restrained tone of mockery and self-confidence that Van Veeteren was dreading most of all.
“Mr. Jahrens,” he said, going out onto the balcony. “May I sit down?”
The powerfully built man nodded and indicated the empty basket chair on the other side of the table.
“I have to say that you seem to have a damn good imagination for a police officer. I really don’t understand how anybody could cook up a story like this one.”
Van Veeteren opened his briefcase.
“Whiskey or brandy?” he asked.
“If you think it will help if you make me drunk, you have another thought coming.”
“Not at all,” said Van Veeteren. “It’s just that I couldn’t find any beer.”
“All right.”
He fetched two glasses from inside the room, and Van
Veeteren poured.
“You don’t need to play around,” he said. “The fact is that I know you have three lives on your conscience, and I shall make sure that you don’t get away with it. Cheers.”
“Cheers,” said Jahrens. “And how do you think you are going to do that? I expect you have a little microphone or transmitter hidden away somewhere that’s linked to a tape recorder somewhere else, and you’re hoping that I’m going to get tipsy and let the cat out of the bag. Isn’t that a cheap trick?
Is that how you trap folks nowadays?”
“Not at all,” said Van Veeteren. “It wouldn’t hold up in court, anyway, but I’m sure you know that. No, I’m simply going to tell you how I see it. If you’re frightened of a tape recorder or something of the sort, you can nod or shake your head as you please. I think you need to run through it all, you as well.”
“Rubbish,” said Jahrens, sipping his whiskey. “Sure as hell, you’ve made me curious. It’s not every day you get an opportunity to study a police officer with a screw loose at close quarters.”
He smiled and shook a cigarette out of the pack on the table in front of him.
“Would you like one?”
“Yes, please.”
Van Veeteren accepted both the cigarette and a light before he got under way.
“Tell me about Leopold Verhaven!”
Arnold Jahrens smiled again and drew on his cigarette.
Looked up and gazed out to sea. A few seconds passed.
“It’ll be fine weather tomorrow, don’t you think, Chief Inspector? Will you be staying here for some days?”
“As you like,” said Van Veeteren, leaning forward over the table. “I’ll tell you what happened, and you can interrupt me if anything is unclear. . You have murdered three people. Beatrice Holden, Marlene Nietsch and Leopold Verhaven. Verhaven has been in jail for twenty-four years, thanks to you. You are a bastard; don’t be misled by my friendly tone.”
Jahrens’s cheek muscle twitched several times, but he said nothing.
“The only thing I’m not a hundred percent certain of is the motive. Although I’m pretty sure about that in outline even so. Correct me if I’m wrong, as I said. On April sixth, 1962, a Saturday, you go up to Verhaven’s house in the woods because you know Beatrice Holden is alone there. Presumably you’ve waited until the electrician finished what he was doing, and when you’ve seen him walking back home to the village, you set off. You are horny. Less than a week ago you’ve had Beatrice lying on your sofa, naked under a blanket, and that’s more than you can cope with. You’ve probably peeked at her under the blanket, maybe touched her as well, while she was sleeping off her intoxication and your semi-invalid wife is upstairs in the bedroom with no idea of what’s going on. Your two- year-old daughter as well. Maybe you put your hands between her legs. . between Beatrice Holden’s legs; that’s where you’re itching to be. A hot-blooded, sexy, good-looking woman-unlike your wife, lying upstairs as cold as ice, who never lets you in.”
Arnold took a sip of his drink, but his expression didn’t change.
“You arrive at The Big Shadow, and there she is. All on her own. Verhaven is in Maardam and isn’t expected home for several hours. She’s there for the taking. All you need to do is to go up to her, whisper a few fancy words, pull off her panties and get cracking. Why didn’t she want to, Mr. Jahrens? Tell me that. Why weren’t you allowed in between Beatrice Holden’s legs-she was generally so keen? Hadn’t she already half-promised you a reward that night when you took her in? Or was it just that you’d misunderstood it?”
Jahrens coughed.
“What an imagination,” he said and emptied his glass.
“You’re the one who’s perverted, Chief Inspector, not me.”
“It was scandalous, wasn’t it? Isn’t that how it felt?”
“What was?”
“That you weren’t allowed to screw Beatrice Holden. That the wretched Leopold Verhaven could have her, but not you.
That stupid lump of shit that you’d looked down on ever since you’d been at school together. Leopold Verhaven! The cheat!
The egg seller in The Big Shadow! A pathetic creature you’ve despised all your life. . And here he is, living with this desirable woman, while you, you’ve married a highly desirable farm, one of the richest in the whole of Kaustin, but at what price! The price is your worn-out wife who’ll never let you have her, and now you’re here, this particular Saturday afternoon, and Beatrice Holden won’t let you have her either.
Maybe she laughs at you-yes, damn it all, I think she laughs at you, and says she’ll tell Verhaven when he comes home what a useless old goat you are.”
He paused briefly. Jahrens stubbed out his cigarette and gazed out to sea again.
“Would you mind telling me if there are any details in my reconstruction that are not correct?” said Van Veeteren, leaning back in his chair.
Jahrens said nothing. Sat there without moving, but
showed no sign of nervous tension or irritation.
“So I was right from start to finish? I thought as much,”
said Van Veeteren with a satisfied smile. “Maybe you’d like to continue yourself, nevertheless? How you raped her and strangled her. Or was it the other way round?”
“I shall be informing your superiors about this conversation,” said Jahrens after a few seconds. “First thing tomorrow morning.”
“Excellent,” said Van Veeteren. “A drop more whiskey?”
Without a word, Jahrens picked up the bottle and refilled his glass. Van Veeteren raised his glass as if to toast him, but his host wasn’t even looking at him. They drank in silence.
“Number two,” said Van Veeteren. “Marlene Nietsch.”
Jahrens raised his hand.
“No, thank you,” he said. “You’ve gone far enough. You can go to hell with your damned fantasies. I’ve better things to do than to. .”
“That would never occur to me,” Van Veeteren cut him
short. “I’m staying where I am.”
Jahrens snorted and for the first time looked to be of two minds. About time, Van Veeteren thought.
“All right. Either you give me your word that you’ll be out of here in half an hour at the most, or I’ll call the police right now.”
“I
Jahrens lit another cigarette, but made no move to head for the telephone. Van Veeteren stood up and looked out to sea.
The sun had sunk below the horizon some considerable time ago, and blue twilight hovered over the town. He stood there for about a minute with his hands on the low railing, waiting for Jahrens to make a move. But he didn’t.
Just sat there in the basket chair. Took a sip of whiskey now and again, apparently unconcerned by the
