‘I can’t believe it,’ she said. ‘I simply can’t. I’d prefer to approach it from a different angle. Try to understand the motive. . Lampe-Leermann’s motive, that is. How could he benefit from it?’
‘Do you think he’s lying?’
‘Very probably. I want to believe that. Although it could also be that journalist who lied to Lampe- Leermann.’
‘Why would he do that?’
Moreno shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea. I don’t see the point of saying something like that to somebody like Lampe- Leermann. Unless it happened in a fit of drunkenness. . Which is a distinct possibility, of course. One shouldn’t overestimate the logic and the ability to follow a plan that’s characteristic of those circles. That’s something I’m beginning to realize.’
‘Coincidence?’ said Mikael. ‘An unguarded word?’
‘Could be,’ said Moreno. ‘There’s a sort of grey zone. The chief inspector — the one I was telling you about,
‘Order or chaos,’ said Mikael, picking up an empty scrunched-up Coca-Cola can somebody had dropped a couple of metres away from one of the green-painted rubbish bins the local council had provided at regular intervals all the way along the beach. ‘And the relationship between them. . Yes, it sounds very plausible. We’ve talked about this before. But in any case, the accusation itself from Lampe-Leermann sounds carefully planned, doesn’t it?’
‘Without a doubt,’ said Moreno with a sigh. ‘Without a doubt. He’s expecting a concrete offer in exchange for the name of his bloody hack. The more I think about it, the more I feel sure that there must be an informant, and that there must be some truth in it. Unfortunately.’
‘Why do you think that?’
‘Because that’s the way negotiations work. Even a nasty creep like Lampe-Leermann must realize that. If we were to give him some assurances, we’d only need to cancel them if he turned out to be bluffing. He simply can’t dictate whatever terms he likes.’
Mikael thought that over as they walked across the dunes and the spiky roof of Tschandala came into view.
‘But what if he wants ready cash? He’d be able to get you to cough up a suitable sum — and wouldn’t it be difficult to get that back if it was already in a bank account somewhere? Or hidden away in a mattress?’
‘True,’ said Moreno. ‘At least, I assume so. In any case, it’s not my problem. I must make sure I pass the buck. I’m supposed to be on holiday, after all. Enjoying peace and quiet by the seaside with my talented young lover.’
‘Dead right,’ Mikael grunted as he hugged her tightly. ‘Give them a bell the moment we cross over the doorstep and hand the case over to whoever is on duty.’
‘Hmm,’ said Moreno. ‘I think I’ll wait until tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow?’ said Mikael. ‘Why?’
‘I have to work out who I’m going to talk to.’
He thought about that for three seconds.
‘Aha,’ he said. ‘Yes, I see your point. A bit tricky?’
‘Yes,’ said Moreno. ‘A bit tricky.’
She woke up at half past two. Spent twenty minutes trying to go back to sleep, then slipped quietly out of bed and sat down at the large circular kitchen table with a sheet of paper and a pencil.
She wrote down the names one by one, as they occurred to her.
Those were her closest colleagues. The ones she worked with more or less every day.
The ones she’d known inside out for the last six or seven years.
Inside out? Was it possible that one of them. .?
She could feel that question sticking in her throat, in a physical way. When she tried to swallow, she couldn’t.
She abandoned the thought and continued with her list, wondering why she had bothered to give them all their ranks. Would rank be relevant in a case like this?
And then the others, not actually members of the CID, but she’d better name them even so.
She leaned back and contemplated the list. Twelve names in all. She couldn’t think of any more. Heinemann had retired. Van Veeteren had quit.
Who? she thought. Who could possibly. .?
That question floated around in her consciousness for several minutes. Then she tried another angle.
Who? Who shall I ring?
Which of these men do I trust most?
While she tried to sort out the answer to that problem, the clock indicated a quarter past three, then half past, and she just felt more and more sick.
12
‘He’s busy,’ said Constable Vegesack for the third time. ‘Can’t you understand what I’m saying? Either you sit down and wait, or tell me what it’s all about.’
The woman shook her head in irritation and flung her hands out wide. Steadied herself in order to demand once again to talk to the chief of police — that’s what it looked like, at least — but changed her mind. Breathed out audibly through gritted teeth instead.
Forty, perhaps slightly more, Vegesack decided. Well built without being fat. Looks pretty healthy, in fact. . Short, dark red hair, certainly dyed.
Jittery.
Devilish jittery. It was impossible to persuade her to sit down. She strode back and forth around the room like a dachshund in need of a pee. Constable Vegesack had grown up with a dachshund, so he knew exactly what that meant.
‘Could you perhaps give me some indication of what it is you want?’ he said. ‘Maybe we could start with your name.’
She paused. Held her arms by her sides, fists clenched, and eyed him up and down. His left hand shot up automatically and adjusted the knot of his tie.
‘Sigrid Lijphart,’ she said. ‘My name’s Sigrid Lijphart, and I’m looking for my daughter Mikaela. She’s been missing since Saturday.’
Vegesack noted the information down.
‘Do you live here in Lejnice? I don’t think I’ve-’
