The G File (19 page)

‘So G has one of those dark souls, does he?’

Van Veeteren raised an eyebrow and seemed surprised by the question.

‘Without a doubt. Always assuming that he has a soul.’

‘And so we must . . . ?’

Münster broke off and started laughing, but the Chief Inspector still looked serious.

‘Is it the case . . . ?’ asked Münster hesitantly. ‘Is it the case that there is a personal aspect in this business as well? Just as there was for Mort. Have you had dealings with Jaan G. Hennan before?’

Van Veeteren didn’t seem keen to follow the thread, and Münster assumed he had gone too far. He took another drink of beer and leaned back on his chair. Glanced discreetly at his wristwatch and established that he ought to be setting off for home shortly.

Or that he ought to have set off already. He had promised Synn that he would be home before six, they were expecting guests – her sister and her husband, but even so . . . And wasn’t he supposed to buy something on his way home as well . . . ?

‘Yes, of course,’ said the Chief Inspector interrupting his train of thought. ‘Of course I’ve had dealings with him before. Donkeys years ago, of course, but it was a woman . . . Or rather, a girl.’

‘A girl?’ said Münster.

‘A girl, yes. Nineteen, twenty years old . . .’

‘Really?’ said Münster, and his curiosity was so strong that he couldn’t camouflage it.

‘As I said,’ said the Chief Inspector. ‘But we’ll take that another time.’

I very much doubt that, thought Münster, and suppressed his curiosity. No point in persisting, obviously. He emptied his glass of beer, and prepared to leave Adenaar’s.

‘When are you intending to interrogate Hennan?’ he asked.

Van Veeteren stubbed out his cigarette and also drained his glass.

‘Tonight,’ he said. ‘I intend to bring him in late this evening.’

‘Tonight?’

‘Yes. If you are interested, you’re welcome to watch the performance through the two-way mirror. About eleven o’clock. Reinhart will be there, but there’s no harm in having an extra pair of eyes and ears present, I suppose.’

Münster thought for a moment, then made up his mind.

‘I’ll be there,’ he said. ‘Eleven o’clock?’

‘Maybe not before half past eleven,’ said Van Veeteren, getting to his feet. ‘I thought the night might be a suitable setting for this sort of lark. But only if you have time.’

‘I shall make time,’ promised Inspector Münster, and followed the Chief Inspector to the exit.

In addition to Reinhart and Münster, Inspector Rooth was also on parade in the cramped area in front of the two-way mirror when the interrogation of Jaan G. Hennan was due to begin. Rooth’s so-called date had rung and announced that she was ill, he explained, and this promised to be at least as entertaining as a bad television crime series.

Hennan had been collected from his home by Constables Kowalski and Klempje shortly before half past ten. He had accompanied them quite eagerly and with a smile on his face, and then had the doubtful pleasure of spending forty-five minutes on a chair in the stark interrogation room before Van Veeteren entered through one of the two doors and sat down opposite him.

‘About time,’ said Hennan, but with no trace of irritation in his voice.

Van Veeteren didn’t respond. He messed around for a while with the tape recorder and lit a cigarette, then read out Hennan’s rights and asked if he wanted to have a lawyer present.

Hennan leaned back, smiled broadly and announced that he needed a lawyer about as much as one needs a wart in one’s arsehole. The Chief Inspector nodded and switched on the tape recorder. Stated the time, place and nature of the interrogation, and asked Hennan to give his full name, birthplace and date of birth. Hennan obliged, smiling all the time.

‘Right,’ said the Chief Inspector, hanging his jacket on the back of his chair. ‘You are here because you are suspected of murdering your wife, Barbara Clarissa Hennan. You are not yet under arrest, but that’s only a matter of time.’

‘Murdering? Arrest?’

‘Yes,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘Would you like to confess right away, or do we have to make a meal of it?’

‘Rubbish,’ said Hennan.

‘I didn’t understand your reply,’ said Van Veeteren.

‘Rubbish,’ said Hennan again.

‘Now I understood it,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘Should I interpret it as meaning that you are surprised at the fact that we suspect you?’

Hennan rested his chin on the knuckles of his right hand and thought for three seconds.

‘Both yes and no,’ he said. ‘I am well aware of the overall incompetence of the police and have long since ceased to be surprised by it; but in this case you appear to have excelled yourselves.’

‘Expound,’ said the Chief Inspector.

‘Certainly not,’ said Hennan. ‘If it needs expounding, you can do so yourself. Personally I would prefer to be driven home and go to bed.’

‘That’s not what we had in mind,’ said the Chief Inspector. ‘How long were you married to Philomena McNaught?’

Hennan’s response came without any obvious surprise.

‘Just over a year.’

‘She died while on a car journey in Bethesda Park, is that right?’

‘I don’t know anything about that. She disappeared, and was eventually pronounced officially dead.’

‘If I were to tell you that her body had been found, would that surprise you?’

Hennan hesitated for a moment. Then he smiled again.

‘No,’ he said. ‘They were bound to find her sooner or later. How did it happen?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I wonder where they found her, of course. And in what circumstances. As she was most probably killed by a large beast of prey, it’s a bit surprising to hear that a whole body has been found, I’ll give you that. My God, do you really think that I haven’t been around long enough not to know when a member of the filth is sitting there lying to me?’

Van Veeteren sat in silence for a while, gazing at a point on the wall just above Hennan’s head. He didn’t move a muscle.

‘Are you so stupid,’ he said in the end, ‘so
incredibly
stupid, that you think you can get away with the same ruse twice? We know that you have killed two women, and that you will be in jail for the next twenty-five years of your life. I suggest that you get yourself a lawyer without delay, since you don’t seem to understand the situation you find yourself in.’

‘Crap,’ said Hennan. ‘I don’t need a lawyer. But on the other hand, I do need to go to the loo.’

‘Five minutes,’ said Van Veeteren, and switched off the tape recorder.

‘I must disappoint you on one point,’ said the Chief Inspector when Hennan had returned.

‘Really? How sad.’

‘Even if you hadn’t been caught, you wouldn’t have been able to collect any insurance pay-out.’

‘You don’t say?’ said Hennan with a smile. ‘Well, I suppose I shall have to listen to your insinuations since we are sitting here. Go on, I’m all ears.’

‘Thank you. We shall prove that it wasn’t an accident – the murder of your second wife, that is – and hence the appropriate clause in your insurance policy kicks in.’

Hennan shrugged.

‘You have every right to try to prove whatever you like, of course. Don’t let me get in your way. But it would astonish me if you were to succeed.’

‘She was unconscious before she was pushed down into the empty swimming pool,’ said Van Veeteren, lighting another cigarette. ‘But you have evidently decided to carry on pretending to be stupid – I must say I had expected rather better opposition.’

‘Opposition?’ said Hennan in histrionic surprise. ‘What the devil are you rambling on about now, Chief Inspector?’

‘You’re boring me,’ said Van Veeteren with a yawn. ‘You raped your little sister regularly for five years, is that right?’

‘What?’ said Hennan.

‘I asked if you raped your sister, Elizabeth Hennan, regularly for five years. Or was it for longer than that? Why did you stop? Do you think fifteen-year-olds are too old?’

It took several seconds before Hennan was able to gain control over his facial expression. Then the smile reappeared, albeit a thinner version of it.

‘Perhaps I ought to have a lawyer after all,’ he said. ‘You seem to have taken leave of your senses.’

‘Perhaps you prefer to answer that question at the trial instead,’ suggested the Chief Inspector. ‘Do you still meet at all? Like brothers and sisters usually do, I mean?’

Hennan made no reply.

‘Can you give me the names of some of your friends and acquaintances?’ asked Van Veeteren.

‘Why should I?’

‘Perhaps you could do with somebody to speak up on your behalf, for instance. Can you give me the names of a few people who can confirm your good character?’

‘No,’ said Hennan. ‘It’s up to the police to find witnesses.’

‘Maarten Verlangen, perhaps?’ suggested the Chief Inspector.

‘Verlangen? Who the hell is he? – Oh, do you mean that ex-copper? What have I got to do with him?’

‘You met him the evening your wife died.’

Hennan thought for a moment.

‘Yes, that’s right. We had a few drinks. A sad type – he’s gone down in the world.’

‘How come you are acquainted with him?’

Hennan burst out laughing.

‘You know that full well. We had a score to settle a few years ago. He had me locked up –I was innocent, but I spent some time in jail thanks to him. But that’s all forgotten now. I don’t hold grudges.’

‘I take it you know what he does for a living nowadays?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ said Hennan. ‘I’d like a cigarette now.’

‘By all means,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘Verlangen works as a private detective.’

Hennan looked surprised.

‘A private eye? He didn’t say anything about that. Still, I suppose it’s not easy for sacked coppers to find a decent job.’

Van Veeteren allowed a few seconds to pass in silence.

‘But no doubt you knew that your wife was also acquainted with him?’

‘My wife? Acquainted with whom?’

‘With Verlangen.’

Hennan almost succeeded in concealing his surprise by lighting a cigarette.

‘Rubbish,’ he said. ‘Why should Barbara be acquainted with somebody like Verlangen?’

‘If she were still alive, she could have explained it to you. But of course Verlangen will fill us in at the trial.’

Just for a moment, for a fraction of a second, Van Veeteren had the impression that Hennan was about to give the game away. Perhaps it was an illusion, but for an instant the Chief Inspector felt that he could see right through Hennan – and if he had ever had the slightest doubt that he was guilty, that unguarded moment would have been sufficient. Jaan G. Hennan had Barbara Clarissa Delgado’s life on his conscience, alongside that of Philomena McNaught. He thought quickly about how one could put into words that all-embracing revelation, that all-embracing guilt reflected in those eyes – for a jury, for instance: but all he could envisage was the deep abyss that separates insight and action. It wasn’t the first time.

He was brought back down to earth by Hennan clearing his throat.

‘Is it full steam ahead for the police to make up any lies they like during an interrogation nowadays?’ he asked.

Van Veeteren snorted.

‘G,’ he said. ‘Sitting with and talking to a murderer are one thing; but I find that having to converse with a hopelessly stupid murderer is extremely boring. We’ll take a break for half an hour.’

Hennan shook his head and made as if to stand up.

‘No, no,’ said the Chief Inspector. ‘You will stay here. There’s a floor if you want to lie down for a while.’

‘I’m reluctantly impressed,’ said Inspector Reinhart during the break. ‘But I think it might be as well if we didn’t go out of our way to broadcast our methods.’

‘How did you rate his reaction to Verlangen?’ wondered the Chief Inspector. ‘There was some uncertainty there – I didn’t notice it until afterwards.’

‘Uncertainty?’ said Münster. ‘What kind of uncertainty?’

The Chief Inspector shook his head and stuck a toothpick into his mouth.

‘I had the impression that he was pretending to be surprised – but only half pretending . . . And I’m wondering which half was genuine.’

‘That Verlangen . . .’ sighed Rooth. ‘We have no idea what he said and didn’t say at the restaurant. He was presumably pretty drunk – Hennan might have extracted God only knows what out of him.’

‘Absolutely right,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘We still don’t have an answer to that question. But why on earth did she go to a private detective? That’s a more important question. Is it enough that she felt vaguely threatened in some way? I don’t think so. It ought to be possible to pin it down more precisely.’

‘But if Verlangen himself doesn’t know the answer, how can we find it?’ said Rooth. ‘The one who knows is dead.’

‘I’m aware of that,’ said Van Veeteren.

‘What’s the plan for the next round?’ wondered Reinhart.

‘A one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn,’ said the Chief Inspector. ‘Come and fetch me in a quarter of an hour’s time: I’m going to go and put my feet up on my desk for a while. Keep an eye on what he’s doing in there.’

Münster looked at the clock. It was twenty-five to one.

‘I want you to concentrate now,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘That’s why you’ve got that cup of coffee.’

‘I’m overwhelmed,’ said Hennan.

During the whole of the break he had sat leaning back on his chair with his arms folded over his chest and his eyes closed. His smile had vanished now, but otherwise he looked calm and collected.

‘First let’s get confirmation of a few facts for the record. Twelve years ago you were sentenced for drugs crimes and spent two-and-a-half years in prison. Is that correct?’

‘I’ve already—’

‘Answer yes or no.’

‘Yes,’ said Hennan with a shrug.

‘And almost ten years ago you emigrated to the USA?’

‘Yes.’

‘As soon as you were released?’

‘More or less.’

‘In 1983 you married a certain Philomena McNaught?’

‘Yes.’

‘She disappeared a year later, and you collected four hundred thousand dollars on a life insurance policy. Correct?’