can talk to her. In any case, it had nothing to do with Vera Miller.’
Moreno thought for a moment, then agreed.
The important thing was that they could talk to her.
Edita Fischer was young and blonde, and looked more or less how a nurse in an American television series was supposed to look. With the possible exception of the fact that she was slightly cross-eyed: but Jung at least thought that made her even more charming.
She was obviously embarrassed by what she had set in motion. Blushed and apologized several times, even before they had settled down in the pale-green reception room that had been placed at their disposal thanks to the ward sister’s determined efforts. It was usually reserved exclusively for discussions with the next of kin after a patient had died, she explained: green was said to have a calming effect.
‘For Christ’s sake,’ exclaimed Fischer, ‘it was nothing! Nothing at all. I gather it was Liljana who told you about this?’
Jung admitted that the matter had cropped up during one of his conversations with Liljana Milovic.
‘Why couldn’t she hold her tongue?’ said Fischer. ‘It was just a throwaway remark I made as we sat talking.’
‘If everybody held their tongues, we wouldn’t find many criminals,’ said Jung.
‘What sort of a throwaway remark was it?’ asked Moreno. ‘Now that we’re sitting here.’
Fischer hesitated a little longer, but it was obvious that she was going to come clean. Jung exchanged glances with Moreno, and they both refrained from asking questions. All they needed to do was wait. Wait, and gaze at the comforting green walls.
‘It was over a month ago… Nearly one-and-a-half, in fact.’
‘The beginning of November?’ said Moreno.
‘About then. I don’t think I’ve ever cried as much as I did when I heard that Vera had been killed. It’s so awful — she was such a happy, lively person… You don’t think anything like that could happen to a person you know so well. Who did it? — It must be a madman.’
‘We don’t know yet,’ said Jung. ‘But that’s what we’re going to find out.’
‘Did you socialize outside working hours as well?’ asked Moreno.
Fischer shook her head.
‘No, but she was a wonderful colleague — ask all the others.’
‘We have done,’ said Jung.
‘Yes, of course,’ said Fischer, with a sigh. ‘But you must understand that it was of no importance, in fact. Liljana tends to blow things up out of all proportion… She’s okay, but that’s just the way she is.’
‘Let’s hear it now,’ said Jung. ‘We can usually work out what’s important and what isn’t. But we like to know as much as possible before we do that.’
‘Of course,’ said Fischer. ‘Forgive me. Anyway, the fact is that Vera made that visit to Rumford.’
‘The New Rumford Hospital?’ wondered Moreno.
‘Yes, there was a patient who needed to be transferred there. That happens sometimes. A woman with pulmonary emphysema — they have better resources at Rumford for dealing with that than we have here. Sometimes we transfer patients to them, and sometimes they send patients to us…’
‘Sounds sensible,’ said Jung.
‘Yes,’ said Fischer. ‘It is sensible. Anyway, Vera accompanied this patient, and she stayed half a day at Rumford. To make sure that the patient was all right, felt she was being properly looked after and so on. Vera was very particular with that kind of thing — that’s why she was such a good nurse. When she came back that afternoon we were having our coffee break, and we pulled Vera’s leg a bit. Asked her why it had taken her so long — whether it was because they have such handsome doctors at Rumford. They do, in fact…’
She seemed embarrassed again, and squirmed on her chair.
‘Much younger than ours in any case,’ she added. ‘And that’s when Vera said what she said. “You’ve hit the nail on the head,” she said.’
‘Hit the nail on the head?’ said Moreno.
‘Yes, she laughed and said: “You’ve hit the nail on the head, Edita.” That was all. I don’t know if she was joking or if there was more to it than that. Good God, have you been sitting and waiting here all this time just to hear that?’
‘Hmm,’ said Jung. ‘We’re used to sitting and waiting, you don’t need to worry about that.’
Moreno pondered as she scribbled something in her notebook.
‘What do you think?’ she said. ‘What did you think she meant when Vera Miller said that? Don’t be afraid of misleading us, it’s better if you tell us your spontaneous reaction.’
Fischer bit her lip, looked down at her hands which were clasped in her lap, and squirmed again.
‘I thought there was something going on,’ she said eventually. ‘Yes, when I look back now, I really did think so.’
‘You know that she was married?’ Jung asked.
‘Of course.’
‘But you don’t think it’s out of the question that… that she’d met a doctor at Rumford she’d fallen for?’
Fallen for? he thought. I’m talking like an actor in a B-movie. But so what?
‘I don’t know,’ she said with a shrug. ‘How the hell could I know that? It was just what she said… And the way she said it.’
‘And it never cropped up again?’ Moreno asked. ‘No more insinuations like that, for instance?’
‘No,’ said Fischer. ‘None at all. That’s why I said it was a throwaway remark.’
Jung thought for a while.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Many thanks for your cooperation. You can get on with your work now.’
Edita Fischer thanked them, and left. Jung stood up and walked twice around the room. Then sat down again.
‘Well,’ said Moreno. ‘That was that. What do you think?’
‘Think?’ said Jung. ‘I know what we have to do next, in any case. A hundred new doctors. We’ll have enough work to keep us going until Christmas… But I suppose we have to be grateful that we’re not left twiddling our thumbs.’
‘Thus spake a real police officer,’ said Moreno.
28
It was twenty minutes to three when he left the Spaarkasse branch in Keymer Plejn with almost a quarter of a million in his pockets. They’d looked a bit doubtful when he’d said that he wanted the whole amount in cash. It was a deal to buy a boat, he’d explained… An eccentric seller who insisted on having ready cash. Otherwise there would be no deal.
He wondered if they’d swallowed it. Maybe, maybe not. But it didn’t matter either way. The main thing was that he had the money. When it was time to pay off the loan, he would be nowhere near Maardam. Not even on the extreme edge of nearness. Exactly where in the world he would be, he didn’t know yet. There were only twelve hours to go before the money was due to be handed over, and he still didn’t have a strategy.
I’m too calm, he thought as he clambered into his car. I’ve taken too many pills, they’re making me dozy.
He took the usual route to Boorkhejm. The mild weather from yesterday was holding its own, and he drove unusually slowly since it had struck him that this might be the last time he would ever make this trip. Which he had made thousands of times… Yes, it must be thousands. It was nearly fifteen years since he’d moved into the modern terraced house with Marianne, and now he was going to leave it. It was high time, too.
It really was high time.
Perhaps it was the low speed and the feeling of making this journey for the last time that made him notice the scooter.
An ordinary, red scooter parked outside one of the doors to the block of flats just before the row of terraced
