last.
Tomorrow. In a new place.
39
“What the hell are you doing here?” said Suurna.
“I’ve come to say hello to my old school,” said Van Veeteren. “When did you start swearing, Headmaster?”
“We’re here to pick up a murderer,” said Reinhart.
Suurna opened and shut his mouth a few times, but no words emerged. He grabbed hold of his desk, and once again Munster had the impression he was about to faint.
“Do sit down, Headmaster,” he said. “There, that’s it.”
“We’re looking for Carl Ferger,” said Van Veeteren. “Do you know where he is right now?”
“The school janitor?” said Suurna. “Are you really sure that. .?”
“Absolutely certain,” said Reinhart. “Can you find out where he is, please?”
“Er. . yes, of course,” said Suurna. “I can ask Miss Bellevue. .”
He pressed the intercom.
“Ask her to come here,” said Van Veeteren. “We don’t want to warn him.”
Half a minute later Miss Bellevue appeared, with wide eyes and dangling earrings.
“These gentlemen are looking for Ferger,” said Suurna.
“Do you know where he is?”
“He hasn’t arrived yet,” said Miss Bellevue, dangling her earrings.
“Hasn’t arrived?” said Suurna. “Why?”
“What time is he supposed to start work?” interrupted Van Veeteren.
“Half past seven,” said Miss Bellevue. “He hasn’t reported sick. I don’t know what’s happened. Mattisen has been asking for him several times-they were supposed to be moving the grand piano today.”
“Shit!” said Van Veeteren.
“Has anybody phoned him?” Reinhart asked.
“Mattisen has called, but there was no answer. Perhaps his car has broken down, or something of the sort.”
“And it’s taken two hours?” said Suurna. “He only lives a ten-minute walk from here, doesn’t he?”
“Shit!” said Van Veeteren again. “Hand over his address, Headmaster. You and I are going to pay a call, Munster! Reinhart, you take care of the guidance counselor!”
“With pleasure,” said Reinhart.
He knocked and walked in.
The guidance counselor was in his forties. Beard, sandals, and a ring in his ear.
“Hey, hold on a minute, what the. .” he began.
“I’m a bit short of time,” said Reinhart. “Might I suggest that you take care of this lad a bit later.”
The youth on the sofa stood up reluctantly.
“Would you mind waiting outside for a few moments?”
said the guidance counselor. “What the hell do you mean by bursting in here and. .”
Reinhart waited until the boy had closed the door behind him.
“To tell you the truth, I’m in
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who are you, to start with?”
“Police,” said Reinhart. “If you confess right away, I promise not to take it any further, not this time. If you mess me about. . well, I find it hard to see how the hell you’ll be able to keep your job.”
The guidance counselor said nothing. Sat down carefully on the edge of his desk.
“Have you, or have you not, had an affair with a pupil during this last year? Even screwed her here in school. .”
No answer. The guidance counselor swallowed and held on to his beard.
“It’s not you I’m after, for fuck’s sake!” said Reinhart. “I’m on the tail of an even bigger shit. You have ten seconds, then I’m taking you to the police station!”
The guidance counselor let go of his beard and tried to look Reinhart in the eye.
“Yes,” he said. “It. .”
“Thank you,” said Reinhart. “That’s enough.”
He went out and slammed the door so that the noise
echoed down the corridor.
“Knock the door down!” ordered Van Veeteren.
“We have people who can pick locks,” said Munster.
“No time,” said Van Veeteren.
“There’s usually a janitor,” said Munster.
“Knock the door down, I said! Do I have to do it
myself?”
Munster sized it up. The door was ideally located, no doubt about that. Farthest away from the staircase. He’d have a run of a good eight meters. Van Veeteren stepped to one side.
“Give it all you’ve got!”
Munster barged into the door, shoulder first. There was a loud creaking noise, from both the door and Munster, but that was all.
“One more time!” said Van Veeteren.
Munster charged again, with just as little result.
“Fetch the janitor!” said Van Veeteren. “I’ll wait here.”
After ten minutes Munster returned with a thin man wearing an overall and a flat cap.
“Mr. Gobowsky,” explained Munster.
A circle of discarded toothpicks had formed around Van Veeteren’s feet, and Mr. Gobowsky eyed it critically. Then he asked to see Van Veeteren’s ID.
The bastard had been to the movies, it seemed.
The apartment comprised two small rooms and an even smaller kitchen, and it took them about five seconds to establish that the tenant had flown. Van Veeteren slumped down into an artificial leather chair.
“He’s done a runner,” he said. “We’ll have to set off a nationwide alert. This guy is going to bankrupt the police force. Munster, you stay here and root around! I’ll send somebody to help you.”
Munster nodded. The chief inspector turned to the janitor, who was loitering in the hall, eager to know what was going on.
“Did he have a car?” Van Veeteren asked.
“A blue Fiat,” said Mr. Gobowsky. “A 326, I think.”
“Where did he usually park it?”
“In the lot outside.”
Mr. Gobowsky nodded in the direction of the courtyard.
“Come with me, please, and see if it’s still there,” said Van Veeteren. “We’ll leave the inspector here.”
“Wait!” shouted Munster, just as they were passing
through the door. “Look at this!”
He held out a little photograph in a frame. Van Veeteren took it and examined it.
“Eva Ringmar,” he said. “A few years younger, but it’s her, sure as hell.”
“No more doubts, then?” said Munster.
“Have I ever had any doubts?” said Van Veeteren, leaving Munster to his fate.
“Carl Ferger, yes,” said Reinhart. “Came here in 1986, presumably, possibly a year or so earlier. Send the faxes immediately!
