“Huh. What the hell are their routines?” Hiller asked, waft-ing away the smoke ring. “Do we have a description?”
“Eight,” said Munster. “They are more or less in agreement. Quite a tall woman with thick, dark hair and glasses.
Duffel coat and jeans. Only three of them spoke to her, but another five saw her. Including a patient. He’s prepared to swear on oath that it was a man dressed up as a woman. The rest are not sure.”
“Van Veeteren, what do you think?” Hiller asked.
“I agree with the loony,” said Van Veeteren. “But he’ll have to look after the oath himself.”
Hiller clasped his hands in front of him on his desk.
“So this. . person. . remained hidden inside the building until. . three o’clock, half past three in the morning. Then murdered Mitter, and climbed out through the window? It sounds a little on the cold-blooded side, don’t you agree, gentlemen?”
“You can say that again,” said Reinhart.
“As callous as it comes,” said Rooth. “It’s like a damn B-film more than anything else. .”
“The other patient,” interrupted Hiller. “The one sharing the same room. What did he have to say?”
“Nothing,” said Munster. “He slept like a log, I don’t think he even woke up when they carried him out.”
“Very fancy drugs they have nowadays,” said Rooth.
“Remember
Hiller looked at the clock.
“A quarter of an hour to go,” he informed everybody.
“Can’t you keep the hacks waiting for a while?” asked Reinhart.
“Even if we can’t do anything else, at least we can make a point of being punctual,” said Hiller, glaring at Reinhart’s pipe. “Besides, I gather it’s a live broadcast.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” said Rooth.
“Okay,” said Hiller. “Van Veeteren, what clues do we have?
What theories are you working on? I couldn’t care less about your headache.”
Van Veeteren removed his toothpick from between his lower teeth, broke it in two, and laid it on the shiny table in front of him.
“Do you want to know what you ought to say, or what I think?”
“Both. But perhaps we can take your private thoughts afterward. Give me some pearls to cast before the swine.”
“As you wish,” said Van Veeteren. “An unknown person has entered Majorna and killed Jonas Mattias Mitter, who was found guilty of the manslaughter of his wife a few weeks ago.
He was being looked after in Majorna because of his frail mental condition. There is nothing to suggest that the two deaths are connected in any way.”
“I can’t say that, for Christ’s sake!” roared Hiller nervously, wiping his brow.
“Say that there is a connection, then,” Van Veeteren suggested. “It makes no difference to me.”
There followed a few seconds of silence. The only sounds came from Reinhart’s pipe and the chief of police’s rotating wristwatch.
“Was Mitter innocent, then?” asked Rooth.
Nobody answered.
“So it’s the same person that committed both the murders?” Rooth continued.
Van Veeteren leaned back and stared up at the ceiling.
“He was an amusing devil, I must say,” he said eventually.
“There’s only one thing that surprises me: that he didn’t try to contact us instead, if he’d remembered something.”
“What do you mean?” said Hiller.
“You mean. .” said Reinhart.
Van Veeteren nodded slowly.
“. . that Mitter tipped off the murderer?” said Munster.
“But not us?”
Van Veeteren said nothing.
“How could anybody be so damned stupid?” Reinhart wondered.
“You try spending some time in the loony bin and let them fill you up with drugs, and see how smart you feel after a week of that,” said Rooth. “If it’s as V.V. says and Mitter managed to beat a hole through his memory loss, what the hell did he think he was playing at? I have to say I have my doubts.”
“No, it’s as I say,” said Van Veeteren with a yawn. “But we don’t need to quarrel over it. You’ll see in the end.”
Hiller stood up.
“It’s time. Van Veeteren, I want a word with you afterward.”
“By all means. You’ll find me in the canteen. There’s a program on the box that I don’t want to miss. . ”
Hiller adjusted his tie and hurried out through the door.
“A shitty situation if ever I saw one,” he muttered.
26
Munster knocked on the door and came in.
“Take a seat,” said Van Veeteren, pointing at the chair between the filing cabinets. Munster sat down and slumped back against the wall.
“It’s eleven o’clock,” he said. “Why can’t we go home and get some sleep, and continue tomorrow instead?”
Van Veeteren clasped his hands on the desk in front of him.
“People think better at night. You’ll get fat if you sleep too much. You’re already starting to get slow when you come forward to the net. A murderer is on the loose. Do you need any more explanations?”
Oh, shut up, Munster thought; but he didn’t say it.
“Coffee?” Van Veeteren asked in a friendly tone.
“Yes, please,” said Munster. “That would be appreciated.
I’ve only drunk eleven cups so far today.”
Van Veeteren poured out something evil-smelling and brown from a grimy thermos flask. Handed Munster a paper mug.
“Now listen carefully, Inspector. You had better concentrate, otherwise you could find yourself sitting here all night.
The hard work starts tomorrow, so it would be as well if we had some idea of what the hell we should do. Do you want to call your wife?”
Munster shook his head.
“I’ve already done so. She saw on the television that. .”
“Good. Well, who’s our culprit? Our murderer?”
Munster sipped the lukewarm coffee. Pulled a face as he swallowed and guessed that it must have been brewed between twelve and eighteen hours previously.
“Does that mean that you don’t know?” Van Veeteren
asked.
Munster nodded.
“That means: no, I don’t know,” he confirmed.
“Same here,” said Van Veeteren. “And I have to admit that I haven’t the slightest trace of a suspicion, either. That’s why you have to pull your socks up. Let’s start with number two!”
“Eh?”
“With the second murder, the murder of Mitter. What is the most important question?”
