difficult to say which. She knew the chief of police had asked him several times to take it down, but it was still there. Rooth had suggested that it was symbolic of the freedom of thought and level of understanding within the police force, and Moreno had a vague suspicion that it could well be an accurate interpretation. Although she had never asked Reinhart himself. Nor the chief of police, come to that.
‘My leave begins two hours from now,’ she said, trying to give him a friendly smile.
‘They’re holding him out at Lejnice,’ said Reinhart, unmoved. ‘A nice spot. It would take just one day. Two at most. Hmm.’
Moreno stood up and walked over to the window.
‘Mind you, if you would prefer to have him brought here, that wouldn’t be a problem,’ said Reinhart from behind her back.
She gazed out over the town and the ridge of high pressure. It was a few days old, but it seemed to be here to stay. That’s what fru Bachman on the ground floor had said, and the meteorologists on the television as well. She decided not to respond. Not without a solicitor present, or a more detailed instruction. Ten seconds passed, and the only sound was from the bustle of the town down below, and the soft tip-tap from Reinhart’s flip-fops as he shuffled about.
Flip-flops? she thought. Surely he could get himself a pair of sandals at least. A chief inspector in light-blue flip-flops?
Perhaps he’d been to the swimming baths at lunchtime and forgotten to change? Or maybe he’d been to see the chief of police and put them on as a sort of irreverent protest? It was hard to say as far as Reinhart was concerned: he liked to make a point.
He gave up in the end.
‘For Christ’s sake,’ he said. ‘Get a grip, Inspector. We’ve been after this bloody prat for several months now, and at last Vrommel has caught up with him. .’
‘Vrommel? Who’s Vrommel?’
‘The chief of police in Lejnice.’
Reluctantly, Moreno began to consider the possibility. Remained standing with her back turned to Reinhart as the image of Lampe-Leermann appeared in her mind’s eye. . Not much of a name in the underworld, quite small fry in fact: but it was true that they had been on his tail for quite a while. He was strongly suspected of being involved in a few armed robberies in March and April, but that wasn’t the point. Or at least, not the main point.
The big thing is that he mixed with certain other gentlemen who were much bigger heavyweights than he was. Leading lights in so-called Organized Crime, to use a term that was heard all too often nowadays. There was no doubt about his links, and Lampe-Leermann had a reputation for grassing. A reputation for being more concerned — in certain difficult circumstances at least — about his own skin than that of others, and willing to inform the police authorities of what he knew. If doing so would serve his own ends, and could be treated with appropriate discretion.
And it could be in this case. At least, there was good reason for thinking so. Reinhart was inclined to think so, and Moreno tended to agree with him. In principle, at least. That was why they had made a bigger effort than usual when it came to tracking down Lampe-Leermann. That was why they had found him. Today of all days.
But the news that he was only prepared to unburden his mind to Inspector Moreno had come as a bit of a surprise, no question. That was something they hadn’t reckoned with. Neither her nor anybody else. Just some malevolent little gremlin, no doubt. . Damn and blast, you can never. .
‘He likes you,’ said Reinhart, interrupting her train of thought. ‘That’s nothing to be ashamed of. I think he remembers when we were playing a game of good-cop bad-cop with him a few years ago. Anyway, that’s the way it is. He wants to talk to you, and nobody else. But there’s the minor matter of your leave, of course. .’
‘Exactly,’ said Moreno, returning to her chair.
‘It’s not so far up to Lejnice,’ said Reinhart. ‘A hundred and twenty kilometres or thereabouts, I should think. .’
Moreno said nothing. Closed her eyes instead and fanned herself with yesterday’s
‘Then I came to think of that house you’re going to — didn’t you say it was in Port Hagen?’
Oh my God! Moreno thought. He remembers. He’s been doing his homework.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Port Hagen, that’s right.’
Reinhart tried to look innocent again. He’d be good as the wolf in
‘If I’m not much mistaken it’s quite close by,’ he said. ‘It must be only ten kilometres or so north of Lejnice. I used to go there when I was a kid. You’d be able to. .’
Moreno threw away the newspaper with a resigned gesture.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘Don’t go on. I’ll sort it out. Damn it all, you know as well as I do that Lampe-Leermann is the nastiest, creepiest piece of work that ever wore a pair of hand-sewn shoes. . or a signet ring. Apart from anything else he always stinks of old garlic. Note that I said old garlic — I’ve nothing against the fresh stuff. But I’ll sort it out, you don’t need to strain yourself any more. Damn it all once again! When?’
Reinhart walked over to the flowerpot in order to empty his pipe.
‘I told Vrommel you’d probably turn up tomorrow.’
Moreno stared at him.
‘Have you fixed a time without consulting me?’
‘
Moreno sighed.
‘Okay,’ she sighed. ‘I’m sorry. I’d planned to set off tomorrow morning anyway, so it won’t involve a lot of disruption. In fact.’
‘Good,’ said Reinhart. ‘I’ll ring Vrommel and confirm that you’re coming. What time?’
She thought for a moment.
‘About one. Tell him that I’ll be there at around one, and that Lampe-Leermann shouldn’t be given any garlic with his lunch.’
‘Not even fresh?’ wondered Reinhart.
She didn’t answer. As she was on her way out through the door, he reminded her of how serious the situation was.
‘Make sure you squeeze out of that bastard every bloody name he can give us. Both you and he will get a bonus for every arsehole we can put behind lock and key.’
‘Of course,’ said Moreno. ‘But there’s no need to swear so much. I like the colour of your shoes, though — it makes you look really young again. .’
Before Reinhart could respond she was out in the corridor.
4
It wasn’t until she was at home and in the shower that she realized it was an omen.
What else could it be? How else could one interpret it? Franz Lampe-Leermann simply turning up out of the blue and attacking her holiday two hours before it started? Surely that was highly unlikely? Or highly significant, depending on how you looked at it. He had managed to keep out of the way of the police since about the middle of April — that was when they started searching for him seriously, after a particularly clumsy bank raid in Linzhuisen on Maundy Thursday — and then the stupid idiot goes and gets himself arrested just now! In Lejnice, of all places.
Lejnice. A small, unremarkable coastal town with about twenty to twenty-five thousand inhabitants. Plus a few extra thousands in the summer. And situated, just as Reinhart had said, a mere ten kilometres away from the place she’d planned to spend the first two weeks of her holiday.
