“The inspector would like to ask you some questions about Leopold Verhaven,” Bortschmaa explained in one direction. “I thought it a good idea for Joppens to be present,” he explained in the other. “Please fire away, Inspector.”
“Thank you,” said Rooth. “Maybe you could describe him briefly.”
“Yes,” said the welfare officer. “If there is anybody who can be described briefly, he’s the one. You can have a comprehensive description in half a minute. Or on half a page handwritten.”
“Really?” said Rooth. “What are you implying?”
“I had to do with him for eleven years, and I know as much about him now as I did when I first met him.”
“A hermit,” said Bortschmaa.
“He had no contact at all with anybody,” Joppens continued. “No fellow prisoner, nobody outside prison, none of the warders. Not with me and not with the chaplain either.”
“Sounds remarkable,” said Rooth.
“He might as well have spent all his sentence in solitary confinement,” said Bortschmaa. “It wouldn’t have made much difference. An introspective type. Extremely introverted. But a model prisoner, of course.”
“He never misbehaved?” asked Rooth.
“Never,” said Joppens. “Never smiled either.”
“Did he take part in any activities?”
The welfare officer shook his head.
“Went swimming once a week. Went to the library twice a week. Read newspapers and borrowed a book occasionally. I don’t know if you would call that activities.”
“But you must have spoken with him, surely?”
“No,” said the welfare officer.
“Did he answer if you addressed him?”
“Oh yes. Good morning and good night and thank you.”
Rooth thought that over. What the devil was the point of sitting in a car all day just for this, he wondered. Might as well carry on a bit longer, though. Seeing as he was here, after all.
“No confidants in the whole prison?”
“No,” said Joppins.
“None at all,” confirmed Bortschmaa.
“Any letters?” said Rooth.
The welfare officer thought that one over.
“He received two. Relatives, I think. And he sent a postcard a few weeks before he was released.”
“And he was inside for twelve years?”
“Yes. The card was to his sister.”
“Any visits at all?”
“Two,” said Joppens. “His brother came once, right at the start. Verhaven refused to meet him. Wouldn’t even go to the interview room. . I hadn’t taken up my appointment then, but my predecessor told me about it. The brother sat waiting for him for a whole day. . ”
“And the other?” said Rooth.
“Excuse me?”
“The other visit. You said he had two.”
“A woman,” said Joppins. “Last year, I think. . No, it must have been the year before.”
“Who was the woman?”
“I’ve no idea.”
“But he received her?”
“Yes.”
Rooth contemplated the diplomas and tennis racquets for a while.
“That all sounds a bit odd to me,” he said. “Have you many prisoners like that?”
“None,” said the governor. “I’ve never come across anything like it before.”
“Formidable self-control,” said the welfare officer. “I’ve talked to my colleagues about him and everybody agrees.
About what he was like on the surface, that is. What was underneath is a mystery, of course.”
Rooth nodded.
“Why are you so interested in him?” the governor wondered. “Or is that classified information?”
“No,” said Rooth. “It will come out sooner or later. We’ve found him murdered.”
The silence that fell in the room felt almost like a power cut, it seemed to Rooth.
“That really is. .,” said the welfare officer.
“But what the. .,” said the prison governor.
“You don’t need to tell all and sundry about this,” said Rooth. “We’d be grateful to have a few days of peace and quiet before the newspapers get on our backs.”
“Of course,” said Bortschmaa. “How did he die?”
“We don’t know,” said Rooth. “We don’t have his head, his hands or his feet as yet. Somebody butchered him.”
“Oh my God,” said Bortschmaa, and Rooth had the
impression that his tan faded noticeably. “Don’t say this is what the papers have been writing about?”
“Yes, it is,” said Rooth.
“When do you think he died, then,” wondered Joppens.
“Quite a long time ago,” said Rooth. “He was dead for eight months before he was found.”
“Eight months?” Joppens exclaimed, frowning. “That must have been shortly after we released him?”
“The same day, we think.”
“You mean he was murdered the very same day?”
“It looks like it.”
“Hmm,” said Bortschmaa.
“Being locked up seems to mean being safe, at least,” said Joppens.
There was a pause, and Rooth was starting to feel hungry.
He wondered why on earth nobody had offered him anything to eat.
“Was he ever let out on parole?” he asked.
“Never wanted to be,” said Bortschmaa. “And we don’t
normally press people.”
Rooth nodded. What else should he ask about?
“And so you haven’t any suspicions at all,” he said as he thought feverishly, “no idea about who might have wanted to kill him?”
“Do you?” asked the welfare officer.
“No,” admitted Rooth.
“Nor do we,” said the governor. “Not the least idea. He didn’t have any contacts at all while he was in here. Good ones or bad ones. Somebody must have been lying in wait.”
Rooth sighed.
“Yes, that’s what it looks like.”
He thought for a moment.
“That woman,” he said, “the one who came to visit him. .
last year, or whenever it was. . Who was she?”
Bortschmaa turned to the welfare officer.
“I’ve no idea,” he said.
“Me neither,” said Joppens. “We’d better go and have a look at the record books, if you really want to know.”
“Why don’t we do that?” said Rooth.
It took some time for the two women in the archives to pin down the reference, but they eventually came up with the date.
