He found a vase and filled it with water from the wash-basin in the corner. Van Veeteren watched proceedings suspi-ciously.
“Huh,” he said. “Give me some as well.”
Munster poured him a glass from the jug on the bedside table, and after a second one, Van Veeteren appeared to be capable of conversation at least.
“I must have dozed off,” he said.
“You get extremely tired after an operation,” said Munster.
“It’s normal.”
“You don’t say.”
“Reinhart sends his special regards and says he’d like you to remember that pain drives out evil.”
“Thank you. Well?”
Raring to go again already? Munster thought and sat down on the visitors’ chair. He opened his briefcase. Took out the envelope and propped it up against the vase of flowers.
“I’ll put the photocopies here. They’re only from the newspapers. It will take a bit of time to dig out the records of the trial, but I’ll pop in with them tomorrow.”
“Good,” said Van Veeteren. “I’ll look through them after you’ve gone.”
“Don’t you think you ought to have a good rest first, when. .?”
“Hold your tongue,” snapped Van Veeteren. “Don’t talk such a lot of crap. I’m feeling better by the second. And there’s never been anything wrong with my head, for Christ’s sake.
Tell me what you’ve all been doing!”
Munster sighed and launched into an account of the visit to Kaustin and the search of Verhaven’s house.
“The forensic team hasn’t finished yet, of course, but everything points to him being our man. He only seems to have been at home for one day. In August last year. There was a newspaper, some food marked with a use-by date and a few other things. It appears to have been the twenty-fourth, the same day as he was released. A few witnesses saw him arriving-in the village, that is. Maybe he stayed the night; some things suggest that. He went to bed in any case. The clothes he was given on leaving prison are still there.”
“Hmm?” said Van Veeteren. “Hang on a moment. . No, carry on; it’s OK!”
“They haven’t found anything startling. Nothing to suggest that he died there. No bloodstains, no weapon, no sign of violence. But over eight months have passed since then, of course.”
“Time doesn’t heal all wounds,” said Van Veeteren, rubbing his hand gingerly over his stomach.
“No,” said Munster. “That’s possible. We shall see. It’s possible that he was murdered there the same day. Or night. The butchery might have been done there or somewhere else. It could have been anywhere.”
“Hmm,” said Van Veeteren again. Munster leaned back
against the wall and waited.
“Pull me up!” said Van Veeteren after a while, and Munster repeated the procedure with the pillows. Van Veeteren pulled a face as he worked himself into a slightly better position.
“It hurts,” he said, nodding toward his stomach.
“What did you expect?” Munster asked.
Van Veeteren muttered something and took another drink of water.
“Heidelbluum,” he said eventually.
“Eh?” said Munster.
“He was the judge,” said Van Veeteren. “In both trials. He must be eighty now, but you’ll have to go and see him.”
Munster made a note.
“I have the impression that he’s good,” Van Veeteren
added. “A pity Mort’s dead.”
Detective Chief Inspector Mort was Van Veeteren’s predecessor, and Munster gathered that he must have been involved in the second of the cases at least. Probably in both. What was clear was that Van Veeteren did not play a major role in either; Rooth had already checked that.
“Then there’s the motive, of course.”
“Motive?”
Van Veeteren nodded.
“I’m tired,” he said. “Give me your views on the motive, please.”
Munster thought for a few moments. Leaned his head back against the wall and contemplated the meaningless pattern of squares formed on the ceiling by the lamps.
“Well, I think there are several possibilities,” he said.
“Such as?” Van Veeteren asked.
“I suppose an inside job is the first obvious one. Something to do with prison, that is. Some sort of settling of accounts.”
Van Veeteren nodded.
“Right,” he said. “You’d better look into what he got up to while he was locked up. Where was he, by the way?”
“Ulmentahl,” said Munster. “Rooth’s on his way there
now.”
“Good,” said Van Veeteren. “Next? Another motive, that is!”
Munster cleared his throat. Pondered again.
“Well, if it isn’t anything to do with what happened in prison, it could have something to do with what happened in the past.”
“It could indeed, certainly,” said Van Veeteren, and it seemed to Munster that the pale gray color vanished briefly from his face.
“How?” said Van Veeteren. “For hell’s sake, Inspector, don’t try and tell me you haven’t given a thought to this! It’s over a day since you received the damned tip-off.”
“Only half a day since we were sure,” said Munster
apologetically.
Van Veeteren snorted.
“Motive!” he said again. “Come on!”
“Somebody who didn’t think the prison sentence was long enough,” said Munster.
“Possibly,” said Van Veeteren.
“Somebody who hated him. One of those women’s friends who had been waiting for revenge, perhaps. It’s a bit hard to get inside a prison and kill a man, after all.”
“Very hard,” said Van Veeteren. “Unless you get another prisoner to take on a contract, that is. There could well be the odd one who wouldn’t be too hard to persuade. Have you any other suggestions?”
Munster paused for a moment.
“It’s not exactly a suggestion,” he said.
“Out with it even so,” said Van Veeteren.
“There’s no evidence for it.”
“I want to hear it nevertheless.”
His facial color had intensified again. Munster cleared his throat.
“All right,” he said. “There’s a slight possibility that he was innocent.”
“Who?”
“Verhaven, of course.”
“Really?”
“Of one of the murders at least, and it could have something to do with that. . somehow or other.”
Van Veeteren said nothing.
“But it’s pure speculation, naturally. . ”
The door opened a few inches and a tired nurse stuck her head round it.
“Could I remind you that visiting time is over. Dr. Ratenau will be doing his rounds in a couple of minutes.”
Van Veeteren gave her a dirty look, and she withdrew her head and closed the door.
