He skimmed through the articles and read the obituary of Ernst Simmel, who was something of a local stalwart and hon orary citizen, it seemed-a member of the Rotary Club, a director of the local football club and on the board of the bank.
He had held several offices previously, before moving to live in Spain… no sooner is he back home than he’s brutally murdered.
De mortuis… thought Van Veeteren, and threw the news paper onto the floor. What the hell am I doing here?
He took off his shirt and padded into the bathroom. What was the name of that restaurant?
The Blue Ship?
The assumption that representatives of the national press would turn up proved to be well founded. As he walked through the hotel foyer, two middle-aged gentlemen darted out of the bar. Their ruddy complexions were a telltale indica tion of their trade, and Van Veeteren paused with a sigh.
“Chief Inspector Van Veeteren! Cruickshank from the
Telegraaf!”
“Muller from the Allgemejne!” announced the other. “I think we’ve met-”
“My name’s Rolling,” said Van Veeteren. “I’m a traveling salesman specializing in grandfather clocks. There must be some mistake.”
“Ha ha,” said Muller.
“When can we have a chat?” asked Cruickshank.
“At the press conference in the police station at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning,” said Van Veeteren, opening the front door.
“Is it you or Bausen who’s in charge of the investigation?” asked Muller.
“What investigation?” said Van Veeteren.
The main color used for the interior decoration of The Blue
Ship was red. The bar was no more than half full, and there were plenty of empty tables in the dining room. Van Veeteren was seated right at the back, with no near neighbors; but even so, he hadn’t even started his main course before a thin gentle man with gleaming eyes and a nervous smile materialized in front of him.
“Excuse me. Schalke from de Journaal. You’re that chief inspector, aren’t you?”
Van Veeteren didn’t respond.
“I was the last person to speak to him. I’ve been inter viewed by Bausen and Kropke, of course; but if you’d like a chat, I’d be happy to oblige.”
He glanced down meaningfully at the empty chair opposite the chief inspector.
“Could we meet in the bar when I’ve finished eating?” pro posed Van Veeteren.
Schalke nodded and withdrew. Van Veeteren started to work his way listlessly through something described crypti cally on the menu as “Chef ’s Pride with Funghi and Moz zarella.” When he’d finished his meal and paid his bill, he still had no idea what he’d been eating.
“He sat on the same chair as you’re on now,” said Schalke.
“Very much alive. One thing is certain. He had no idea he was going to have his head chopped off. He acted exactly the same as he always did.”
“And how was that?” asked Van Veeteren, sucking the froth off his beer.
“How was that? Well… a bit distant and supercilious, to tell you the truth. Not easy to talk to. He was always like that.
His mind was sort of… elsewhere.”
That doesn’t surprise me, thought Van Veeteren.
“He seemed to be trying to flirt a bit with one of the girls sitting over there.”
He pointed.
“Flirt?”
“Well, maybe that’s exaggerating it. But he was giving her the eye all right.”
Van Veeteren nodded.
“Are you saying that Ernst Simmel was a… philanderer?”
Schalke hesitated, but only for a second.
“Well, not quite that, I don’t think. I didn’t know him all that well, and he’d been away for several years… kicked over the traces now and then, I suppose, but nothing serious.”
“His marriage wasn’t all that serious either then, I assume,” said Van Veeteren.
“No… You could put it like that, I suppose.”
“And he left here at about eleven?”
“A few minutes past.”
“Which way did he go?”
“That way.” Schalke pointed again. “Down toward the square and the harbor.”
“Didn’t he live in the other direction?”
“You can go either way, in fact. It’s just that it’s a bit longer via the harbor.”
“You didn’t see anybody follow him?”
“No.”
“Why do you think he took the longer route?”
“I don’t know. Women, perhaps.”
“Whores?”
“Yes… we have one or two. They usually hang about down there.”
“Did you notice anybody else leave the bar after Simmel?”
“No… I’ve been thinking about that, but I don’t think any body did.”
Van Veeteren sighed.
“What questions would you ask if you were in my place?”
Schalke considered.
“God knows! I haven’t a clue, to be honest.”
“You don’t have any theories about what happened?”
Schalke considered again. It was obvious that he would have loved to come up with a bold hypothesis, but he gave up after a while.
“No, none at all, to be honest,” he said. “It must be a mad man, I reckon… Somebody who’s escaped from a funny farm, maybe?”
Funny farm? thought Van Veeteren. A well-chosen expres sion for a scribbler to use, I must say.
“Bausen’s been following that up,” he said. “The only per son who’s escaped is a confused old lady in her nineties. Has Alzheimer’s and goes around in a wheelchair…”
“I don’t suppose it’s her then,” said Schalke.
Van Veeteren drained his beer and decided it was time to go home. He hopped off his bar stool and thanked Schalke for his assistance.
“Is it always as empty as this here?” he asked.
“Good Lord, no!” said Schalke. “It’s usually packed. I mean, it’s Friday and all that… People are just scared stiff. They daren’t go out!”
Scared stiff? thought Van Veeteren as he stood on the pave ment outside. Yes, of course they’re scared stiff.
Town terror stricken?
It took him barely ten minutes to walk from The Blue Ship to the harbor and The See Warf. Quite a few cars were around, but he saw no more than a dozen or so pedestrians, all of them in groups. The few bars and cafes that were open also seemed to be fairly empty. The Palladium cinema had started its late evening showing, but he had the impression that it was just as empty in there. Even if the Kaalbringen nightlife was nothing to write home about, the trend was clear enough.
The murderer… the executioner… the Axman left no body unaffected.
Hardly surprising. He stood for a while outside his hotel and wondered if he maybe ought to go to the municipal woods and take a look but decided to wait. No doubt it would be bet ter to do that in daylight.
