Silence at the other end.
‘Am I speaking to Dr deHaavelaar?’
‘What do you want?’
‘Just a few questions. I’m involved in the Van Rippe case — you’ve doubtless read about it in the newspapers. There seems to be a connection with another case from a few years ago — the murder of Winnie Maas. Can you remember that?’
‘If I want to,’ said deHaavelaar.
‘I think you carried out the post-mortem, is that right?’
‘I have nothing to add in that connection.’
‘I’m only looking for some clarification.’
‘No clarification is needed. Has the chief of police sanctioned this phone call? He’s in charge of the investigation, isn’t he?’
Baasteuwel paused before answering.
‘May I ask why you are unwilling to talk about this?’
An irritated snort was audible at the other end of the line.
‘I have more important things to be getting on with,’ said deHaavelaar. ‘I was pestered the other day by another police officer as well. A woman.’
‘Inspector Moreno?’
‘Yes. I ought to have reported her to Vrommel, but I erred on the side of mercy.’
‘I see,’ said Baasteuwel. ‘But the fact is now that either you answer my questions over the telephone, or I shall send a police car round to collect you. It’s up to you.’
Silence. Baasteuwel lit a cigarette and waited.
‘What the hell is it you want to know?’
‘Just a few details. I’m sitting here with the trial transcripts in front of me. The trial of Arnold Maager. And there’s something about it that perplexes me.’
‘Really.’
‘You didn’t appear to give evidence.’
‘No.’
‘Why not? You were the medicolegal officer after all.’
‘It wasn’t necessary. It’s usual but not compulsory. It was an open-and-shut case, and I no doubt had other things to do.’
‘But you signed the medical certificate? The one that was read out in the courtroom.’
‘Yes, of course. What the hell are you getting at?’
‘It says here that you examined the girl Winnie Maas — together with a pathologist by the name of Kornitz — and ascertained that she was pregnant. Is that right?’
‘Of course.’
‘But it says nothing about how advanced the pregnancy was.’
‘It doesn’t?’ said deHaavelaar.
‘No.’
‘That’s odd. It should have said. I don’t recall exactly, but she wasn’t all that far gone. Five or six weeks, perhaps.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘So it wasn’t in fact rather more advanced than that? Ten to twelve weeks or so?’
‘Of course not,’ protested deHaavelaar. ‘What the devil are you insinuating?’
‘Nothing,’ said Baasteuwel. ‘I just wanted to check because the information is missing.’
DeHaavelaar had no comment to make on that, and there were a few more seconds of silence.
‘Was there anything else?’
‘Not at the moment,’ said Baasteuwel. ‘Thank you for your help.’
‘You’re welcome,’ said Dr. deHaavelaar, and hung up.
So there, Baasteuwel thought, eyeing the telephone with a grim smile. He’s lying, the bastard.
Which he knew he could get away with, he then decided. There’s not the slightest chance of putting him behind bars. Especially as Dr Kornitz has been dead for three years.
More interesting is to think about why he lied.
Moreno had not taken her mobile with her to the beach, but when she returned to the flat with Drusilla at about half past four, she found she had two messages.
The first was from Munster. He sounded unusually grave, and asked her to ring him back as soon as she had an opportunity.
She realized that she had yet again managed to erase Lampe-Leermann and the paedophile business from her mind (even if she recalled that the Scumbag had appeared fleetingly in her beach dream), and now that it cropped up again she could feel the noose tightening around her neck.
Oh hell, she thought. Don’t let it be true.
She phoned back immediately, but there was no reply. Neither from the police station nor from Munster’s home. She left a message on his answering machine, saying she’d tried to get hold of him.
That’s the way it seems to be nowadays, she thought in resignation as she replaced the receiver. We live in a world of botched communications. The only thing we use the telephone for is to explain that we’ve tried to make contact but failed. A pretty depressing state of affairs.
She didn’t need to respond to the other message. It was from her ex-boyfriend (lover? bloke? fiance?) stating that he’d be expecting her at Werder’s at eight o’clock.
The same restaurant as yesterday, she noted. And the same time.
But a different man. She thought it just as well that she was going home the next day. The staff will start to wonder. And draw a few less than complimentary conclusions, no doubt.
She decided to turn up in any case. But not to stay there for too long. She felt about as tired as Selma Perhovens looked when she came home at a few minutes past five.
‘No burning of midnight oil tonight,’ she said.
‘No way,’ said Moreno.
They had sat up talking until past two. Waded through the whole Maager-Lijphart business yet again. Spoken about relationships, men, work, books, the situation in the so-called former Yugoslavia, and what exactly it meant to be the first free woman in the history of the world.
Existential conversation, as stated before. Fruitful. But not another night, no thank you.
‘Thank you for babysitting,’ said Perhovens.
‘She hasn’t been a babysitter at all,’ insisted Drusilla. ‘Helmer and I have been looking after each other all day.’
‘That’s true,’ said Moreno. ‘Anyway, I’m going home tomorrow. I’ll be dining out again tonight, by the way. You mustn’t think that this is my normal habit.’
‘Not a bad habit, though,’ said Perhovens. ‘What does my little sweetheart want to gobble for dinner tonight?’
‘Fillet steak stuffed with gorgonzola, and baked potatoes,’ said the little sweetheart. ‘We haven’t had that for ages.’
‘You’ll get sausage and macaroni,’ her mother informed her.
Just as she was about to leave the telephone rang again.
This time it was Baasteuwel.
‘Nice to see you yesterday,’ he said. ‘Would you like a report?’
‘Nice to see you, too,’ said Moreno. ‘I’d like a report very much.’
‘I’m in a bit of a hurry,’ said Baasteuwel. ‘Only time for the most important things — okay?’
‘Okay,’ said Moreno.
‘That doctor’s lying.’
