“When did you last see Maurice?” asked Bausen.
Elisabeth stopped and took off her glasses.
“I must clean them,” she said. “I can’t see properly through them. Do you have a handkerchief?”
“I’m afraid not,” said Bausen.
She put them back on.
“When did you last see Maurice?” Bausen asked again.
“Hard to say. Are you a police officer?”
“My name’s Bausen. I’m the chief of police here in Kaal bringen. Don’t you recognize me?”
“Of course I do,” said Elisabeth Ruhme. “Your name’s
Bausen.”
He carefully steered her back toward the nicotine-yellow pavilion.
“It’s beautiful here,” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “Especially after the leaves have fallen.”
“Your other son… Pierre?”
“He’s ill. He’ll never get better. Something happened in the church, don’t you know about that?”
“Yes, I do,” said Bausen.
“I haven’t seen him for ages,” she said pensively. “Perhaps he can be a doctor now… instead of Maurice. Do you think that could be arranged somehow?”
“Perhaps,” said Bausen. A nurse wearing a white bonnet was approaching them.
“Thank you for the walk and the chat,” said Bausen. “I’ll ask Beatrice to come and see you next week.”
“Thank you,” said Elisabeth Ruhme. “It’s been nice to take a walk with you. I hope I haven’t been any trouble.”
“Not at all,” Bausen assured her. “Not at all.”
So much for Doctor Ruhme and his posh family, he thought as he walked to the parking lot, scraping out his pipe.
22
“Let’s walk it,” Beate Moerk had suggested. “No point in tak ing a car for five hundred yards.”
And so he strolled though the streets of Kaalbringen along side this lady police inspector, and suddenly found himself thinking about Marie behind the counter at the pharmacy again. She just popped up in his mind, and he preferred not to think about why. His two telephone calls to Synn hadn’t sorted out all the problems, but it looked as if they were on the right track. Obviously, everything would be back to normal if only he could get away from Kaalbringen. If only he could see her again soon.
Obviously.
The inspector’s hair wasn’t red. On the contrary. Dark brown, bordering on black. He was careful not to come shoul der to shoulder as they walked. Keeping a decent distance apart needed quite a lot of his concentration, in fact; and when they eventually reached their destination, he had only a vague memory of what they’d been talking about on the way there.
No great loss, he thought. They’d probably discussed mainly the names of streets and squares they’d passed through… but obviously, he’d been surprised. His sense of balance wasn’t quite as it should be, it seemed; he felt a nagging worry that wouldn’t go away. Not the best starting point for detective work, definitely not. Something gnawing away inside him.
What the hell was the matter with him?
“Here we are,” she said. “There’s the entrance, and that’s Leisner Park over there, as you can see.”
Munster nodded.
“Shall we walk up, then?” he suggested sardonically.
“Of course,” she said, eyeing him somewhat perplexedly.
Beatrice Linckx bade them welcome and gave them a thin smile. There was a new carpet on the floor in the hall, Munster noted. No trace of any blood, but he had no doubt it was all still there in the wood underneath.
You can’t obliterate blood, Reinhart always said. You cover it up.
And then there was something about Odysseus washing his hands and the constant return of the waters of the sea that he couldn’t recall exactly just now.
Pale sunlight filtered into the large living room through the tall windows, and her fragility was more obvious here. She looked composed and alert, but the surface was thin-no more than a layer of overnight ice, he thought, and hoped that Inspector Moerk was sensitive enough to recognize the signs and not fall through it.
Afterward, it was clear to him that he needn’t have worried.
This was Beate Moerk’s interview. She was the one holding the reins, and she made sure she didn’t lose control; they hadn’t agreed on how to split the questioning, but the further they got, the more the teacups were emptied and refilled and the heap of light-colored biscuits (which Miss Linckx had apparently bought from the corner shop) dwindled away, the more his respect for Inspector Moerk grew. He couldn’t have done it any better himself, certainly not, and he found his role quite sufficient and rather relaxing, sitting there in the corner of the sofa and slotting in an occasional question here and there.
Totally sufficient. It wasn’t just her hair and her appear ance. She seemed to be a damned efficient police officer as well.
“How long had you been living with Maurice, in fact?”
“Not all that long.”
Beatrice Linckx brushed a strand of hair from her face.
From right to left, a recurrent gesture.
“A few years?”
“Yes. We met in September 1988. Moved in together a year later, roughly.”
“Four years, then?”
“Yes.”
Not all that long? Munster thought.
“Were you born in Aarlach?”
“No, in Geintz, but I’d lived in Aarlach since I was twelve.”
“But you didn’t meet Maurice Ruhme until 1988. By then he’d already been living there for… six years, if I’m not much mistaken?”
“Aarlach is not a small town, Inspector,” said Beatrice
Linckx, with a new, pale smile. “Not like Kaalbringen, al though we must have seen each other in the hustle and bustle occasionally, of course. We discussed that very thing, in fact.”
“Do you know anything about what he was doing during those years before you met?”
She hesitated.
“Yes,” she said. “I know some things. But we didn’t speak about it. He didn’t want to, and it was a closed chapter.”
“I understand. No old friends from that time either? Who are still around, I mean.”
“Not many.”
“But there are some?”
Beatrice Linckx thought for a moment.
“Two.”
“Would you mind giving us their names?”
“Now?”
“Yes, please.”
Beate Moerk handed over her notepad and Miss Linckx scribbled down a few words.
“Telephone numbers as well?”
“Yes, please,” said Beate Moerk. Beatrice Linckx left the room and returned with an address book.
“Thank you,” said Beate Moerk when she had the notepad returned. “Do you find it unpleasant when we poke
