able to snuggle down into that hot bath for many hours yet. When she eventually did so, it would be in a neighbor’s bathtub, and in a state that she would never have been able to foresee.
The door was unlocked. She pressed down the handle and went in.
Afterward, a lot of people wondered about her behavior. She did as well. Given the circumstances, pretty well anything might be regarded as normal; but even so, you had to ask questions.
She switched on the light in the hall. Stared at Maurice for a few seconds, then picked up her bag again and backed out through the door. Closed it and went back downstairs. Hesi tated for a moment when she emerged onto the sidewalk, then crossed the road and sat in her car again.
Sat there hugging the steering wheel and trying to heave the heavy stone of forgetfulness over the opening to her con sciousness. Trying to rewind time, just a few hours… back to when she was happy and unaware… the hours before, the unsullied normality… the road, the cars, the oncoming head lights, the Waldstein Sonata over her loudspeakers, the rain on the windshield, the mint pastilles in the bag on the empty seat beside her… looking forward to coming home.
She hadn’t seen anything. Still hadn’t gone up to the apart ment. She sat in the car and rested for a while before going up to see Maurice… to the sandwiches and the wine; her warm red dressing gown; the sofa and the plaid throws; Heyman’s
String Quintet; candles in the designer candlestick… sitting here waiting…
…
Nearly two hours later she wound down the window. The evening air and a veil of drizzle crept in and brought her back to reality. For the second time, she picked up her bags and crossed the street. Didn’t look up at the apartment now. Knew that all she could expect to find in store for her was Maurice, and at ten minutes past one she had calmed down sufficiently to phone the police and inform them that the Axman had dis patched another victim.
II
16
“It’s the bishop that’s in the wrong place,” said Bausen.
“I can see that,” said Van Veeteren.
“F6 would have been better. As it is now, you’ll never man age to get it out. Why didn’t you use the Nimzo- Indian defense, as I suggested?”
“I’ve never mastered it properly,” muttered Van Veeteren.
“There’s more oomph in the Russian-”
“Oomph, yes,” said Bausen. “So much oomph it whips up a damn gale and blows big holes through your own lines. Do you give up?”
“No,” said Van Veeteren. “I’m not dead yet.” He checked his watch. “Good Lord! It’s nearly a quarter past one!”
“No problem. Night is the mother of day.”
“You have no more pieces than I have, after all-”
“Not necessary by this stage. My h-pawn will become a queen in another three or four moves at most.”
The telephone rang, and Bausen went indoors to answer it.
“What the hell?” he muttered. “At this time in the morn ing…”
Van Veeteren leaned forward and studied the situation. No doubt about it. Bausen was right. It was hopeless. Black could force the exchange of both castles and central pawns, and then the h-file would be wide open. His remaining bishop was stuck behind his own pawns on the king’s side. Bad play, really shitty play-he could have accepted a loss if he’d been black, but when he had the white pieces and was able to use the Russian opening, there was no excuse. No excuse at all.
Bausen came rushing out.
“Call it a draw, for God’s sake!” he yelled. “He’s done it again!”
Van Veeteren leaped to his feet.
“When?”
“I don’t know. They phoned in five minutes ago. Come on for Christ’s sake! This is an emergency!”
He plowed his way through the undergrowth with Van
Veeteren after him, but stopped at the gate.
“Oh, shit! The car keys…”
“Are you really thinking of driving?” said Van Veeteren.
“You’ve drunk at least three pints!”
Bausen hesitated.
“We’ll walk,” he said. “It’s only a few hundred yards.”
“Let’s go!” said Van Veeteren.
Constable Bang had been first on the scene, and had succeeded in waking up the whole apartment block in the space of a few minutes. When Bausen and Van Veeteren came around the corner, lights were on in every window and there were masses of people milling about on the stairs and landings.
Bang had placed himself in the relevant doorway, however, so there was no risk of unauthorized persons trampling all over the crime scene, at least. In firm but friendly fashion
Bausen started ushering the neighbors back into their own apartments, while Van Veeteren turned his attention to the young woman sitting on the floor at Bang’s feet, shivering. It looked as if she’d discovered the body and called the police.
“My name’s Van Veeteren,” he said. “Would you like some thing to drink?”
She shook her head. He took hold of her hands and noted that they were icy cold and trembling.
“What’s your name?”
“Beatrice Linckx. We live together. His name’s Maurice Ruhme.”
“I know,” said Bausen, who had cleared away all the neigh bors. “You can go with Mrs. Clausewitz for the time being, and she’ll give you something hot to drink.”
A chubby woman was peering at the scene from behind him.
“Come along, little Beatrice,” she said, holding up a yellow blanket. “Come on. Auntie Anna will look after you.”
Miss Linckx clambered to her feet and went with Mrs.
Clausewitz as bidden, albeit unsteadily.
“There’s goodness in the world as well,” said Bausen. “We mustn’t forget that. Shall we take a look? I’ve instructed Bang to keep the rabble at bay.”
Van Veeteren swallowed and peeked in through the door.
“God Almighty!” said Chief Inspector Bausen.
The body of Maurice Ruhme was lying just inside the door, and at first glance it looked as if every single drop of blood had left it. The wall-to-wall carpet in the hall, some four or five square yards, was so thoroughly soaked that it was barely pos sible to guess its original color. Van Veeteren and Bausen re mained in the doorway.
“We’d better wait for the crime scene boys,” said Van Veeteren.
“There are some footprints there,” said Bausen, pointing.
“Yes, I can see them.”
“The same blow, more or less…”
That seemed to be right. Ruhme was lying on his stomach with his arms underneath him, as if he’d fallen forward but not managed to stop himself. His head was still attached, but it looked as if it had very nearly been
