The Inspector and Silence

35

Van Veeteren met Marie-Louise Schwartz in a terraced house in the southernmost suburb of Stamberg. The visit lasted for an hour, and fifty of those sixty minutes were spent slumped in a cretonne armchair, observing his weeping hostess in the cretonne armchair opposite.

She occasionally managed to pull herself together to some extent, but as soon as he asked her a question, she started crying again. Eventually he tired of even making an effort; simply sat there and let her despair speak for itself.

Perhaps there was a sort of point in doing that, he thought; and when he stood up to leave she grasped hold of both his hands and looked at him with tear-stained eyes. As if he had really achieved something – exhibited great warmth and fellow-feeling, or whatever it was she had been looking for. Maybe she hadn’t even realized that he was a police officer. In any case she succeeded in explaining that she was very grateful for his visit, and she would now go upstairs to the bedroom and look after her husband, who was finding it difficult to handle his sorrow.

Oh my God, Van Veeteren thought.

He took his leave, got into his car and drove around aimlessly for half an hour, accompanied by Pergolesi and Handel. When he parked again behind Glossman’s in order to collect his case, he happened to switch on the car radio and heard that Oscar Yellinek had been found murdered in Waldingen.

For a brief moment he didn’t know if he was dreaming or awake.

Then he realized that it didn’t matter which.

His next meeting was fixed for seven o’clock that evening (appointments had to be attended, children needed to be collected, a piano tuner needed to be told what to do), and so he spent the whole of the afternoon sitting in various cafes, leafing through Klimke, and listening to radio and television broadcasts. Eventually the first of the evening newspapers turned up, and as usual they didn’t improve matters.

He called the police station in Sorbinowo several times, but all Miss Miller could tell him was that the others were out in the forest, and he didn’t leave a message.

After all, he had nothing to tell them.

Apart from a suspicion that had not yet been confirmed.

And which didn’t fit in specially well with the latest development. The murder of Oscar Yellinek. Or did it?

Might as well leave them in peace to get on with their work, he thought.

Might as well keep out of the way and let others take over. Wasn’t that what he’d already decided he was going to do?

She was sitting waiting for him in the cafe they’d agreed on, and he wondered again why she had preferred to meet him here rather than in her own home.

To protect her privacy? he thought as he sat down opposite her. To keep something sacrosanct despite everything? That would be perfectly understandable.

He introduced himself, and she reached out a hand over the table to greet him, somewhat nervously.

‘So, here we are,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t get away earlier. A lot has happened today.’

He nodded and dug out a toothpick. The thought suddenly struck him: I’m right. I can see it in her appearance and behaviour. How the devil could I have known that?

‘You understand what I want to talk to you about, I take it?’

He was taking a big risk, but he’d decided on that opening gambit. There weren’t really any other possibilities. No alternative moves.

She hesitated for a moment.

‘I think so.’

He could see that there was no point in rushing her. It was more important to give her plenty of time, and let things come out in whatever order seemed most natural to her. Or rather, least unpleasant.

‘We’d been together for eight years before I caught on,’ she began. ‘Eight years, and married for five.’

‘It can be something that suddenly strikes,’ he said. ‘It might not have been there all the time.’

She nodded.

‘I’ve tried to convince myself of that as well, but I don’t know if it would be much consolation. It’s so… well, so damned incomprehensible. It’s simply not possible to understand it, that’s the only conclusion I can reach. I just can’t get over it, I have to forget it and bury it. I thought that was my only chance – but now I realize that was also wrong, of course.’

She paused and rummaged in her bag. A waiter appeared, and without even asking Van Veeteren ordered coffee and cognac for them both.

‘Tell me about it,’ he said when she had lit a cigarette.

She scraped with her fingernail at a speck of candle wax on the tablecloth, and blinked several times. The chief inspector was holding his breath; it was his very presence that was digging up these old horrors, but he hoped to reduce the awfulness to a minimum.

‘It went too far,’ she said. ‘What I can never forgive myself for is that I allowed it to go on for so long, instead of reacting to the signs immediately. Over six months… I just couldn’t believe it was true. It’s the kind of thing you read about, and… Well, you know what I mean.’

Van Veeteren nodded.

‘It was in the bath that I caught him at it. Judith was only five, but old enough to understand what was going on. And to be ashamed. What was hardest to understand was that he could be so unconcerned about it.’

‘Did he admit it?’

She inhaled and took a sip of cognac before replying.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Or maybe yes and no. He pretended that he didn’t know what I was talking about, but on the other hand he agreed to an immediate divorce. He moved out – I made him move out the very same day.’

‘And you no longer meet?’

‘No. When I’d got over the shock I hired a lawyer, of course. Prepared myself for a fight, but there was no fight. He gave up everything and left us without saying a word. That’s what I regard as proof that he admitted what he’d done.’

Another pause. Van Veeteren snapped the toothpick and took a cigarette instead.

‘How far had it gone?’ he asked.

‘A long way,’ was all she said.

‘Did you have her examined?’

She nodded.

‘Yes, I wanted to know. Oh yes, he’d gone all the way. There was no doubt about it.’

The chief inspector felt a surge of disgust rising within him, and he emptied his glass of cognac as an antidote.

‘When exactly was this?’ he asked.

‘Four years ago,’ she said. ‘Four years and two months.’

‘You didn’t report him?’

‘No,’ she said, sighing deeply. ‘I didn’t.’

Van Veeteren observed her hands clamped round her glass. He could have reproached her now. Turned up the heat and asked how the hell she could have failed to follow up something as horrendous as that – but of course, there was no need.

No need to torture her any longer. The whole conversation had taken less than ten minutes, and it had turned out exactly as he’d expected.

Or dreaded, rather.

Knew it would?

‘I’ll try to make sure that you are not involved in what happens next,’ he said. ‘But it’s not easy to see how it will-’

She interrupted him.

‘I’ll say my piece,’ she assured him. ‘You don’t need to worry. I don’t want to make the same mistake twice.’

‘Okay,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘I’ll be in touch when the time comes.’

They shook hands again, and he took his leave. When he emerged into the street, he was shivering. It was a chill that had nothing to do with the warm, pleasant summer evening. Nothing at all.

He found a public telephone and called Sorbinowo again, but all he got was a recording of Miss Miller’s voice informing him that the police station was now closed for the day, and providing two numbers to call if he had relevant information to provide regarding the Waldingen affair.

Oh yes, Van Veeteren thought. I have relevant information all right.

But he didn’t make any further calls. There were still several question marks – with regard to Yellinek’s death, for instance – and what he would most like to do was to serve up the solution to his colleagues on a plate. All done and dusted.

That had a whiff of vanity, of course; but if this really was to be his last case, perhaps he could be forgiven that.

And needless to say there was nothing – nothing at all – better able to eliminate any further question marks than a car journey. A long, calm drive through the night.

He pondered for a while. Then made up his mind: together with Penderecki.

Yet again Penderecki.