the night and I couldn’t see another soul. I didn’t want to leave him there with the girl either, not without establishing what state she was in; but in the end I managed to take her pulse without him protesting. She didn’t have one, as I’d suspected. She was dead.
V Where did you take her pulse?
B On her wrist. He didn’t want me to come anywhere near her neck.
V Did you recognize the girl as well?
B No. I’ve heard since who she is, but I’m not acquainted with the family.
V But in the end you went and got some help in any case, is that right?
B Yes. There was nothing else I could do. I climbed back over the fence on to the road, went to the nearest house and rang the doorbell. I switched the car lights off as well — I’d left them on without thinking. It took some time before anybody came to answer, but all the time I was waiting I kept my eye on Maager and the girl, and could see that they were still there, beside the railway line. It was no more than thirty or forty metres away. The woman who answered the door was Christina Deijkler, I know her slightly although I didn’t know she lived in that very house. I explained the situation, and she could see for herself that it was exactly as I’d said. She went to phone the emergency services and I went back to wait: the police car turned up after about ten minutes — Helme and Van Steugen. The ambulance arrived shortly afterwards.
V Thank you, herr Baarentz. You did exactly the right thing. I have just a few more questions. While you were trying to get through to Maager, did you get any idea of what had happened?
B No.
V He didn’t give any indication at all? In words or gestures or in any other way?
B No. He didn’t express himself at all. Apart from that strange noise, that is.
V And you didn’t draw any conclusions?
B No, not then. I heard today what it was all about. It’s horrendous, but I had no idea about any of that at the time, in the middle of the night.
V How did you find out about what had happened?
B Alexander, my boy. He’d picked up the gossip in the town — the news seems to have spread like wild fire, and I suppose that’s understandable. Apparently Maager had had a relationship with the girl, that seems to have been common knowledge in the school. It’s a scandal, of course. I don’t really know what to say about it. They reckon he threw her down from the viaduct — is that true?
V It’s too early to comment on the cause of death, but we don’t exclude that possibility. Are you absolutely certain that you didn’t see anybody else in the vicinity of the scene of the accident?
B Absolutely.
V No cars passing by, or that you’d seen shortly before you got there?
B No. I don’t think I saw more than one single car after I’d dropped Otto Golnik off in Missenraade. And none at all anywhere near the viaduct, I’m sure of that.
V You seem to be an unusually observant person, herr Baarentz.
B I suppose I am. I’m a pretty precise sort of person — you have to be in my job. I suppose playing bridge helps as well: you have to be wide awake all the time.
V I take your point. Many thanks, herr Baarentz. You have been extremely useful to us.
B No problem. I’ve just done my duty, nothing more.
33
It was Thursday before the Wanted notice for Arnold Maager — 44 years old, 176 centimetres tall, slimly built and ash-grey-haired; possibly depressed, possibly confused, probably both — reached the public at large. By that time he had been missing for almost five days. He was last seen in the Sidonis Foundation care home just outside Lejnice, where he had been living for the last fifteen years, last Saturday — and it was probable that he was dressed in a white T-shirt, blue or brown cotton trousers, a light-coloured wind-cheater and Panther trainers.
That same day, at dawn, a search party comprising fourteen officers from the police forces in Lejnice, Wallburg and Emsbaden began to comb the immediate vicinity of the Sidonis home — an operation that was completed at about five in the afternoon without any clues having been found to throw light on what had happened to the missing mentally ill patient.
Simultaneously with the publication by the media of details of Maager’s disappearance, the police also issued a renewed Wanted notice for his daughter, Mikaela Lijphart, this time country-wide. She had now been missing for eleven days, and anybody who had seen the girl at any time during that period — or who could provide any other information that could be of use to the investigation team — was urged to get in touch immediately with the Lejnice police. Or with their nearest police station.
The only person who responded to the latter request was the missing girl’s mother, Sigrid Lijphart, and that was not in order to pass on any new information but — as usual — to ask why the hell they hadn’t made any progress. Vrommel had no satisfactory answer to this question — as usual — and fru Lijphart threatened to report him to higher authorities if he and his colleagues failed to come up with something in the very near future. If for nothing else she would report them for negligence and a failure to fulfil a police officer’s duty to citizens. Vrommel asked politely if she would like him to send her forms she could fill in in order to make a complaint — a B112-5GE with regard to negligence, and a B112-6C for a failure to fulfil their duty — but she declined on both scores.
Fru Lijphart asked no questions and lodged no complaints with regard to the disappearance of her former husband.
Constable Vegesack lived with his Marlene in one of the newly built blocks of flats in Friederstraat, only a stone’s throw from the beach, and after a minimum of discussion — and an invitation from Vegesack — that is where their meeting was held. Discretion was essential, given the circumstances that had arisen: the police station was out of the question as a venue, and it would not be easy to hire a suitable alternative location at short notice.
Three rooms and a kitchen, Moreno noted as she was being welcomed by Vegesack. Large balcony with a splendid view of the sea and Gordon’s Lighthouse. Not bad at all. She recalled that he’d told her that Marlene was an architect, and she wondered if she was also an interior designer. It looked very much like it, but she wasn’t at home just now and so Moreno couldn’t very well look any further into that. But the rooms and furniture seemed to have a well-thought-out colour scheme, the walls were not cluttered with kitsch — just a few high-quality reproductions: Tiegermann, Chagall and a few of Cezanne’s self-portraits. Bookcases with quite a lot of books. Large green plants. A piano — she wondered if it was Vegesack or his girlfriend who played. Or perhaps both of them? Good, she thought. This gives me confidence in him.
But they weren’t gathered here to pass judgement on style and homeliness. The grim expressions on the faces of Intendent Kohler and Inspector Baasteuwel, who were each installed in a renovated 1950s armchair, gave no room for doubt on that score. On the contrary.
‘Fire away,’ said Baasteuwel. ‘What the hell is this all about?’
Vegesack went to fetch four beers, and Moreno sat down on the sofa.
‘I smell a rat in this accursed business,’ she said.
‘Is its name Vrommel, by any chance?’ wondered Kohler.
‘The chief of police is bound to be in its vicinity in any case,’ said Moreno. ‘It’s no doubt best to fill you in a bit. Would you like me to start in the present, or the past?’
‘The past,’ said Baasteuwel. ‘For Christ’s sake, when they picked out Kohler and me they told us it would be all over in two or three days. I was due to go on holiday today. But it’s not the first time. .’
‘It probably won’t be the last either,’ said Kohler drily. ‘Let’s get a bit of flesh on the bones.’
Moreno glanced at Vegesack, but he gestured to her and encouraged her to take command. She took her notebook out of her bag.
