women. A fact of life, presumably, and one that had to be accepted… Anyway, both Kropke and Mooser were married already. Thank goodness for that.
But it was none of them she wanted to think about tonight.
Why should she? The person she was going to devote her attention to for the next few hours was not a police officer at all. On the contrary. It was that other man…
The Axman. Him and nobody else.
He’s the one I want.
She smiled at the thought. Smiled and switched on the light with a haste that seemed to her a little sudden.
She had done no more than sit down at her desk when the tele phone rang. Beside her was a cup of Russian tea, and the only light in the room formed a small oval in which her notebooks basked.
Her mother, of course. Ah, well, might as well get that call over with now rather than being interrupted later.
Would Beate be coming home this Sunday? That was what she wanted to know. Dad would be so pleased. He’d been depressed all week and the doctors had said that… but that was something they could come back to, perhaps. What was she doing? Working! Surely she didn’t have to get involved in that awful murder business; that was a man’s job, surely?
Hadn’t they got any men in the Kaalbringen police force?
What kind of a place was it?
Ten minutes later the call was over, and her bad conscience was gnawing at her like an aching tooth. She was looking out the window, watching the last stages of the sunset as it spread its symbolic light over the whole sky, and made up her mind to go home for a few hours on Sunday evening after all. Per haps she could spend the night there and take the first train back on Monday morning… yes, she had no alternative, of course.
She unplugged the telephone. Just in case. After all, it wasn’t impossible that Janos might ring, and she had no desire at all to sacrifice a whole evening to that particular bit of bad conscience… not for a while yet, at least.
The Axman.
She opened the two notepads and placed them side by side.
Started to study the one on the left.
Heinz Eggers, it said at the top, underscored with a double line.
Born April 23, 1961, in Selstadt.
Died June 28, 1993, in Kaalbringen.
That was indisputable, of course. Below came a long series of notes. Parents and siblings. School education. Various ad dresses. A list of women’s names. A number of dates marking when Eggers had entered or left various penal institutions, mainly prisons, dates of convictions and sentences…
Two children with different women. The first, a girl, born in Wodz, August 2, 1985. The mother, one Kristine Lauger. The second, a boy, born on December 23, the day before Christmas
Eve she had noted earlier, 1991-so he was not yet two.
Mother’s name Matilde Fuchs, address and place of domicile unknown. She devoted a few seconds’ thought to this woman, musing on how she appeared to have achieved what Beate her self was striving for. A child without a father-there again, was that really what she was striving for? Besides, Fuchs could just as well be a junkie and a whore who had long since given the unwanted boy away to some other, more suitable guardians.
Yes, that was a far more likely hypothesis.
Well? How far had she got with her meditations last night?
An important question, no doubt… She turned a few pages.
There!
What had Heinz Eggers been doing in that courtyard? That was the crux of the matter! Why, to be more precise, was this social outcast, this dropout, in the courtyard at 24 Burgislaan at one o’clock in the morning (or even later) on June 28, 1993?
She knew that was a good question, and even if it was not yet possible to give a definitive answer, she could draw a few conclusions, of course, without exceeding the limits of logic and without sinking into a morass of speculation. Anybody could do that.
First, even if Eggers was a confirmed drug user, one could assume that he was capable of a certain amount of rational thought-there was not a lot of poison in his veins that night; he had died more or less clean and sober (which one might hope, as a good Christian, would stand him in good stead when they started to assess his earthly life on the other side). In any case, Eggers could not possibly have just happened to be at
Burgislaan. He must have gone there for some reason. In the middle of the night. On June 28. Alone.
She took a sip of tea.
Second, none of the shady characters Eggers mixed with and she had questioned all of them very carefully- had the slightest idea what it was all about, not even his so-called girl friend, who was evidently sleeping like a log on the night in question after spending the previous day or days drinking vast amounts of wine. When she and Kropke had pressed them even harder, insisted that they make an informed guess, all they could come up with was that Heinz must have had a tip off. A hint. Information that somebody had something to sell… some goods. Drugs of some sort… heroin or amphet amines or even hash. Could be anything. Heinz took the lot.
And what he couldn’t stuff into himself, he would sell to little kids.
Third, ergo, conclusion: The Axman had arranged to meet him. Eggers was the intended victim and nobody else. The deed was carefully planned and prepared. No room for mad men or lunatics and similar epithets that certain people were throwing around. The only possible category of crime was first-degree murder! Not something done on the spur of the moment, no extenuating circumstances, no junkie who hap pened to hit another one on the head.
First degree. Not a shadow of a doubt about that, or about what kind of a person the Axman was-a meticulous, very self-assured criminal who was absolutely clear about what he was doing. Who didn’t appear to leave anything to chance, and who…
Fourth, who had a motive!
She leaned back in her chair and took a deep drink of tea.
A very single-minded murderer.
She moved on to the other notebook.
Ernst Leopold Simmel.
Not so much data here. Only a few pages. She simply hadn’t had the strength to note down the abundance of information Kropke had fished out from such sources as local council records and national registers and company registrations, bankruptcies, shell company dealings, commissions, tax returns, business trips and God only knows what else. She glanced quickly through what she had written, then concen trated on the questions at the end, the ones she’d scribbled down last night before going to bed. The trick was to ask the right questions, as old Wundermaas, her favorite at the police college in Genschen, never ceased to stress. Keep rephrasing them! he used to growl impatiently as he pinned you down with his piercing eyes. The answers can be harder to find than needles in a haystack! So make sure that you’re rummaging in the right haystack, at least!
Well, what were the questions to ask about Simmel? The right ones? She took another sip of tea and started thinking.
What was he doing when he went out last Tuesday evening? She knew that.
Why did he go via Fisherman’s Square? They could be pretty sure of that.
Why did he take the path through the municipal woods?
That was obvious.
When did the Axman begin following him? A good starting point, perhaps? What about the answers?
From near The Blue Ship? In all probability, yes. He must then have followed him all the way through town, more or less. Yes, what else could he have done?
What does that imply?
She raised her head and looked through the window. The town was stretched out before her. She switched off her desk lamp and suddenly Kaalbringen was illuminated, lit up by myriad lamps that come into their own when night falls. The main thoroughfares and features were clearly marked Bungeskirke, Hoistraat, Grande Place, the
