‘Who?’
‘Oscar Yellinek. Where’s he hiding himself away?’
Servinus shuffled uncomfortably and started to look worried.
‘Who’s this Yellinek? I’ve only just arrived.’
Van Veeteren felt something ominously cold starting to creep up his spine. It can’t be true, he thought.
‘You mean you haven’t met Yellinek?’
Servinus shook his head.
‘And they haven’t mentioned him?’
‘Not a word. But then, they barely open their damned mouths.’
The chief inspector clenched his fists and muttered something dripping with venom.
‘Come on,’ he said eventually. ‘I must see this with my own eyes.’
He marched back to the room. Flung open the door, burst in and stood straddle-legged in the middle of the floor.
‘Okay,’ he growled. ‘Where’s your blue-eyed boy?’
The sisters huddled closer together on their chairs and stared at their naked feet. The chief inspector waited for five seconds, grinding his teeth loudly. Then he went to the desk and slammed his fist hard down on it.
‘Where is Oscar Yellinek?’ he roared. ‘Answer when you’re damned well spoken to! There’s a girl lying dead in the woods, murdered. Raped and strangled, and you can count on your bloody sect being disbanded from this very moment! Well?’
Madeleine Zander raised her head slowly and looked him in the eye.
‘Be careful what you say, Chief Inspector,’ she said in a low voice. ‘We are innocent, and you have no right to make these groundless accusations. We have decided not to cooperate with you.’
‘We are not going to answer your questions,’ added Ulriche Fischer.
‘Where is he?’ bellowed Van Veeteren. ‘You have three seconds in which to come up with an answer!’
Madeleine Zander cleared her throat and clasped her hands on her knee. The other two sisters did the same. Lowered their gaze and seemed to be lost in thought. No doubt they’re praying to their dodgy Lord, the chief inspector thought. Bollocks to that!
‘You’re hiding him.’
No reaction.
Van Veeteren gritted his teeth and thought for a moment. Looked at the clock. It was ten minutes to two.
‘I thought you took it in turns to go to bed with him. Whose turn was it this evening?’
Madeleine Zander looked up and snorted indignantly.
‘Or do you usually have a foursome?’
He glanced at Inspector Servinus, who was looking more and more baffled. He could feel the warmth from the Burgundy returning to his cheeks. Or was it merely his anger and his blood pressure?
‘Are you suggesting that he’s disappeared?’ he asked.
None of the women answered. Van Veeteren snapped a toothpick and threw it onto the floor.
‘Now listen here! One of your girls is lying in the woods out there, murdered. Your goddamned high priest is on the run. I couldn’t care less what pious conclusions you draw, but I know what I think. Servinus!’
The inspector gave a start.
‘Stay here and keep an eye on the Three Graces. We’ll lock them up in a police van as soon as one arrives. The poor girls can carry on sleeping for now. Do you know if any female police officers are on their way here?’
‘I think so,’ said Servinus. ‘That Kluuge guy had sent for some.’
‘Good,’ said the chief inspector.
He paused briefly. Tried to look out into the pitch darkness, and took three or four deep breaths in an attempt to cool down. Then he turned back to face the three women.
‘It’s my duty to inform you that you will be arrested on suspicion of no end of disgusting things that I’d rather not go on about now. Murder, assisting murder, protecting a criminal, to name but a few.’
‘You have no right-’ began Madeleine Zander.
‘I thought you had vowed to remain silent,’ said Van Veeteren, interrupting her. ‘May I suggest that you stick to your word. And shut your trap!’
Servinus coughed discreetly. The chief inspector took another deep breath, then turned on his heel and left the room.
For Christ’s sake, he thought when he had gone out into the darkness again. It feels like a film. A really awful B-movie with tenth-rate cutting and unsynchronized sound. An unadulterated turkey!
Perhaps it had something to do with the wine, but although it was past two by now, he didn’t feel tired in the slightest. On the contrary. He felt full of energy. Raring to go.
Then he remembered what this was all about.
Time to take a look at the bottom of the barrel. No alternative, of course.
As usual.
The Allgemejne reporter seemed intent on accompanying them, but the chief inspector shoved him back into his car. Instead it was Kluuge who led the way with his torch. The chief inspector recalled having said something about coffee, but with any luck the mere mention of it and the implication that he cared would suffice. The sergeant had been a bit shocked by his experiences, that had been obvious. No wonder.
The forensic officers – two young men in green overalls – had cordoned off the crime scene with red-and- white police tape, and installed a couple of floodlights to illuminate the site. Van Veeteren stopped a few metres short, so that he didn’t need to see too much. A balding man in his fifties approached and introduced himself as Suijderbeck, detective inspector from Rembork.
‘Van Veeteren. How does it look?’
Suijderbeck shrugged.
‘Pretty awful. Girl aged thirteen or fourteen. Raped. Crushed larynx, I think. She was lucky in that it happened in reverse order.’
‘What do the forensic guys say?’
‘Dragged here, presumably,’ said Suijderbeck ‘There’s nothing to suggest that the violence actually took place here. But it’s early days yet.’
‘Sperm?’
Suijderbeck shook his head.
‘Apparently not.’
‘But raped nevertheless?’
‘Penetrated, in any case,’ said Suijderbeck with a sigh. ‘With something. And maltreated here and there.’
Van Veeteren shuddered. An elderly, hunch-backed man appeared behind the inspector. He introduced himself as Dr Monsen, and seemed to ring a bell, the chief inspector thought. Rightly, as it turned out.
‘Van Veeteren?’ exclaimed the newcomer when he realized who it was he was talking to. ‘What the hell are you doing here? Moved you on, have they?’
The chief inspector ignored the joke.
‘Do you know what this is all about?’ asked Monsen. ‘What goes on at this place, I mean?’
‘I’ll tell you about that later.’
‘I bet you will. Do you want to take a look?’
Van Veeteren sighed and put his hands in his pockets.
‘I suppose I’ll have to.’
He walked round the boulder and one of the kneeling forensic officers. Focused on what he couldn’t avoid seeing.
Leaning against the trunk of a large aspen tree – grotesquely illuminated by the floodlights – was the thin body of a little girl. Van Veeteren had had plenty of time to prepare himself for the sight, but the unedited reality nevertheless hit him like a punch in the solar plexus. The same old punch he’d felt so often before. Here and there – mainly around the groin, the neck and the chest – the pale corpse was stained by large dark patches, and her thighs were striped with dried blood. Her head was twisted almost unnaturally to one side, her tongue was sticking out
