Well, we met occasionally after that, but not all that much.”
“How often?”
“Well, I suppose we saw each other about once a month, perhaps. No, maybe not as often as that. Probably about ten or twelve times in all over the last two years.”
“What did you do?”
“When we met? Er, it varied. Sometimes we just sat
together at her place or mine, sometimes we went out, to the movies or to a restaurant.”
“Did you go dancing?”
“No, never.”
“Were you, shall we say, on intimate terms?”
“Yes, I suppose you could say that. Maybe not completely, though.”
“Do you know if Eva Ringmar had any other women
friends, or even one other woman friend, with whom she was on intimate terms?”
“No, I’m quite sure she didn’t. She liked to be on her own.”
“Why?”
“I think it had to do with what she’d been through. The accident involving her son-I suppose you know about that?”
“Yes. You mean that she chose to live a rather solitary life?”
“Maybe not solitary, but she didn’t seem to need to be together with other people. Er, she used to say something along those lines, in so many words.”
“What about her relations with men?”
“I don’t think she had any. Not before Mitter, that is.”
“You think?”
“I’m pretty sure.”
“She never mentioned anybody?”
“No.”
“But you did talk about men?”
“Sometimes. There are more interesting topics, you know.”
“Really? Anyway. . during the time you used to meet, those ten to twelve occasions, did you ever notice anything to suggest that she was having a relationship with a man?”
“No.”
“Do you think you would have noticed, if that had been the case?”
“Yes. And she’d have told me as well.”
“Really?”
“Yes. She told me about Mitter, after all.”
“When was that?”
“In May. Around the tenth, if I remember rightly. I rang her to ask if she wanted to go to the movies, but she said she didn’t have time. She’d met a man, she said.”
“Did she say who it was?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Did you speak to her, or meet her again after that?”
“Yes. She phoned in the middle of September. Said she’d got married, and wondered if we could meet.”
“What did you decide?”
“I was about to leave for Linz-I was going on a course for two weeks-but I said I’d be in touch when I got back.”
“But it was too late by then?”
“Yes.”
“How did you think she sounded, when you spoke to her in September?”
“How she sounded?”
“Yes, did you notice anything special? Did she seem happy, or worried, or anything else?”
“No. I didn’t notice anything unusual.”
“Were you surprised that she’d got married?”
“Yes, I suppose I was.”
A brief pause. Ferrati leafed through his papers. The bluebottle woke up after having slept for four days. Buzzed around the courtroom but found nothing of interest and retired once more to the ceiling. The judge watched it for a while, as he wiped the back of his neck with a colorful handkerchief.
“Miss Lingen,” said Ferrati eventually, “during the two years you associated with Eva Ringmar, did you ever have any reason to suspect that she might be having a relationship with a man other than Janek Mitter?”
“No.”
“Did she have any. . enemies?”
“Enemies? No, why on earth should she?”
“Thank you, Miss Lingen. No more questions.”
Ruger remained seated this time as well.
“Miss Lingen, does the name Eduard Caen mean anything to you?”
“No.”
“Nothing?”
“No, nothing at all.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
Ruger stood up. Took a folded sheet of paper from out of his inside pocket and handed it to Havel.
“My Lord, may I present the court with this list of dates on which Eva Ringmar met Eduard Caen from October 15, 1990, to February 20, 1992. Fourteen meetings in all. The dates are in chronological order and confirmed by Mr. Caen himself. I have no further questions.”
17
He woke up at twenty past five.
Stayed in bed for a while and tried to go back to sleep, but that was impossible. Old images and memories of every possible occasion flooded into his consciousness, and after half an hour he got up. Put on a jumper and trousers over his pajamas and went to the kitchen. Looked out the window, saw that the newsstand in the square below hadn’t opened yet, and sat down at the table to wait.
When the shutters were removed, he was standing there, ready. There was no risk. The woman who ran the stand recognized him, but it wasn’t the first time he’d been there so early.
With
The report covered a whole page, and he read it twice. Folded the paper up, rested his head on his hands, and pondered.
Loss of memory?
Of all the possibilities he’d considered over the last few weeks, that was something that had never occurred to him.
Loss of memory?
After a while, he concluded that this was the only answer.
The only one, and the right one. Mitter had forgotten him.
He’d been so drunk that he quite simply didn’t remember.
There was a twitching at the corners of his mouth, he could feel it. He felt drowsy now, after getting up so early. But surely this was an omen. Another sign that he was on the right path. He was free now, and strong. He only needed to look ahead. No need to fear anything. A lion.
