The G File (18 page)

‘A bloody fingerprint on the diving tower would be quite useful, don’t you think?’ suggested Rooth. ‘Left by somebody who’s in our files.’

‘Le Houde would have mentioned it if there’d been anything like that,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘Who’d like to start? Heinemann?’

Intendent Heinemann changed his glasses and consulted his notes, which thanks to the habit of a lifetime were written in flimsy violet-blue exercise books. Reinhart had a theory that he had been presented with a gross of them as a prize for good work and excellent progress at some point in his schooldays, and there was nothing to suggest that the theory was wide of the mark.

‘Yes, hmm, well . . .’ began Heinemann. ‘Shall we start with that visit to Aarlach, perhaps?’

‘Why not,’ said the Chief Inspector.

‘Hmm. Well, it’s crystal clear that fru Hennan left her home in Linden by car at about eight o’clock on Thursday morning. The woman next door can swear to that. She filled up with petrol at Exxon on the slip-road to the motorway – they remember her: she bought a mug of coffee and a sandwich with cheese and—’

‘Carry on,’ said the Chief Inspector.

‘Of course. It’s also been established that she was at the ceramics shop Hendermaag’s in Keyserstraat in Aarlach between about twelve noon and a quarter to one. She examined quite a lot of china, and eventually ordered two sets of crockery – they didn’t have them in stock – from a series by the name of Osobowsky, royal mint-green – six soup bowls and six ordinary plates. She paid a deposit of a hundred guilders, with the remainder to be paid on delivery – yes, well, she will never be able to . . .’

‘And then?’ wondered Reinhart.

‘Then she left the shop.’

‘And?’ asked Reinhart.

‘I don’t know where she went after that.’

‘How long does it take to drive up to Aarlach?’ asked Münster. ‘Three hours?’

‘At most,’ said Reinhart. ‘She could have been back home by four. What does this tell us?’

‘We haven’t managed to establish when she actually arrived back home, have we?’ asked Münster. ‘She might have done other things as well.’

‘Of course,’ said the Chief Inspector. ‘Bought a few bottles of sherry, for instance. Anything else, Heinemann?’

‘She didn’t call in at Exxon on the way home as well, did she?’ wondered Rooth.

‘I’m afraid not,’ said Heinemann.

‘Anything else?’ repeated the Chief Inspector.

‘Yes,’ mumbled Heinemann, thumbing through his notebook. ‘I’ve looked into that company of his, as we said. Hennan’s company, that is . . . G Enterprises – he’s used the same name as he used in the USA, apparently there’s nothing to prevent that. However, it doesn’t seem to have been doing very much . . . It was registered at the beginning of May and he rented some small premises in Landemaarstraat in Linden, but that’s all.’

‘What?’ said Rooth.

‘What are you saying?’ wondered Reinhart. ‘A company that doesn’t actually do anything?’

‘That’s not forbidden,’ said Heinemann. ‘Obviously it’s usual for a company to carry out some kind of business, but this one doesn’t seem to have done so.’

‘Don’t you have to indicate what kind of business you are going to do?’ asked Münster. ‘For the tax authorities, at least?’

‘Yes, Hennan specified “trading” on his registration form. But that doesn’t tell you very much. I’ll look further into this, of course.’

‘Of course you will,’ said the Chief Inspector with a deep sigh. ‘Is that all so far?’

Heinemann took off his glasses and began polishing them with his tie.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘So far.’

‘Brilliant,’ said Reinhart.

‘Yes indeed,’ muttered the Chief Inspector. ‘Anyway, let’s continue. Rooth and Jung, perhaps?’

Rooth reported in a somewhat subdued tone on the visit to Elizabeth Hennan, and concluded, to sum up, that if the world had ever seen a prize prat more repulsive than any other, who deserved to waste away under lock and key, his name was Jaan G. Hennan.

‘If you start by raping your little sister for five long years, you have no doubt set the tone for the rest of your career,’ said Reinhart with disgust in his voice. ‘By Christ, if we can’t nail this monster I’ll be very tempted to go and finish him off with my bare hands.’

‘Steady on,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘I have even better grounds for catching him than those, but we had better stick to the rulebook in this case as in every other.’

Reinhart looked up at the Chief Inspector in surprise.

‘You’ve lost me now,’ he said. ‘What reasons could you possibly have that are better than mine?’

‘We can talk about that some other time,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘In any case, it would be good if we could catch him with the means at our disposal and nothing else. Are we agreed on that?’

‘All right,’ said Reinhart. ‘It was metaphorically speaking.’

‘Carry on, Rooth. The sister is his only relative, I assume?’

‘Correct,’ said Rooth. ‘His father died in a mental hospital fifteen years ago. And his mother died even earlier, as we know. Anyway, then we worked through the list of names of those who knew him when he was arrested the first time, in 1975. We’ve tracked down a few of them, but none had the slightest idea that Hennan had come back . . . Or so they claim. Well, we’ve interviewed only a couple of them so far, but neither Jung nor I had any reason to doubt what they told us, it seems—’

‘Hold on,’ said Reinhart, interrupting him. ‘It’s in this category that he could well have found an accomplice. An old friend from his drug-taking days. We must be very thorough here – I hope that’s clear to you?’

‘Of course it’s clear,’ said Rooth crossly. ‘Our two boys are called Siegler and deWylde. Siegler’s in jail in Kaarhuijs for bank robbery, and he wasn’t out on parole last Thursday. DeWylde was up in Karpatz – we’ve checked that as well.’

‘Good,’ said Reinhart.

‘How many names do you have on the list?’ wondered Münster.

‘Six or seven so far,’ said Jung. ‘Plus those two. But no doubt we’ll have more to add as time goes by.’

‘Let’s hope so,’ said the Chief Inspector. ‘But I assume you’ve also noted that the Hennans don’t seem to have had much of a social life.’

‘We have indeed,’ said Rooth. ‘We haven’t yet found a single berk who admits to having said as much as “Good morning” to Monsieur Hennan. Not during the last fifteen years, in any case.’

‘We mustn’t forget the neighbours,’ said Heinemann quietly. ‘The Trottas. Didn’t they have dinner at each other’s place? They must surely have had something to talk about . . . Maybe that could give us a lead?’

‘Quite right,’ said the Chief Inspector. ‘We’ll be in touch with them again.’

‘I’ve already broken the ice there,’ said Münster. ‘But I only spoke to the wife. What about his office? There must be people around there, surely?’

Jung cleared his throat.

‘He rented it after replying to an advertisement. The property is owned by the man who runs the undertaking business on the floor below. His name is Mordenbeck, and he’s not exactly a cheerful type. Apparently he and Hennan have exchanged about twenty words since the latter moved in.’

‘What about the house?’ asked Reinhart. ‘In Kammerweg . . . How did they get that?’

‘Through an estate agent,’ said Münster, who had looked into the matter. ‘The Tielebergs, the family that owns the place, live in Almeria in Spain, and didn’t even need to come up here to sign the papers. The Hennans have only signed a contract for six months, by the way . . . The whole situation gives the impression of being stage scenery, as it were.’

‘Stage scenery, yes,’ said the Chief Inspector glumly. ‘Roughly made backdrops so that he could strike and earn one point two million. I need hardly mention that both their cars were rented – both the Saab and the Mazda.’

‘Holy shit,’ said Reinhart. ‘I can’t believe this is true.’

‘But it is true,’ insisted the Chief Inspector, looking distinctly ill-humoured. ‘Absolutely bloody true. And Barbara Hennan has been murdered. And we are the CID officers investigating the case. Would you like to hear some more facts?’

‘Yes, please,’ Rooth was so bold as to request. ‘That would certainly liven things up.’

Van Veeteren glared at him and stubbed out his cigarette, which was beginning to burn the tips of his fingers.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘Münster, let’s hear about Columbine’s.’

Münster stretched.

‘By all means,’ he said. ‘It will be a pleasure. It’s not yet one hundred per cent certain, but I’m afraid it looks as if the staff there can give Hennan an alibi for the critical moments. Barbara Hennan died at some time between half past nine and half past ten, and one of the waiters at the restaurant is certain that Hennan paid his bill at a quarter to ten – plus or minus five minutes. The barman is just as certain that he served him a whisky shortly before half past ten. That was when he stopped working. So there’s a gap of forty-five minutes at most – but there are others who can probably fill it. Our friend Verlangen, for instance.’

There followed several seconds of silence. Then the Chief Inspector stood up and walked over to the window.

‘I take it you gentlemen realize what this means?’ he said in a tired-sounding voice.

‘That he didn’t do it,’ said Reinhart. ‘Jaan G. Hennan can’t have murdered his wife.’

‘Exactly,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘At least we have reached one definite conclusion. Any comments?’

‘Does that mean it’s time for coffee?’ wondered Rooth.

The second half of the run-through was also an uphill struggle.

Van Veeteren summarized the report from Horniman, and those who had not yet become familiar with it (Rooth, Jung and Heinemann) reacted in more or less the same way as those who had perused it already (Van Veeteren, Reinhart and Münster), earlier in the day. The Chief Inspector also recounted what had emerged from his conversation with the pathologist, Meusse, and a theory was produced with regard to the child that had not been mentioned in the report.

‘She had it while she was mixed up with that damned sect, of course,’ maintained Rooth. ‘Stillborn, presumably – they all live on roots and grasshoppers and don’t get sufficient nourishment.’

Rooth’s hypothesis was not greeted by applause, but nor were there any serious objections.

Münster reported that renewed contact with the insurance company F/B Trustor had revealed that fru Hennan had not been present when the policy was signed, and that current practice did not require her presence. To round things off the Chief Inspector read out a two-page report from Constable Kowalski – containing forty-two spelling mistakes, but they were not noticeable when the text was read aloud – regarding the suspect Jaan G. Hennan’s actions and doings from Thursday morning up to and including lunch on Friday of this week. No criminal (or otherwise notable) behaviour had been observed, despite careful and intensive observation – with the possible exception of a visit by the said Hennan to the jazz club Vox on Thursday evening, during which he had offered his shadow a so-called double whisky at the bar. In order to avoid any unnecessary suspicions, the shadow had accepted the drink, and had also spoken to his quarry about general and neutral matters for about ninety seconds.

After the report from Kowalski, Van Veeteren declared the meeting closed.

‘It’s not going all that well,’ said Münster when he and the Chief Inspector were ensconced with a Friday beer each at Adenaar’s half an hour later.

‘No,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘You can say that again.’

In both his voice and the expression on his face were a trace of resignation that Münster was not used to. A sort of introspection, in fact, which was quite unlike the usual intense concentration that Münster had grown familiar with over the years. He wondered what lay behind this. There was a purely personal aspect between G and Van Veeteren that had been hovering in the background, but just how it was more than the fact that they had been at school together thirty or forty years ago, he didn’t know. After hesitating for a while, Münster asked outright how he was feeling, and the Chief Inspector admitted that he wasn’t exactly on top form.

‘Mort used to talk about this,’ he added when they had tasted their beers. ‘Did you ever meet Mort?’

‘Just a few times, very briefly,’ said Münster. ‘I never spoke to him.’

‘He grew very tired during his last few years. It happened quickly, as if he had suddenly walked into a wall. He talked about it . . . but in a vague sort of way – I don’t know if he really wanted to discuss it, but in any case, it was the job that finished him off.’

‘What exactly was it about?’ asked Münster.

Van Veeteren lit a cigarette and looked out through the window for a while before answering.

‘A case like this one, presumably. Or several of them, perhaps. Investigations in which he knew exactly what had happened, but he couldn’t prove anything. And so he had to let the perpetrator go free.’

‘That’s something that happens to all of us,’ said Münster. ‘It’s just a matter of finding a way to cope with it.’

‘Of course,’ said the Chief Inspector. ‘But sometimes you can’t find a way. I think it was something purely personal in Mort’s case as well. I had the impression that a close relative was involved, but he never went into any details. As I said.’

Münster thought for a while.

‘There’s an expression in the USA – Blue Cops: are you familiar with that?’

Van Veeteren nodded but said nothing.

‘Police officers who burn themselves out,’ said Münster.

‘There’s an over-representation of such cases in the suicide statistics that is scary to say the least . . . I read about it a few weeks ago.’

Van Veeteren took a swig of beer.

‘Yes, I know about the phenomenon. Perhaps what you need is an armour-plated soul – but unfortunately you wouldn’t get very far even with one of those. You sort of lose the ability to see, unless you have a certain kind of darkness inside you . . . I think Churchill wrote about this, in fact. He wrote that, in a way, he
understood
Hitler. You need to have an emphatic insight into even the most damnable of psyches, don’t forget that, Münster.’

Münster said nothing, but thought for a while.