staring at the floor.
“Name?” said Van Veeteren.
“Pieter Fuss.”
“Age?”
“Twenty-one.”
“Occupation?”
“Messenger.”
“Messenger?”
“For a security company.”
I see, thought Van Veeteren. Almost a colleague. He swallowed a feeling of impotence.
“Anyway, I'm not the officer in charge of your case,” he explained, “but I have a few things to say about it and I'd like to have an answer to a question. Just one.”
Pieter Fuss looked up, but as soon as he caught the chief inspector's eye he reverted immediately to examining his sneakers.
“On Friday, February twenty-third,” said Van Veeteren, “at half past midnight, I was walking toward Rejmer Plejn. I was on my way home after an evening with some good friends of mine. I suddenly found my way blocked by you and four other young men. One of your friends pushed me up against a wall. You punched me in the face. You eventually forced me down onto the sidewalk. You hit me and kicked me. You had never seen me before. My question is: Why?”
Pieter Fuss's expression did not change.
“Have you understood my question?”
No reply.
“Why did you attack an unknown person? Punch him and kick him? There must be a reason, surely?”
“I don't know.”
“Can you speak a little louder? I'm recording this.”
“I don't know.”
“I don't understand. Are you saying you don't know why you do things?”
No answer.
“You were five against one. Do you think that was the right thing to do?”
“No.”
“So you do things that you think are wrong?”
“I don't know.”
“If you don't know, who does?”
No answer.
“What do you think your punishment ought to be?”
Pieter Fuss mumbled something.
“Louder!”
“I don't know.”
“All right,” said Van Veeteren. “Listen to me. If you can't give me a sensible answer to the question why, I shall see to it that you get at least six months for this.”
“Six months?”
“At least,” said Van Veeteren. “We can't have people running around who don't know why they do what they do to their fellow human beings. You can have two days to think about this in peace and quiet…”
He paused. For a moment it looked as if Fuss was about to say something, but then there was a knock on the door and Jung poked his head inside.
“Are you busy, Chief Inspector?”
“No, not at all.”
“I think we've had a tip that could be of interest.”
“What, exactly?”
“One of the group has rung from Ireland. We thought you might like to follow it up yourself?”
He handed over the card.
“Okay,” said the chief inspector. “Can you escort this promising young man down to the duty officer? Be a bit careful-he's not all that sure what he's doing.”
Fuss stood up and slunk away with Jung. Van Veeteren read what it said on the card.
Andre Melgarves? he thought with a frown.
Then he contacted the switchboard and asked them to phone him. Ten minutes later he had Melgarves on the line.
“My name is Van Veeteren. I'm in charge of this case. You've said that you have information to give us.”
“I don't really know if it's significant,” Melgarves said, and his doubt seemed more obvious on the crackly line than the words themselves.
“Let's hear it,” said Van Veeteren. “It would help if you could speak a bit louder, I think we have a bad line.”
“ Ireland,” explained Melgarves. “The tax is advantageous, but everything else is rubbish.”
“I see,” said Van Veeteren, pulling a face.
“Anyway something occurred to me. I've received your letters and instructions. And I spoke on the phone to somebody. I've got some idea of what's been going on, despite being miles away. My sister has sent me some newspapers and cuttings. And, well, if I can be of any help, then obviously, I'm at your disposal. It's an awful business.”
“It certainly is,” said Van Veeteren.
“What struck me,” said Melgarves, “is only a minor detail, but it's something that Malik, Maasleitner, and Innings were mixed up in. It might be irrelevant, but if I understand the situation aright, you've had trouble in finding a link between them.”
“We have had certain problems,” admitted Van Veeteren.
“Well, it was in connection with our demob party,” said Melgarves.
“Demob party?”
“Yes, we had a big farewell do in Maardam. Arno 's Cellar-I don't think it exists any longer…”
“No, it's closed down,” said Van Veeteren.
“Just two days before we were released. Yes, it was a party that everybody attended-and some of the officers and lecturers as well. No women, men only. We'd rented the whole place and… well, there was quite a lot of drinking going on, obviously.”
“The link?” wondered the chief inspector.
Melgarves cleared his throat.
“I'm coming to that. We kept going until rather late-two, half past two, I'd say; quite a few were pretty drunk. Some passed out. To be honest, I wasn't completely sober myself, but it was one of those evenings, you might say. And it was allowed-we didn't have any duties until the following afternoon, and… well, only two more days before demob, and all that…”
“I understand,” said Van Veeteren with a trace of irritation in his voice. “Perhaps you'd like to come to the point, Mr. Melgarves?”
“Well, afterward,” said Melgarves, “that's when I saw them. Those of us who'd stayed on to the very end staggered out of Arno 's. We were in groups, and kicking up a bit of a row, I'm sorry to say. Making our way back to Lohr-and that's when I happened to see them. I'd gone into an alley to, er, relieve myself, and when I'd finished I ran into them. They were in a doorway, and they had this girl with them-no more than seventeen or eighteen, I'd say. And they were giving her a rough time.”
“Giving her a rough time? What do you mean by that?”
“Well, trying to talk her into it, I suppose.”
“Talk her into what?”
“Oh come on, you know.”
“I suppose so. And?”
“Anyway, they were standing around her. They were pretty soused, and I don't suppose she was all that
