish magazines and other such trash. Some of them went for walks in the woods, and four of them went to the place they call the bathing rock. I’d been talking to two of those girls a few hours previously: Belle Moulder and Clarissa Heerenmacht. All four of them went swimming, but shortly before half past five or thereabouts the other two made their own way back to the camp – it’s only about five hundred metres, no more. The two left were Belle and Clarissa, aged fourteen and twelve respectively.’

He paused briefly, but his host didn’t move a muscle.

‘Half an hour later the elder girl was in the dining room, saying grace. The younger one, Clarissa… well, she was probably still alive, but was presumably together with her murderer. In any case, she hadn’t many hours to live.’

‘Ugh,’ said Przebuda, taking off his glasses. ‘No, I don’t want to exchange jobs with you. Sorry, I hope you’ll forgive me. But what did that Belle have to say? Wasn’t that her name?’

The chief inspector nodded.

‘Belle Moulder. And that’s our problem. At first she didn’t say much at all. Of all of them, she’s the one who held out longest. She’s evidently some kind of leader for the whole group – and not particularly good at it, if I’ve interpreted the indications correctly. And when she eventually did come out with something, I think she was lying. She claimed that she wanted to go back to the camp from the rock with Clarissa, but that Clarissa wanted to be alone for a while in order to think something over. So she left her there.’

‘I see,’ said Przebuda. ‘And what do you think really happened? Always assuming that you have an opinion on that score.’

‘I think she gave her a good telling-off,’ said Van Veeteren.

‘A telling-off?’ said Przebuda, starting to scratch out his pipe with a matchstick. ‘Why?’

‘Because she’d been a bit too outspoken when I talked to them.’

‘Aha,’ said Przebuda. ‘And had she been?’

The chief inspector sighed.

‘The hell she had. But then, that’s the way they are.’

Przebuda pondered for a while.

‘Hmm,’ he said eventually. ‘I can’t see how this could be of vital significance. The older girl left the younger one, either on friendly terms or after a quarrel. What difference does it make?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘Maybe none at all. But there’s another little detail. The indications are that Belle Moulder also had a tete-a-tete with Yellinek later that evening – some time after evening prayers, but before bedtime. About half past nine. Several of the girls say they saw them together. It’s all a bit vague, to be sure, and she denies it.’

‘And what would the implication be if she did in fact talk to Yellinek?’

‘Hard to say. The most likely thing is, of course, that he wanted information about Clarissa Heerenmacht. He must have realized that she was missing by this time, in any case. If he was the one who killed her, he obviously knows more about that than anybody else.’

Przebuda nodded and began filling his pipe.

‘I understand,’ he said. ‘I think I get the picture. Would you like another glass?’

‘Is it really necessary?’ wondered the chief inspector. ‘Well, just a few drops, then.’

Andrej Przebuda stood up and walked over to the corner cupboard.

‘And then what?’ asked Przebuda. ‘Down at the rock, I mean.’

‘A good question,’ said the chief inspector. ‘Well, then – presumably within fifteen minutes of Belle Moulder leaving her – the murderer comes into the picture. Either he’s down there on the rock already, or he turns up somewhere as she’s on her way back to the camp. I don’t think the girl decided to give dinner a miss, even if that’s not impossible, of course.’

‘You say “he”,’ Przebuda commented.

‘Let’s assume it’s a man,’ said the chief inspector. ‘He rapes her, and strangles her to death. And then we come up against the next complication.’

‘Really?’

‘The location,’ the chief inspector explained. ‘I’d like to think there’s some kind of logic even in the most perverted patterns of behaviour – we’ve discussed this before. The murderer kills her somewhere or other, and all we can say with certainty is that it didn’t happen where we found the body. There are no signs of a struggle or violence around that place, which indicates that she must have been taken there afterwards. Either immediately after the murder, or later. By the killer, or somebody else.’

‘By the killer or somebody else…?’ Przebuda repeated, raising an eyebrow.

‘The reason for moving the body is also a bit intriguing,’ Van Veeteren went on. ‘You would usually move a body in order to hide it, but in this case it looks like the intention was just the opposite – to help us to find it.’

Andrej Przebuda nodded.

‘That woman on the telephone…?’

‘Yes,’ said the chief inspector. ‘I’d be grateful if you’d refrain from writing about her. Perhaps we’re barking up the wrong tree, but the investigation team has decided to keep her existence secret for the time being. Well, what conclusions do you draw?’

Neither of them spoke for quite a while. Van Veeteren eyed the pack of cigarettes on the table in front of him, but didn’t take one. Instead he clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back. Wondered if he’d remembered all the essentials, or if he’d left out any details.

And if it was possible to come to any sensible conclusions.

‘Two,’ Przebuda decided in the end. ‘Two conclusions. She seems to know what she’s talking about, and she wants to help the police. That woman, I mean.’

Van Veeteren said nothing.

‘Two questions as well,’ said Przebuda. ‘Why? And who the hell is she?’

‘My friend the editor is bubbling over with intelligent questions,’ the chief inspector declared. ‘But there’s another one.’

‘I know,’ said Przebuda. ‘How? How the hell can she know so much?’

‘Exactly,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘I’ve been grappling with these imponderables for several days now. Who is she? How come she knows? Why does she want to help us?’

‘But the fact no doubt is…’ Przebuda began, and then held back.

‘What?’

‘Surely the implication is that it’ll be sufficient to get an answer to one of those questions. Solve one and the others solve themselves. Don’t you think?’

The chief inspector sighed.

‘Presumably,’ he said. ‘But how about making a suggestion? Surely an experienced old newspaperman like you should be able to manage one out of three?’

Przebuda burst out laughing. Then he cleared his throat and turned serious.

‘No,’ he said. ‘But surely it’s not possible for the chief inspector’s intuition to have been fast asleep all week? Do you think it’s one of them? Those women at the summer camp, that is?’

Van Veeteren contemplated the flickering candles for ten seconds.

‘I don’t know,’ he said eventually. ‘But I think I can exclude one of them, in any case.’

‘Better than nothing,’ said Przebuda.

They set off at a leisurely pace on a stroll past the cemetery on the western edge of the town, along a meandering path for pedestrians and cyclists to the residential area of Kaasenduijk – where acting Chief of Police Kluuge lived with his Deborah – and then a semicircular route back into Sorbinowo from the north. One hour in all, two and a half kilometres through the fragrant summer’s evening. To start with Przebuda maintained a non-stop commentary on items of interest they passed by – buildings, local landmarks, flora and fauna (mainly mosquitoes and cattle of the black-and-white variety) – but he eventually grew tired of that and they returned to the agenda they seemed to have agreed was inevitable.

‘This Yellinek character – I take it he does a runner in the middle of the night, is that right?’

‘Same as before,’ muttered the chief inspector. ‘We don’t know. None of the girls saw him after a quarter to ten on the Sunday evening, so we assume he must have cleared off before dawn in any case. There’s one girl – but only one, nota bene – who thinks she heard a car starting at some point during the night.’

‘A car?’

‘Yes, they had a car out there, an old Vauxhall, registered in the name of Madeleine Zander. Yellinek doesn’t even have a driving licence.’

‘But it was still there next morning?’

‘Yes. Parked in the same place as usual. She – or one of the others – might have driven him somewhere during the night, but we have no proof or confirmation.’

‘How else would he have been able to get away?’

Van Veeteren shrugged.

‘The devil only knows. So it’s certainly most likely that he disappeared with the help of that car, but where does that get us?’

‘What about neighbours out there?’ Przebuda wondered.

‘The Finghers in one direction,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘They had a bit of contact with the campers. And there’s a couple by the name of Kuijpers a bit deeper into the forest. There was somebody at home in both places that night, but nobody heard a car. But that doesn’t mean a thing, of course. The probability is that Yellinek’s hidden away in the home of one of his church members somewhere, but there are getting on for a thousand of them, so we need considerable resources if we’re going to make a serious search. Obviously the police in Stamberg are pouncing on as many of them as they can find, but they don’t seem to be making any headway. And of course it’s holiday time. And on top of that is the refusal to cooperate.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Przebuda, wafting away a cloud of gnats. ‘Things aren’t exactly stacked in your favour.’

They continued in silence for a few minutes.

‘Why?’ said the editor eventually, having followed his own train of thought to the next halt. ‘Why did he run away if he’s innocent? Doesn’t that suggest he’s the culprit?’

‘That’s very possible,’ said the chief inspector. ‘Although he had good reason to go under cover in any case. He’s been in trouble with the police before, and if girls suddenly start disappearing from his camp he’s bright enough to realize that he’s on the spot. It’s obviously disgraceful of him to run away like that, but by no means beyond comprehension. We must never lose sight of the fact that we’re dealing with an arsehole. A king-size arsehole.’

‘So you’re saying there’s a logical explanation, are you?’

‘Without a doubt,’ said the chief inspector. ‘I’ve been thinking about it, and I reckon it would have been odder if he’d stayed around. Especially in view of this other girl that’s missing – remember this is just between me and you: you’re the only editor in the whole country who knows about that – and even more so when you take into account what a shit that Yellinek is.’

‘I see,’ said Przebuda. ‘Although I don’t really get what the implications are. There’s nothing to link Yellinek and his hangers-on directly with these terrible happenings, is there?’

‘No,’ said Van Veeteren with a sigh. ‘No very strong link at least. As far as I can see it’s possible we’re dealing with some anonymous lunatic wandering about in the forest.’

‘With no link to the Pure Life?’

‘No link at all.’

‘Well I’ll be damned!’ said Przebuda.

‘But on the other hand, it’s just as likely that they are the ones responsible.’

‘Of course,’ said Przebuda. ‘One or other of them.’

He paused to light his pipe, then he and the chief inspector immersed themselves in private thoughts as they strolled, at a very gentle pace, side by side along what was in fact the home straight of Sergeant Kluuge’s jogging track. But not even the editor was aware of that geographical fact.

‘Ah well,’ said Przebuda as they approached the built-up area again. ‘Whichever way you look at it, it’s a very nasty business. I hope you can sort it out. But I must admit that I’ve got nothing much to contribute, I’m afraid… Anyway, I think we’re coming to a parting of the ways. That’s Grimm’s down there, as you can see – but if ever you need a Dr Watson again, my tiny brain is at your disposal.’

‘Thank you,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘Two tiny brains are better than one, I suppose.’

They said goodbye, but before Andrej Przebuda had climbed even five of the steps up to Kleinmarckt, he paused.

‘Do you think you’re going to solve this case?’ he asked. ‘Do you usually solve your cases?’

‘Most of them,’ said Van Veeteren.

‘But you have some unsolved cases, do you?’

‘One,’ admitted the chief inspector. ‘But let’s not go into that. Every new day brings enough problems, as I’ve said before.’

‘You can say that again,’ said Przebuda, and Van Veeteren thought he could hear his friend smiling in the darkness. ‘Goodnight, Chief Inspector. May the angels sing you to sleep.’

No, Van Veeteren thought grimly when Przebuda had disappeared. Let’s not start thinking about the G file as well. We’ve got enough on our hands without that.

By the time he strode through the milk-white glass doors of Grimm’s Hotel, his dejection had caught up with him.

We ought to have talked about other things, he thought. We ought to have focused on something else.

Katarina Schwartz, for instance. Or Ewa Siguera. Or potential violent criminals in the area. I’m damned sure he’d have been able to come up with something useful if we’d done that!

But perhaps his self-criticism was unfair. In any case, the disappearance of the Schwartz girl was still something they’d managed to keep away from the journalists – after nearly a week under the spotlights. That was probably due more to good luck than good management; and besides, one might ask if there was any point in keeping it secret. Perhaps, perhaps not.

And they hadn’t heard a word from the French police.

Becalmed, the chief inspector thought (although he had only been in a sailing boat twice in the whole of his life – both times together with Renate). For the whole of that Saturday in Sorbinowo there had hardly been a breath of wind, and the case had not moved forward even a fraction of an inch.

Becalmed.

He recalled the potentially meaningful silence up at Wolgershuus the previous day, and realized that there was more to coming to an end and dying than people generally imagined.

Madeleine Zander and Ulriche Fischer! he then thought with a feeling of disgust as he stood at the reception desk, waiting for his key. Were things really so bad that he would have to tackle them as well?

When the night porter eventually appeared, it transpired that there was another woman’s name to frustrate him.

Albeit in a slightly different way.

Reinhart had left a message for him. It was short and sweet: There’s no damned Ewa Siguera anywhere in this country. Shall I continue with the rest of the world?

Van Veeteren’s reply was more or less just as stringent: Europe will be enough. Many thanks in advance.

Ah well, he thought when he had eventually gone to bed, I suppose I might just as well carry on as planned, no matter what.