idyllic. I think in fact that he’s only just beginning to realize that… He seems to be a bit handicapped when it comes to the labyrinth of love — something else the gods ought to be aware of.’
‘He was thirty-six when he got married,’ Moreno explained. ‘He doesn’t seem to have had many relationships earlier in his life. If any.’
‘A peculiar chap,’ said Rooth.
‘Yes, he gives the impression of being a bit of a wimp,’ said Reinhart, ‘and I don’t think he’s the type who would commit murder on grounds of jealousy. I suspect he’d prefer to cut off his testicles and give them away as a peace offering if a crisis arose. He has an alibi until one o’clock on Sunday morning, which was when he left a restaurant he’d been at with a good friend… And who the hell has an alibi for the small hours?’
‘I do,’ said Rooth. ‘My fish are my witnesses.’
‘So we can clear him of any suspicion — for the moment, at least,’ said Reinhart.
‘How many does that leave, then?’ asked deBries. ‘Assuming we can exclude Rooth as well.’
Reinhart looked as if he had a retort on the tip of his tongue, but he glanced at the tape recorder and suppressed it.
‘Perhaps Rooth can tell us what Vera Miller’s mother had to say for herself,’ he said instead.
Rooth sighed.
‘Not so much as the shadow of a chicken’s fart,’ he said. ‘To make things worse she was a domestic science teacher and hysterical about calories. I wasn’t even allowed to eat my Danish pastry in peace and quiet. Not my type.’
‘We all feel sorry for you,’ said deBries. ‘But I have to say I think we’re missing something in this connection.’
‘What?’ said Moreno.
‘Well, listen to this,’ said deBries, leaning forward over the table. ‘We know that Vera Miller was two-timing her wimp of a husband. We know there must be some other bloke involved. Why don’t we make an appeal via the media? Issue a Wanted notice for the bastard in the newspapers and on the telly — I mean, somebody must have seen them out together… If they’d been carrying on for four or five weekends in a row.’
‘That’s not certain,’ said Reinhart. ‘I can’t believe that they were prancing around in pubs and restaurants. Or canoodling in public. Besides… Besides, there are certain ethical aspects we must take into account.’
‘You don’t say?’ said deBries. ‘And what might they be?’
‘I know that this isn’t your strong point,’ said Reinhart, ‘but we haven’t had it confirmed yet. The infidelity, that is. Her mythical courses might have been a cover for something quite different — though I have to say I find it hard to understand what. But in any case, she’s been murdered, and I think we ought to be a bit careful about adding adultery to her obituary. In public, that is… Bearing in mind the feelings of her husband and other next of kin. I wouldn’t want to be held responsible if it turned out that we’d hung her out to dry in the press, but then discovered that she was innocent.’
‘All right,’ said deBries with a shrug, ‘I give in. Did you say it was a matter of ethics?’
‘Exactly,’ said Reinhart, pressing the pause button on the tape recorder. ‘I think it’s time for a coffee break now.’
‘We don’t have much that’s new regarding Erich Van Veeteren either, I’m afraid,’ said Reinhart when froken Katz had left the room. ‘A few interviews of course, mainly conducted by Detective-Sergeant Bollmert who’s been out and about. Anything of interest?’
‘Not as far as I can see,’ said Bollmert, fiddling nervously with a propelling pencil. ‘I’ve spoken to welfare officers and probation officers and old friends of Erich’s, but it was mainly people who haven’t had much to do with him in recent years. He’d been walking the straight and narrow, as you know. I mentioned Vera Miller to the ones I spoke to as well, but nobody took the bait there either.’
‘Yes, that seems to be the way things are,’ said Reinhart. ‘No winning tickets. You’d think that somebody — just one individual would do — would be acquainted with both our victims… from a purely statistical point of view. We’ve spoken to hundreds of people, for God’s sake. But no…’
‘Unless of course the murderer is acquainted with both of them,’ Rooth pointed out, ‘but is being crafty and not letting on.’
‘Not impossible,’ said Reinhart offhandedly. ‘Incidentally I’ve spent some time trying to find a plausible link between Erich Van Veeteren and fru Miller — how they might theoretically be connected — but I have to say it’s not easy. Mainly airy-fairy hypotheses… Cock and bull stories…’
He made eye contact with Moreno, who smiled and shook her head: he understood that she shared his opinion. He raised his hand to switch off the tape recorder, but paused. Jung was waving a pencil and looking thoughtful.
‘With regard to hypotheses,’ he said, ‘I’ve been looking into Rooth’s hypothesis.’
‘Rooth?’ said Reinhart, raising his eyebrows. ‘Hypothesis?’
‘Which one do you mean?’ wondered Rooth.
‘The postage stamp gang,’ said deBries.
‘No, the stethoscope syndrome,’ said Jung.
Now Reinhart switched off the tape recorder.
‘What the devil are you on about?’ he said. ‘Wait while I wind the tape back.’
‘Sorry,’ said deBries.
‘I’m serious,’ said Jung. ‘It’s like this…’
He waited until Reinhart had pressed the record button again.
‘What Rooth suggested was that this bloke — always assuming that Vera Miller did have another bloke — would most probably be a doctor. You know what they say about nurses and men in white coats and all that…’
He paused and looked round to see if there was any reaction.
‘Go on,’ said Reinhart.
‘Well, I thought it might be worth looking into whether she might have been having an affair with one of the doctors at the Gemejnte. Nearly everybody who’s unfaithful does it with somebody at work, according to what I’ve read… So I went to hear what Liljana had to say this morning.’
‘Liljana?’ said Reinhart. ‘Who the hell is Liljana?’
He could have sworn that Jung blushed.
‘One of Vera Miller’s workmates,’ he said. ‘I spoke to her for the first time yesterday.’
‘I’ve seen her,’ said Rooth. ‘A veritable bombshell… From the Balkans as well, but not in that way…’
Reinhart glared at him and then at the tape recorder, but let it pass.
‘Go on,’ he said again, ‘What did she have to say?’
‘Not a lot, I’m afraid,’ said Jung. ‘But she reckons it’s not impossible that Vera Miller had something going with a doctor. She had the impression that another colleague had hinted at that, but she wasn’t absolutely sure.’
‘Another colleague?’ said Moreno. ‘And what did she have to say? I assume it’s a she.’
‘Yes,’ said Jung. ‘A trainee nurse. But I haven’t been able to get hold of her. She’s off work today and tomorrow.’
‘Shit,’ said Reinhart. ‘Anyway, we’ll dig her out, of course. We might as well get to the bottom of this. I have to say that it sounds quite likely, when you think about it. A nurse and a doctor — we’ve heard about that before.’
‘They say there are quite a few white coats at the Gemejnte,’ said deBries.
Reinhart sucked at his pipe and looked ready to kill.
‘This is what we’ll do,’ he said after a few seconds’ thought. ‘I’ll phone the head doctor, or the hospital’s CEO, or whatever the hell he’s called. He can supply us with the full list of employees — let’s hope he’s got photographs as well. It would be a bit of a bugger if we didn’t get a bit of joy out of this… I don’t suppose Inspector Rooth has a little theory about a possible link to Erich Van Veeteren as well?’
Rooth shook his head.
‘I seem to recall that I did have,’ he said. ‘But I can’t remember what it was.’
DeBries sighed loudly. Reinhart pressed the stop button, and the run-through was finished.
He had chosen Vox again — bearing in mind Van Veeteren’s positive memory from the previous time — but this evening there was no velvet-voiced chanteuse to look forward to. No music at all, in fact, as it was a Tuesday.
