“Let's hear it,” he said when he had sat down in her room, with its sloping ceiling and blue wallpaper. “If I understand the situation rightly, you saw a woman using a tape recorder in a phone booth.”
She nodded.
“Yes, outside here in the hall. It's there for the tenants to use. I saw her inside there, holding a tape recorder against the receiver… One of those little cassette things.”
“Who?”
“Miss Adler, the woman who lives next to me.”
“Adler?” said Van Veeteren.
“Yes. Maria Adler. There are four of us, but I don't know her at all. She keeps to herself.”
“When was this?”
“Three weeks ago, or thereabouts.”
“Just the once?”
“Yes.”
“How come you remember it?”
She hesitated.
“I don't really know, to tell you the truth. I hadn't given it a second thought. But then it came back to me when I read about those murders in the newspaper.”
Van Veeteren nodded and thought for a moment. She seemed to be a reliable witness, that was obvious. Calm and sensible, not inclined to exaggerate or be hysterical.
And slowly, very slowly, the thought began to sprout in his case-hardened consciousness. That this could be it. If this pale girl knew what she was talking about-and there was no reason to think she didn't-it was not impossible that the murderer was right here. Ryszard Malik's and Rickard Maasleitner's and Karel Innings's murderer. In the very next room. He could feel his pulse beating in his temples.
In this respectable villa in the respectable district of Deijk-straa. Surrounded by doctors, lawyers, successful businessmen, and God only knows who else.
A woman, then, just as Reinhart had predicted-yes indeed, there was a lot to support that thesis… Perhaps most of all this feeling he had, which he always seemed to have when something was happening. A little signal saying that now, now things were suddenly getting serious, after all those days of hard work and despair.
And it was winking at him this very moment.
The signal. That red warning light.
Naturally, there were plenty of other reasons for using a tape recorder in a telephone booth; he was the first to admit that. It was simply that he didn't want to believe them, had no desire to do so. He wanted this to be the breakthrough, that was the bottom line.
“So she's in there?” he said, indicating with his head.
She nodded.
“Maria Adler?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know if she's there at the moment?”
Katrine Kroeller shook her head. Her ponytail waved back and forth.
“No. I haven't seen her today. But she's very quiet, so it's possible she's in.”
Van Veeteren stood up and tried to work things out. If he were to follow the police rule book, the correct procedure in this situation would naturally be to phone for reinforcements. There ought to be several officers involved. The woman in that room could very well be the person who had shot dead, in cold blood, three of her fellow human beings during the last month. She had a gun, and presumably ammunition, and she didn't normally miss.
He didn't even have his police weapon with him. As usual, it ought to be said.
So of course he ought to phone. It wouldn't take long for a few more officers to get here.
He looked around.
“May I borrow this?” he said, picking up an oblong-shaped wooden statuette standing on a bookshelf. Presumably African. Easy to handle. Three-quarters of a kilo, or thereabouts.
“Why?”
He didn't answer. Stood up and went out into the hall. Katrine Kroeller followed him hesitantly.
“The next door here?”
She nodded.
“Go back to your room.”
She reluctantly did as she was told.
With his left hand he slowly depressed the door handle. His right hand was clutching the statuette. He noticed that he was still sweating a little after the sauna.
The door opened. He burst in.
It took him less than two seconds to register that the room was empty.
More than empty.
Abandoned. The tenant who had been living here had left and had no intention of returning.
She had moved somewhere else.
“Shit!” he exclaimed.
Stood motionless for a few more seconds, looking at the barren room.
No personal belongings. No clothes. No dishes drying in the kitchenette alcove. The bed made in such a way that you could see there were no sheets. Just a pillow, a blanket, and a quilt.
“Shit!” he muttered again, and went back out into the hall.
Miss Kroeller peeped out through her door.
“She's done a runner,” said Van Veeteren. “Go and fetch… what's the name of your landlady?”
“Mrs. Klausner.”
“Yes, that's the one. Tell her I want to speak to her in your room immediately. When did you last see Miss Adler, by the way?”
Katrine Kroeller thought for a moment.
“Er, yesterday, I think. Yes, yesterday afternoon.”
“Here?”
“Yes, on the staircase. We just happened to pass.”
Van Veeteren pondered that.
“Okay, fetch Mrs. Klausner. Is it possible for me to use this telephone?”
She opened the door of the booth and keyed in her personal code.
“It's all yours,” she said.
“Thank you,” said Van Veeteren, and dialed the number to the police station.
Two minutes later, he was talking to Reinhart.
“I think we've found her,” Van Veeteren said. “But she's done a runner.”
“Oh, shit!” said Reinhart. “Where?”
“Deijkstraa. Parkvej 31. Get yourself here with some of the forensic guys. Fingerprints, the lot. Munster as well. I'll be expecting you twenty seconds from now.”
“We'll be there in ten,” said Reinhart, and hung up.
29
“What time is it?” asked Van Veeteren.
“Half past five,” said Reinhart.
“All right. Let's have a summary, Munster. And those of you who've been lounging around at home, sit up and listen carefully.”
For the last half hour the investigation team had been all present and accounted for-apart from Jung and Moreno, who had succeeded in remaining incommunicado all afternoon. It was still Saturday, February 17, and
