Munster.
“Take it easy now,” Van Veeteren had urged them. “It’s a helluva lot better to arrive a quarter of an hour later without being discovered.”
They eventually turned the corner and emerged onto the stone paving. Van Veeteren opened the door. It squeaked faintly, and Munster could sense that he was concerned; but they were all inside within half a minute.
They split up. Two up the stairs. He and Munster down stairs.
It was pitch-dark, and he switched on his flashlight.
“It’s only a guess,” he whispered over his shoulder, “but I’m pretty damn sure that I’m right, even so!”
Munster nodded and followed hard on his heels.
“Look!” exclaimed Van Veeteren, stopping. He pointed the beam at an old doll’s house crammed full of toys: dolls, teddy bears and everything else you could think of. “I ought to have realized even then… but that would have been asking a bit much, I suppose.”
They continued downward, Munster half a step behind him. The smell of soil grew stronger-soil and the slight re mains of stale cigarette smoke. The passage grew narrower and the ceiling lower, making them crouch slightly, leaning for ward-groping their way forward, despite the flickering beam from the flashlight.
“Here,” said Van Veeteren suddenly. He stopped and shone the flashlight on a solid wooden door with double bolts and a bulky padlock. “Here it is!”
He knocked cautiously.
No sound.
He tried again, a little harder, and Munster could hear a faint noise from the other side.
“Inspector Moerk?” said Van Veeteren, his cheek pressed against the damp door.
Now they could hear a clear and definite “Yes,” and simulta neously Munster felt something burst inside him. Tears poured down his face and nothing on earth could have stopped them.
I’m a forty-two-year-old cop standing here weeping like a little kid. Godammit!
But he couldn’t care less. He stood behind Van Veeteren’s back and wept under the cover of darkness. Thank you, he thought, without having any idea whom he was addressing.
Van Veeteren took out the crowbar, and after a couple of failed attempts managed to make the padlock give way. He drew back the bolts and opened the door…
“Take the light away,” whispered Beate Moerk, and all
Munster could see of her were the chains, her mass of tousled hair and the hands she was holding over her eyes.
Before doing as she’d asked, Van Veeteren shone the beam around the walls for a few seconds.
Then he muttered something unintelligible and switched off.
Munster fumbled his way over to her. Raised her to her feet… she leaned heavily on him, and it was clear that he would have to carry her. He carefully lifted her up, and noticed that he was still crying.
“How are you?” he managed to blurt out as she laid her head on his shoulder, and his voice sounded surprisingly steady.
“Not too good,” she whispered. “Thank you for coming.”
“No problem,” said Van Veeteren. “I ought to have realized sooner, though… I’m afraid you’ll have to keep the chains on for a bit longer. We don’t have the right equipment with us.”
“Doesn’t matter,” said Beate Moerk. “But when you’ve got them off, I want a bathroom for three hours.”
“Of course,” said Van Veeteren. “You’ve built up plenty of overtime.”
Then he started to lead them back.
Kropke and Mooser were already waiting for them on the patio.
“He’s not at home,” said Kropke.
“Oh, shit,” said Van Veeteren.
“You can put me down if you like,” said Beate Moerk. “I might be able to walk…”
“Out of the question,” said Munster.
“Where the hell is he?” grunted Van Veeteren. “It’s half past five in the morning… shouldn’t he be in his goddamn bed?”
Beate Moerk had opened her eyes, but was shading them with her hand from the faint light of dawn.
“He was with me not long ago,” she said.
“Not long ago?” said Kropke.
“I have a bit of a problem with judging time,” she explained. “An hour… maybe two.”
“He didn’t say where he was going?” asked Van Veeteren.
Beate Moerk searched her mind.
“No,” she said. “But he wanted a sign, he said-”
“A sign?” said Mooser.
“Yes.”
Van Veeteren thought that over for a while. He lit a ciga rette and started pacing up and down over the paving stones.
“Hmm,” he said eventually and came to a halt. “Yes, that’s possible, of course… why not? Munster!”
“Yes.”
“See to it that the chains are removed and get Inspector
Moerk to the hospital.”
“Home,” said Beate Moerk.
Van Veeteren muttered.
“All right,” he said. “We’ll send a doctor instead.”
She nodded.
“Kropke and Mooser, come with me!”
“Where do you think he is?” asked Kropke when Munster and
Moerk had left.
“With his family,” said Van Veeteren. “Where he belongs.”
51
“I’ll be all right,” said Beate Moerk.
“Sure?”
“Of course. A spell in the bath and I’ll be a rose again.”
“The doctor will be here in half an hour. I’d prefer to stay until then.”
“No, thank you,” she said with a faint smile. “Get back to your family now.”
He paused, his hand on the door handle.
“That report… ” he said. “How much of it did you read, in fact?”
She laughed.
“All right, I’ll come clean. Nothing. It was the pagination that intrigued me. When I handed over the original, I looked at the last page and saw that it numbered thirty-five, at the bot tom… I think I said something about it at the time.”
“True,” said Munster, remembering the moment.
“There were no numbers on the copy… that’s all. I didn’t know a thing about his daughter when I drove to the station.
I’ve only been working here for four years; she was dead when
I started. I just wanted to check if I could find anything in the copying room. I suppose he must have seen me when I arrived, or as I was leaving… that’s all. Maybe it was pure coinci dence; I don’t know if he thought I knew something. Anything else you’re wondering about?”
Munster shook his head.
“Well, quite a bit in fact,” he said. “But it can wait.”
“Go now,” she said. “But give me a hug first, if you can stand the stink.”
“Come on, I’ve been carrying you around all morning,” said Munster, throwing his arms around her.
“Ouch,” said Beate Moerk.
“So long, then,” said Munster. “Look after yourself.”
“You too.”
He saw him from some considerable distance away.
In the faint light of dawn, he was standing in the same place as he’d been that evening, right at the beginning.
Back then, when he’d chosen not to approach him. Not to disturb his sorrow.
Like then, he had his hands thrust deep into his pockets.
Head bowed. He was standing perfectly still, legs wide apart, as if he’d been waiting for a long time and wanted to make sure that he didn’t lose his balance.
Concentrating hard. Deep in what might have been prayer,
Van Veeteren thought, but perhaps he was simply waiting.
Waiting for something to happen.
Or perhaps it was just sorrow. His back made it so clear he didn’t want to be disturbed that Van Veeteren hesitated to approach. He gestured to Kropke and Mooser to keep their dis tance… so that he would have him to himself for at least a short while.
“Good morning,” he said when there were only a couple of yards left, and Bausen must have heard his footsteps in the gravel. “I’m coming now.”
“Good morning,” said Bausen, without moving.
Van Veeteren put his hand on Bausen’s shoulder. Stood still for a while, reading what it said on the headstone.
Brigitte Bausen
6.18.1961-9.30.1988
Helena Bausen
2.3.1932-9.27.1991
“Yesterday?” said Van Veeteren.