‘Yes,’ said Van Veeteren.
‘Thank you,’ said Kluuge once more.
Madwomen? the chief inspector thought when he’d hung up.
He didn’t like it, but whether it was the circumstances or the sergeant’s choice of words that should be stigmatized, he wasn’t really sure.
The thunderstorm blew in from the south-west, from the direction of Waldingen, and as he ate his brunch on the terrace he was able to watch it approaching rapidly over the edge of the forest on the other side of the lake. The flashes of lightning and claps of thunder entertained him for quite some time before the first heavy drops landed on the corrugated plastic roof over his head, and the temperature dropped drastically by at least ten degrees.
The cloudburst lasted for nearly fifteen minutes, but when it was at its height it seemed to him that the surface of the lake below the hotel, previously so misleadingly calm, had been transformed into a maelstrom, nothing less than a witch’s brew, and the far side of the lake disappeared behind a wall of seething, lashing water.
The wrath of the elements, the chief inspector thought. No wonder.
When it had passed over and he had just signed the bill, he could feel how the air had suddenly become more breathable. In big gulps. After a week of suffocating shortages of oxygen in the brain, it was suddenly possible not only to think a clear thought, but to remember it.
I don’t think I’m made for the Mediterranean, unfortunately, he thought grimly as he left the table.
It wasn’t difficult to guess what effect the heavy rain must have had on the efforts of the police dogs at Waldingen. If there were any trails out there in the forest, they certainly wouldn’t be any easier to follow after rain like that.
As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods, he suddenly thought. And when they pull the strings, we dance at their beck and call. They send down buckets of rain, and we stand there with freshly washed faces.
With his briefcase tucked under his arm and two toothpicks wandering around his mouth, he set off towards Kleinmarckt in the centre of the little town. He tried to avoid the rivulets and torrents, but the gutters and grates were not designed to cope with such vast amounts of water, and by the time he reached Florian’s, he was soaking wet well up his shins. But he was surprised to find that this was not an especially unpleasant state to be in – invigorating, rather; and a few minutes later he entered the Sorbinowo police station feeling alert and ready to concentrate. Ready to cope with whatever was thrown at him.
We shall solve this lot of crap as well, he thought. Sooner or later.
17
Servinus and Suijderbeck had evidently been instructed to stay on in Sorbinowo. They were sitting beside each other underneath an oil painting of Malijsen’s predecessor – a certain J. Stagge – and it was immediately obvious to Van Veeteren that they had even fewer hours of sleep under their belts than he had. Possibly none at all. They had all split up outside the summer camp at about six that morning, and it was by no means impossible that the pair of them had been on duty all the time since then. Inspector Suijderbeck was half-lying in his corner with one leg stretched out in front of him at a strange angle, and it dawned on the chief inspector that he must have some kind of artificial limb. From just under the knee, it seemed. The fact that Van Veeteren hadn’t noticed it before bore witness to his being somewhat under the weather.
Come to think of it, he couldn’t recall ever having come across a detective officer with a wooden leg before, and he wondered in passing about the circumstances behind it. Presumably they were not nice – but this was hardly the time or place to go into that.
Kluuge was sitting at the other end of the table with a large notepad at the ready in front of him. He seemed just as perky as he had sounded on the telephone, and Van Veeteren realized that the metamorphosis in Kluuge was still continuing. He bade everyone ‘Good morning’ and sat down on the only empty chair.
‘Good afternoon,’ said Kluuge. ‘Okay now we can start.’
‘Is this the full team?’ the chief inspector asked.
Kluuge shook his head.
‘No. We have two colleagues out at Waldingen as well. Female inspectors from Haaldam. And then there’s Matthorst at Wolgershuus, keeping an eye on the women. And I suppose that patrol is still combing through the forest; but they’ll have finished by this evening, presumably.’
‘Presumably,’ said Van Veeteren, examining his soaking wet shoes.
‘Shall we run through where we’ve got to so far?’ suggested Suijderbeck, suppressing a yawn. ‘I really must grab a few hours’ sleep soon. I expect we’ll have to stay here for a few more days? Don’t you think?’
He glanced at his colleague on the sofa.
‘Mm,’ said Servinus before yawning in turn. ‘In any case I’ve no intention of getting into the car and driving back to Rembork just now. This is a bloody awful situation, don’t you think?’
‘It certainly is,’ said Kluuge. ‘I think we ought to get down to the facts now, don’t you? So, the girl was called Clarissa Heerenmacht, and as far as we can tell she was murdered some time on Sunday evening. The day before yesterday, in other words. All traces of rigor mortis had gone by the time I found her, so the doc says it couldn’t have been later than ten o’clock at night. Probably not before six either, but we can’t be sure of that yet. What time was it when the chief inspector spoke to her?’
‘About two,’ said Van Veeteren.
‘Pretty rough sexual violence on the lower abdomen,’ Kluuge said. ‘Strangled by extremely hard and prolonged pressure on the larynx, probably not at the location where she was discovered. No clothes have been found. No fingerprints on the body either. Well, that’s about it so far. Any comments?’
‘Sexual violence on the lower abdomen?’ said Suijderbeck. ‘In other words, it’s not at all certain that we have a case of straightforward rape. I reckon we should bear that in mind.’
Van Veeteren nodded. Kluuge wrote something on his pad.
‘What are you implying?’ wondered Servinus, looking sceptical.
‘I dunno,’ said Suijderbeck. ‘I just think it’s worth bearing in mind.’
He took out a pack of cigarettes and looked round to see what the reaction was. Kluuge nodded, and produced an ashtray. Van Veeteren indicated that he had nothing against being offered one.
‘Have you made contact with the parents?’ asked the chief inspector, having taken a deep drag.
‘No,’ said Kluuge. ‘It seems there isn’t a dad, incidentally. Not any longer, that is. The mother is on a coach tour in India, so it’ll probably be some time before we can get in touch with her. But there’s an aunt on her way here – we had a bit of luck in finding her.’
‘Luck?’ said Suijderbeck. ‘Why was that lucky?’
A good question, Van Veeteren thought. Kluuge hesitated.
‘Well, identification if nothing else. There has to be a relative in order to make it legal.’
‘Yes, well,’ said Servinus, sitting up straight on the sofa. ‘That detail will no doubt sort itself out. But isn’t it about time we really started to get stuck in? It seems a bit like playing blind man’s buff at the moment, I have to say…’
Of course,’ said Kluuge. ‘It was a bit much last night. Well, what can one say? Anyway, it all started a week ago when that anonymous woman made the telephone call…’
Van Veeteren leaned back on his chair and closed his eyes while Kluuge recapitulated what had happened before, for the benefit of his colleagues from Rembork Tried to switch off and instead started to wonder how many times he’d been in a situation like this during all his years as a detective.
All those years.
It must have been hundreds of occasions, and then hundreds more. But even so he was aware that he could recall each and every one of them. Every single case. Always assuming he had the required time. There was something special about these opening gambits, he thought; something almost unique. At this early stage, when most of the logical structure that was always there behind every act of violence – behind most of what human beings said and did as well, of course – was hidden and inaccessible. Camouflaged and disguised.
