where he was and with whom by Monday afternoon at the latest. How the hell they do that is up to them.”
“With pleasure,” said Reinhart, walking to the door. Just then Miss Katz appeared with two bundles of paper.
“Tips from the detective known as the general public,” she explained.
“How?” asked Munster.
“The usual categories,” snorted Van Veeteren. “Daft and slightly less daft. Can you run through them, Munster, and come back to me an hour from now?”
“Of course,” sighed Munster, picking up the papers.
Ah well, the chief inspector thought when he was alone again. The wheels are turning. What the hell was it I'd thought of doing myself?
Ah yes, an hour down in the sauna, that was it.
28
“I'm going away for a bit,” said Biedersen.
“Oh, are you?” said his wife. “Why?”
“Business,” said Biedersen. “I'll probably be away for a few weeks, at least.”
His wife looked up from the burners on the stove she was busy cleaning with the aid of a new product she'd found in the shop yesterday and which was said to be more effective than any other brand.
“Oh, will you?” she said. “Where are you going?”
“Various places. Hamburg among others. There are quite a few contacts I need to follow up.”
“I understand,” said his wife, and started scrubbing again, thinking that she didn't at all. Understand, that is. But it didn't matter, of course. She had never interfered in her husband's affairs-running an import company (or was it two now?) was a complicated and not especially appealing business. Nothing for a woman like her. Ever since they married, they had been in agreement about one thing: they would each look after their own side of family life. He would look after the finances, and she would take care of the home and the children. All of whom had fled the nest now, and formed their own families on more or less similar lines.
Which in turn gave her time to devote herself to other things. Such as stove-top burners.
“How's it going?” she asked.
“How's what going?”
“Well, your business. You seem to have been a bit stressed these last few days.”
“Nonsense.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, of course.”
“That's good to know. But you'll keep in touch, won't you?”
“Naturally.”
But when he'd left, she found herself still wondering if there hadn't been something wrong nevertheless. Ever since-she worked it out-Tuesday evening, when he'd come home rather late and in a bit of a nervous state, he had been unusually irritated and touchy.
And then they had found one of his old National Service mates murdered, and that had knocked the stuffing out of him, she could see that. Even if he hadn't wanted to admit as much, of course.
So perhaps it was a good thing for him to get away from it all for a while. Good for all concerned, as they say. There were things she also didn't want to admit as well, such as not objecting to having their large house to herself for a change. She had nothing against that at all, she decided, and put a little extra elbow grease into her scrubbing.
When the chief inspector came back from the sauna, Munster was already sitting in his office, waiting. It looked as if he'd been there for quite a while, in fact, as he'd had time to supply himself with a mug of coffee and the morning paper.
“So,” said the chief inspector as he sat down at his desk. “Let's hear it, then.”
Munster folded up his newspaper and produced three pale yellow cards.
“I think it would be best if somebody else went through the material as well,” he said. “It's a bit difficult to keep awake when you have to read so much rubbish. One guy has evidently called three times and claimed that his mother is the murderer.”
“Really?” said Van Veeteren. “And you're sure he isn't telling the truth?”
“Pretty sure,” said Munster. “He's well into his seventies, and his mother died in 1955. And then there's somebody who claims to have been present at the time… in Innings's house, that is… and seen exactly what happened. The killer was a gigantic immigrant with a scimitar and a black patch over one eye.”
“Hmm,” said Van Veeteren. “Do you have anything a bit more credible to tell me?”
“Yes, I certainly do,” said Munster. “Several things we ought to follow up. These three are probably the most interesting ones.”
He handed over the cards, and the chief inspector read them while working a toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other.
“I'll take this one,” he said. “You can check the other two. Give the rest of the interesting ones to Reinhart, and he can arrange follow-ups.”
Munster nodded, drank up his coffee, and left the room.
Van Veeteren waited until the door was closed, then looked at the card again and dialed the number.
“Katrine Kroeller?”
“Just a moment, please.”
There was a pause of half a minute or so, then he heard a girl's voice in the receiver. No more than nineteen or twenty at most, he thought.
“Hello, Katrine Kroeller here.”
“My name is Chief Inspector Van Veeteren. You've reported an observation in connection with an investigation we are busy with. Can I come and have a chat with you?”
“Yes… yes, of course. When will you be coming?”
“Now,” said Van Veeteren, looking at the clock. “Or at least in twenty minutes or so. Your address is Parkvej 31, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, I'll see you shortly, Miss Kroeller.”
“Yes… you're welcome. I hope…”
“You hope what?”
“I hope you're not just wasting your time.”
“We shall see,” said Van Veeteren, and hung up.
If only she knew how much of our time is wasted, he thought. Then he wriggled into his jacket and set off.
She was waiting for him at the gate. As he thought, she was about twenty-she looked very Nordic, with a blond ponytail and a long neck. She was carrying an umbrella, and she escorted him carefully along the paved path to the front door at the gable end of the large two-story house, making sure he didn't need to step on the soaking-wet lawn.
“It's not all that easy to find your way here,” she explained. “There are four of us renting rooms. Mrs. Klausner, our landlady lives on the ground floor.”
Van Veeteren nodded. Both the house and the garden suggested well-heeled upper middle class; but, of course, there were always people hovering at the edge of their social class, he reminded himself. People who had to take in lodgers and resort to similar ways of making ends meet.
