“What do you mean?”
“Well, she must surely have had other men as well as you-
I mean, you’d only been together for six months. She separated from her former husband, Andreas Berger, six years ago.
Do you know anything about relationships she had in the meantime?”
“She didn’t have any,” said Mitter abruptly.
Ruger looked surprised.
“How do you know that?”
“Because she said so.”
“Do I understand this rightly? Are you saying that your wife had no relationship at all with another man for six years?”
“Yes.”
“She was a beautiful woman, Mr. Mitter. How is that possible? Six years!”
“She didn’t have any other men. Have you got that into your head? I thought you were supposed to be my attorney.
My Lord, do I have the right to terminate this line of questioning?”
The judge looked somewhat confused, but before he had time to reach a decision, Ruger was speaking again.
“I apologize, Mr. Mitter. I merely want the matter to be clear to the jury as well. Allow me to take another approach.
Everyone agreed that your wife, Eva Ringmar, was a beautiful and attractive woman. Even if she didn’t want to enter into a m i n d ’ s e y e
relationship, surely there must have been other men who, er, expressed an interest?”
Mitter said nothing.
“Before you came into the picture, at least. What about the situation at your school, for example?”
But Mitter had no desire to answer, that was obvious. He leaned back and folded his arms.
“You’ll have to ask somebody else about that, my learned friend. I have nothing to add.”
Ruger hesitated a moment before putting his next question.
“Your quarrel at the Mephisto restaurant, referred to by the prosecuting attorney-it didn’t have to do with another man, by any chance?”
“No.”
“You’re certain?”
“Of course.”
Ferrati suddenly intervened.
“Are you jealous, Mr. Mitter?”
“Stop!” bellowed Havel. “Erase that question! You have no right to intervene at this stage, that was. .”
“I can answer it even so,” insisted Mitter, and Havel fell silent. “No, I’m no more inclined to jealousy than anybody else. Nor was Eva. And besides, neither of us had any need. I don’t understand what my attorney is getting at.”
Havel sighed and looked at the clock.
“If you have anything else to ask, please keep it short,” he said, turning to Ruger.
Ruger nodded.
“Of course. Just one more question, Mr. Mitter: Are you quite certain that your wife wasn’t lying to you?”
Mitter appeared to be pausing for effect before answering.
“One hundred percent certain,” he said.
Ruger shrugged.
“Thank you. No more questions.”
He’s lying, Van Veeteren thought. The man is sitting there and lying his way into jail.
Or. . or is he extending the premise of telling the truth
God only knows. But why? If he doesn’t miss her, why defend her as if she were an abbess?
And as he elbowed his way out through the crowd of
reporters, he decided to leave the pyromaniac lying in peace for another half day.
14
Why the mother?
He didn’t know the answer to that himself. Perhaps it was a question of geography. Mrs. Ringmar lived in Leuwen, one of the old fishing ports on the coast. It meant an hour in the car through the polders, and perhaps that was what he needed right now. A lot of sky, not much earth.
He arrived at the precise moment the clock in the little town hall struck three. He parked in the square and asked his way to Mrs. Ringmar’s house.
The air was full of sea.
Sea and wind and salt. If he wanted, he could allow it to remind him of his childhood summers, but there was no reason why he should.
The house was small and white. Wedged in a confusion of shacks, sheds, fences, and net racks. He wondered if there could be any room for integrity in a place like this. People lived in each other’s kitchens, and every bedroom must be surrounded by listening ears.
The higher the sky, the lower the people, he thought as he rang the doorbell. Why did there have to be people in every kind of landscape?
The woman who peered at him through the barely open door was small and thin. Her hair was short and straight and completely white, and her face seemed to be somehow introverted. Van Veeteren recognized the expression from lots of other old people. Perhaps it had something to do with their false teeth. . As if they had bitten into something thirty years ago, and stubbornly refused to let go ever since, he thought.
Or was there more than that to this woman?
“Yes?”
“Mrs. Ringmar?”
“Yes.”
“My name’s Van Veeteren. It was me who phoned.”
“Please come in.”
She opened the door, but only wide enough for him to be able to squeeze through.
She ushered him into the drawing room. Indicated a sofa in the corner. Van Veeteren sat down.
“I’ve put the coffee on. I suppose you’d like some coffee?”
Van Veeteren nodded.
“Yes, please. If it’s not too much trouble.”
She left the room. Van Veeteren looked round. A neat, attractive room. A low ceiling and a degree of timelessness.
He liked it. Apart from the television set, there was not much about it later than the fifties. The sofa, table, and armchairs all in teak, a display case, a little bookcase. The windowsill tightly packed with potted plants-to prevent people from seeing in, presumably. A few paintings of seascapes, family photographs.
A newly married couple. Two children, at various stages. A boy and a girl. They looked to be similar in age. The girl must be Eva.
She returned with a coffee tray.
“Please accept my condolences, Mrs. Ringmar.”
She nodded and clenched her teeth even more tightly. She made Van Veeteren think of a stunted pine tree.
“There’s been a police officer here already.”
