The fact that Van Veeteren had no doubt specifically picked him to help him could naturally be considered rather flattering in other circumstances, but right now, that was not much of a consolation.
I know I’m a good police officer, he thought. I only wish I was as good a husband and father as well. It sounded pretty pathetic, undeniably, and he pulled a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and blew his nose.
Bokkenheim, Kaalbringen 29, it said on the sign. He’d covered another five miles.
He found The See Warf without needing to ask for directions.
Chief Inspector Van Veeteren wasn’t in at the moment, he was informed, but there was a room reserved in Munster’s name.
Next door to the chief inspector. Had he come in connection with the latest horrible murder? they asked.
He admitted as much. And picked up his bag and hurried up the stairs.
The moment he closed his room door behind him, he darted over to the telephone. He had to wait forever before the switchboard gave him an outside line, but when he eventually heard the ringing back home, he noticed to his surprise that his heart was thumping. It reminded him of his teens, when he used to call redheaded Marie, the pharmacist’s daughter, for help with his French homework. Very odd… but there again, perhaps it wasn’t?
It was Bart who answered. Mom’s gone out, he was in formed. No, Bart didn’t know where she was or when she’d be back; Aunt Alice was looking after them. When would Dad be coming home?
“As soon as I can,” he said. “Say hi to Marieke and your mom. Tell Mom that I’ll call her later and that I love her.”
“How gross!” said his six-year-old son, and hung up.
Munster sighed, but he did feel a bit better. Time to face the music, he supposed.
But I’d be of much more use if I could first have an after noon nap for a couple of hours with my arms around my wife, he also thought.
18
“If Mooser would shut the door, we can start,” said Bausen.
Kropke switched on the overhead projector.
“I think it would be simplest if we were to try to map out the series of events, insofar as we know it, to sum up the situa tion and flesh out the bare bones for Inspector Munster.”
“Thank you,” said Munster.
“The murder victim,” said Bausen, “is one Maurice Ruhme, aged thirty-one, a doctor up at the hospital specializing in ortho pedics and back injuries. He’s been working there since March.
I’d like to point out for the benefit of our guests”-he eyed Van Veeteren and Munster in turn-“that the name Ruhme is not exactly unknown here in Kaalbringen. Isn’t that right, Kropke?”
“Jean-Claude Ruhme is a consultant at the hospital,” said Kropke. “He also conducts a private practice at his house up the hill. I think he does various things for the National Health Board as well.”
“Maurice is one of two sons,” said Bausen. “The other one is in the Seldon Hospice in Kirkenau… mentally deficient since a childhood accident. Incurable.”
“What kind of accident?” asked Munster, and Van Veeteren made a note on his pad.
“Fell headfirst from the pulpit in St. Pieter’s,” explained Beate Moerk. “Fifteen feet straight down onto the stone paving.
Even I know that… it’s part of the local folklore, you could say.”
“Hmm,” said Bausen. “Anyway, Maurice Ruhme was found dead in his apartment at 26 Leisner Alle by Beatrice Linckx, his live-in girlfriend-thirty years old, psychologist, works down the road in Kirkenau.”
“Really,” said Van Veeteren.
Bausen paused, but there was no further comment.
“She found him shortly after eleven at night last Thursday, the day before yesterday, in other words, when she got home from a three-day seminar in Kiel. She appears to have had a very nasty shock-
went out and sat in her car for two hours before reporting it to us. Bang was on duty, and received the call at 0111.”
“That’s correct,” said Bang.
“Van Veeteren and I got there just after twenty past,” said
Bausen, “and it was obvious to us that our friend the Axman had struck again. Perhaps Detective Chief Inspector Van
Veeteren might like to take it up from there?”
“All right,” said Van Veeteren, taking the toothpick from his mouth. “The most interesting thing is the weapon, I assume.
Forensics are still busy with it, but he left it behind this time, which might suggest that he’s finished now and doesn’t intend to chop anybody else’s head off. That’s only a hypothesis, of course. In any case, it’s a damn effective weapon-lightweight and easy to handle, and incredibly sharp.”
“A child could kill with that thing,” said Bausen.
“Ruhme had been lying in the hall for quite some time when we arrived,” said Van Veeteren. “Is that a box of Danish pastries I can see behind Constable Bang?”
“Mooser, would you go downstairs and order some coffee,” said Bausen, and Mooser departed without more ado. Bang opened the carton and sniffed noisily at the contents.
“Today’s,” he said.
“Anyway,” Van Veeteren continued, “even if Meuritz hasn’t delivered his last word yet, we can safely assume that Ruhme had been lying there dead for at least twenty-four hours by the time we got to the scene.”
“Late on Wednesday evening,” said Bausen. “I think we can take it that was when he struck. We have that witness as well-”
“Mr. Moen,” said Beate Moerk. “I must say he seemed remarkably clearheaded, given the circumstances.”
“Can we take the forensic details first?” said Bausen.
“Kropke, I assume you’ve talked to the lab?”
Mooser returned with a tray and started distributing mugs of coffee.
“Yes,” said Kropke. “They’re not finished yet-with the weapon, that is. All the marks on the floor, in the blood, were almost certainly made by Miss Linckx. Footprints, the marks made by her suitcases-they haven’t found anything that didn’t come either from him or from her. As for the weapon, it appears to be a special tool used by butchers and is several years old, it seems. No manufacturer’s stamp or anything like that-he probably filed that away-but with a bit of luck we should be able to trace where it came from… in a few days, they thought.”
“Why the hell did he leave it behind?” asked Bausen. “Can somebody tell me that?”
“Hubris,” said Beate Moerk. “Wanted to prove he was clev erer than we are, that we’ll never catch him.”
“Presumably correct,” said Van Veeteren, but Munster wasn’t clear which of Inspector Moerk’s assumptions he was referring to.
“Let’s have a few more facts before we start speculating,” said Bausen. “How did it happen, Detective Chief Inspector?”
“The blow came from above, in all probability,” said Van
Veeteren. “Went in more or less in the same place as in the earlier cases… with the same result. He evidently died instan taneously.”
“From above?” said Kropke. “Doesn’t that sound a bit unlikely? There were no signs of a struggle, were there? Or of resistance, as I understand it?”
Bausen exchanged a look with Van Veeteren, then cleared his throat and leaned forward over the table.
“We think,” he said, “the chief inspector and I, that you could do it more or less like this, and you can make up your own minds: One, the murderer rings the doorbell. Two, Ruhme goes to open it. Three, he recognizes the murderer and invites him in. Four, the murderer crosses the threshold and drops something on the floor-”
“A scrap of paper, a coin, could be anything,” said Van Veeteren by way of explanation.
“-five, Ruhme bends down to pick it up, and six, the mur derer strikes!”
Silence all around the table. The only sound to be heard was Constable Bang chewing away on a piece of Danish pastry.
Inspector Kropke loosened his tie and looked doubtful.
“Good,” said Beate Moerk eventually. “I think you’re right-but not a coin. It could have rolled anywhere.”