Not a letter, not even a line, not a word.
Not from him to her, nor from her to him.
It suddenly struck her that if he were dead now, she wouldn’t have known. Or was there some kind of duty to inform? On the part of the Sidonis Foundation? Had she signed any documents to that effect? Did they have her name and address? She couldn’t remember.
If he’d moved out of the home, perhaps Mikaela would never find him?
But he was still there. She’d rung yesterday to check. Oh yes, Mikaela had been there, and he was still there. Those were the facts.
Presumably he’d been sitting there in his own silent hell for all those years. Sixteen of them. Waiting. Perhaps he’d been waiting for her? Waiting for Mikaela to come? Or maybe for her, his lost wife, to visit him?
But probably not. Most likely he had no memory of anything. He hadn’t been well when she took their daughter and abandoned him. There had never been any question of sending him to prison. Not as far as she was aware, at least.
Mad. Completely out of his mind. He’d even wet himself in the middle of the legal proceedings — for some reason that was the detail she had remembered down to the tiniest detail. How he’d just sat there in the middle of the courtroom and let it come gushing forth without moving a muscle. . No, Arnold had crossed the border into insanity sixteen years ago, and there was no way back.
No way, and no bridges. Just oblivion and a new inner landscape. The more barren and desolate the better, presumably.
She stubbed out her cigarette. Too many words, she thought. There are too many words whizzing around inside me, they’re preventing me from thinking clearly.
Arnold? Mikaela?
But underneath the swirling mass of words was only panic, she knew that — and suddenly she wished she had taken Helmut with her.
Helmut the solid rock, the primary rock.
He had offered to come, insisted in a way, but she had kept him at bay.
This had nothing to do with him. Helmut had no part to play in this situation. It was a transaction to be sorted out between Mikaela and her father. And possibly also her mother.
A transaction? she thought. What on earth am I saying? What do I mean?
And what has happened?
It was not until she’d smoked half of her second cigarette and realized that she’d soaked it through and through with her tears that she went inside and made a phone call.
He wasn’t at home, but eventually she remembered the number of his mobile and got through to him.
She explained that she had spoken to the police, and that they would no doubt have sorted it all out by the evening — but that she’d taken a room for the night, for safety’s sake. And because it would have been a bit too strenuous to drive all the way back home that same day.
Helmut didn’t have much to say in reply. They hung up. She went back out on to the balcony. Sat down on the chair and prayed to God for the first time in fifteen years.
She didn’t think He was listening.
15
In the end she picked on Munster.
The reason was simple, and she was glad that she didn’t need to explain it to anybody. Not to Mikael Bau, nor anybody else.
The facts were straightforward. Detective Inspector Moreno had been in love with Detective Intendent Mun- ster, and they had very nearly had an affair.
Well, no: not in love, she decided. That word was too strong. Something else similar, but. . but not quite as significant. Much less, in fact. In any case, the thought that she might have been able — if circumstances had been somewhat different — to start a relationship with a man of paedophile tendencies was so absurd, so utterly out of the question, a definite non-starter. Even the mere thought. She swept it to one side with her big biology broom. It was impossible to think of Munster in that role. Absolutely unthinkable.
It was true, needless to say, that it was extremely difficult to imagine any of her colleagues as a child molester, but she hadn’t been in love with them (not even in the least significant sense of the phrase). So there wasn’t really any contradiction per se. As she seemed to recall having read in her philosophy textbook at grammar school.
So, Munster it was. A rock-solid card to play.
Luckily, he didn’t ask her why she had turned to him rather than anybody else. But he did ask several other questions.
Was she out of her mind? for example.
What the hell did she mean?
How could she put any trust in anything said by an arsehole like Franz Lampe-Leermann?
Moreno explained in measured tones that she didn’t believe Lampe-Leermann any more than she would believe a horoscope in a girl’s magazine, but that she wanted to pass on the allegation as a pure formality since she was now on holiday.
Munster accepted this, but continued commenting for quite some time and she could hear that he was beginning to retreat from his original stance of outraged rejection.
Just as she had done herself. Just as that bastard Lampe-Leermann had no doubt assumed they would do.
‘He must have something up his sleeve, don’t you think?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Moreno.
‘But he must surely have good cause to come out with an allegation like this.’
‘You’d have thought so, yes.’
‘What conclusion have you drawn yourself?’
‘I haven’t drawn any conclusion at all,’ said Moreno. ‘But I haven’t been sleeping very well.’
‘I can well believe that,’ said Munster. ‘What the hell is one supposed to do in a case like this?’
‘Don’t go to Hiller with it, whatever else you do.’
‘Thanks for the tip,’ said Munster. ‘Do you have any more?’
‘I suppose there’s only one possibility.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Go and talk to Scumbag.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I’m sorry. Talk to Franz Lampe-Leermann.’
‘Hmm,’ said Munster. ‘Where is he now?’
‘In Emsbaden,’ said Moreno. ‘He’s sitting there, waiting for you. I suggest you take care of this yourself, and be extremely discreet.’
Munster said nothing for a few seconds.
‘I’ll be in touch,’ he said eventually. ‘Thank you for ringing. Have lots of enjoyable, lazy days, so that you’re a good cop again when you come back to work in August.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ said Inspector Moreno.
That afternoon they took the ferry out to the islands. They spent an hour at low tide strolling along the beaches on Werkeney, then took a smaller boat to Doczum, the site of a bird sanctuary, where they had dinner at an inn in the square surrounded by pot-bellied and well-coiffured tourists of a certain age, showing off their
