The Return

3

“Report, please,” said Hiller, clasping his hands.

Reinhart gazed up at the ceiling. Munster dutifully performed the throat-clearing ritual and Van Veeteren yawned.

“Well?” said Hiller.

“Let me see,” said Munster, leafing through his notebook.

“Come on now, get a grip!” said the chief of police, checking his rolled-gold wristwatch. “I have a meeting in twenty-five minutes from now, an outline report will suffice.”

Munster cleared his throat again.

“Well, we’re dealing with the body of a man,” he began.

“Found at about one yesterday afternoon in some woods on the outskirts of Behren, about twenty miles from here. Found by a six-year-old girl. . she was on an outing organized by the day nursery she attends. The body was wrapped up inside a carpet in a ditch about forty yards from the nearest passable road, and it had been lying there for a long time.”

“How long?”

“A good question,” said Reinhart. “A year, perhaps. Maybe more, maybe less.”

“Can’t that be established accurately?” Hiller asked.

“Not yet,” Van Veeteren said. “Meusse is working flat out on it. But at least six months in any case.”

“Hmm,” said Hiller. “Go on.”

“Well,” said Munster, “it hasn’t been possible to identify the body as the murderer cut off his head, his hands and his feet. . ”

“Can we be certain that it was a murder?” asked the chief of police. Reinhart sighed.

“No,” he said. “Obviously, it could be a straightforward natural death. Somebody who couldn’t afford a proper

funeral, though. It’s an expensive business nowadays. . The widow no doubt donated his head and the rest to medical research, in accordance with the wishes of the deceased.”

Van Veeteren coughed.

“It’ll presumably take a while to pin down the cause of death,” he said, inserting a toothpick into his lower teeth. “It seems there are no signs of fatal injuries on what’s left of the body-although people generally do die if you cut their head off, of course.”

“Meusse isn’t exactly thrilled by this corpse,” said Reinhart.

“You can see his point. It’s been lying in that rotting carpet all winter, maybe longer. Freezing, then thawing out, freezing again, thawing again. The odd animal has had a nibble here and there, but they evidently didn’t think much of him either.

I suppose he was a bit hard to get at as well. He’s been lying half submerged, and that’s helped to preserve him or there wouldn’t have been much left apart from the skeleton. He looks a bit of a mess, to be honest.”

Hiller hesitated.

“Why are. . Why are these parts of the body missing, do we know that?”

We? Munster thought. Do we know that? What is this

damn place, a police station or a hospital? Or a madhouse, like Reinhart usually suggests? Sometimes it was hard to say.

“Hard to say,” said Van Veeteren, reading his thoughts.

“We do occasionally come across a bit of butchery in this line of business, but the point must surely be to make identification difficult.”

“You have no idea who it is?”

Van Veeteren shook his head.

“Obviously, we’re going over the area with a fine-tooth comb,” Munster said. “But then, you ordered that yourself.

Twenty officers have been searching the woods since yesterday afternoon-not during the night, though, of course.”

“Waste of time,” said Reinhart, taking his pipe from his jacket pocket.

“You can smoke when we’ve finished,” said the police

chief, checking his watch again. “Why is it a waste of time?”

Reinhart put his pipe away and clasped his hands behind his head.

“Because they won’t find anything,” he explained. “If I kill somebody and take time to cut off his head and hands and feet, I’m not going to be damned stupid enough to leave them lying around where the rest of the body is. The fact is that there’s only one place in the whole wide world where we can be absolutely certain of not finding them, and that’s where we’re looking. Clever stuff, you have to admit.”

“All right,” said Hiller. “Van Veeteren wasn’t here yesterday, and I thought. .”

“OK,” said Van Veeteren. “I suppose there’s no harm in taking a close look at the place where the body was found, but I think we’ll put a stop to that this evening. Not many clues are going to survive a whole winter, no matter what, and I think we can be pretty sure he wasn’t killed there anyway.”

Hiller hesitated again.

“How are we going to set up the investigation, then?” he asked. “I’m a bit short of time. . ”

Van Veeteren made no attempt to hurry.

“Well,” he said, “I suppose we’d better think that over.

How many officers do you want to give us?”

“There’s those damned robberies,” said Hiller, rising to his feet. “And that blackmailer. .”

“And those racists,” said Reinhart.

“This blackmailer. .,” said Hiller.

“Racist bastards,” said Reinhart.

“Oh, what the hell,” said Hiller. “Stop by tomorrow, VV, and let’s see where we’ve got to. Is Heinemann still off sick?”

“Back on Monday,” said Munster.

He didn’t mention that he was intending to take a few days off when Heinemann came back. Something told him that now wasn’t the right moment to apply for leave.

“OK, you’d better get on with it,” said Hiller, starting to usher everybody toward the door. “The quicker we sort this one out, the better. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find out who the poor sod is, in any case. Don’t you think?”

“Nothing is impossible,” said Reinhart.

“Well, what do you reckon, Munster?” said Van Veeteren, handing over the photographs.

Munster examined the pictures of the mutilated body, covered in brown stains, and of the spot where it was found: quite a good hiding place by the look of it, with thick undergrowth and an overgrown ditch. Hardly surprising that the body had been undetected for so long. On the contrary, its unexpected discovery by the poor little six-year-old girl surely had to be classified as pure coincidence.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Seems to have been pretty carefully planned, in any case.”

Van Veeteren muttered something.

“Carefully planned, you can say that again. We can take that for granted. What do you say to the mutilation?”

Munster thought for a moment.

“Identification, obviously.”

“Do you usually recognize people by their feet?”

Munster shook his head.

“Not unless there’s something special about them. Tattoos or something of that sort. How old was he?”

“Between fifty and sixty, Meusse thought, but we’ll have to wait until tonight. It’s not a very nice body, as we’ve already established. It’ll probably be you and Rooth who have to look after it.”

Munster looked up.

“Why? What are you. .?”

Van Veeteren raised a warning finger.

“I’m up to the neck in it with this damned robber. And no doubt Reinhart will want to wrap up his terrorists as quickly as possible. And then, well, I’ll be going in soon to have my stomach cut up. First week in May. You might as well take charge of everything from the start.”

Munster could feel himself blushing.

“Obviously, I’ll be at your service when you find yourself in a corner,” Van Veeteren said.

When, Munster thought. Not if.

“I’d better find a corner where I can get stuck first,” he said.

“Has Rooth checked missing persons yet?”

Van Veeteren switched on the intercom and five minutes later Detective Inspector Rooth appeared with a sheaf of computer printouts in his hand. He flopped down onto the empty chair and scratched his beard. It was straggly and recent and made him look like a homeless dosser, it seemed to Munster.

But so what? It could be an advantage to have colleagues who couldn’t be picked out as the filth from a hundred yards away.

“Thirty-two missing persons reported in our area over the last couple of years,” he announced. “Who haven’t been found, that is. Sixteen locals. I’ve been weeding them out a bit.

If we assume that he’s been lying out there for at least six months and at most a year, he ought to have been reported as missing between April and December last year. We’ll have to see if that’s right when we get Meusse’s report, of course. . ”

“How can as many people as that go missing?” wondered Munster. “Can that really be right?”

Rooth shrugged.

“Most of them go abroad. Mainly young people. I doubt if there’s any kind of crime involved in more than fifteen or twenty percent of the cases. That’s what Stauff claims, anyway, and he knows what he’s talking about. I assume he’s not including minor misdemeanors. Quite a lot of druggies go missing. Clear off to Thailand and India and places like that.”

Van Veeteren nodded.

“How many candidates does that leave you with?”

Rooth thumbed through the lists. Munster could see that he had circled round some names, put a question mark against others, crossed some out, but there didn’t seem to be many hot tips.

“Not a lot,” said Rooth. “If we’re looking for a man in his fifties, about five feet ten, including his head and his feet-

well, I reckon there are only a couple to choose from. Maybe three.”

Van Veeteren studied his toothpick.

“One will be enough,” he said. “As long as it’s the right one.”

“He doesn’t need to be a local either,” said Munster.

“There’s nothing to suggest that he was killed in the Behren area. It could have been anywhere, as far as I can see.”

Rooth nodded.

“If we consider the list from the country as a whole, we’ve got seven or eight to choose from. In any case, I suppose we’d better wait for the postmortem report before we start looking for possible widows?”

“Yes indeed,” said Van Veeteren. “The fewer that need to look at him, the better.”

“OK,” said Munster after a pause, “what do we do in the meantime, then?”

Van Veeteren leaned back, making his desk chair creak.

“I suggest you two clear off somewhere and draw up an outline plan. I’ll tell Hiller you’re sorting everything out. But as I say, I’m at your disposal.”

“Well then,” said Rooth when they had settled down in the canteen with their mugs of coffee. “Do you reckon we can sort this out within a week?”

“I hope so,” said Munster. “When does Meusse expect to be ready?”

Rooth checked his watch.

“In about an hour, I think. We’d better go and see him together, don’t you think?”

Munster agreed.

“What about a response from the general public?” he

asked. “There’s been quite a bit in the papers.”

Rooth shook his head as he washed down half a Danish pastry.

“Nothing that makes sense so far. Krause is keeping an eye on that side of things. There’ll be an appeal on the news tonight, both on the telly and on radio. But I’ll be damned if it isn’t one of these.”

He tapped the computer printouts with his spoon. Mun-

ster picked up the lists and considered Rooth’s notes. He’d drawn a double circle round three of the names: They seemed to be the hottest candidates.

Candidates for having been murdered, mutilated and dumped in an overgrown ditch just outside Behren, that is. He ran through them:

Claus Menhevern

Drouhtens vej 4, Blochberg

born 1937

reported missing 6/1/1993

Pierre Kohler

Armastenstraat 42, Maardam

born 1936

reported missing 8/27/1993

Piit Choulenz

Hagmerlaan 11, Maardam

born 1945

reported missing 10/16/1993

“Yep,” he said, sliding the lists back over the table. “It’s got to be one of them.”

“Sure,” said Rooth. “In that case, we’ll crack it within a week. I can feel it in my bones. . ”