I’ve seen you before, Reinhart thought.
Then he left the Forensic Laboratories and returned to the police station.
Detective Inspector Ewa Moreno put the photographs back into the folder and slid it across the table to Reinhart.
‘Nope,’ she said. ‘He’s not on the list. We’ve only had notice of three disappearances this week, incidentally. A senile old woman from a care home in Lohr and a fifteen-year-old boy who’s run away from home.’
Rooth finished chewing away at a biscuit.
‘Three,’ he said. ‘You said three.’
‘Yes, I did,’ said Moreno. ‘But the third one’s a snake. I think we can exclude that one as well.’
‘A snake?’ said Jung.
‘A green mamba,’ explained Moreno. ‘Apparently it escaped from a flat in Kellnerstraat during the night between Monday and Tuesday. Highly dangerous, according to the owner. But friendly. It can kill a human being in two seconds. Answers to the name of Betsy.’
‘Betsy?’ said Rooth. ‘I used to have a girlfriend called Betsy. She wasn’t very friendly, but she went missing as well…’
‘Thank you for that information,’ said Reinhart, tapping his pipe on the table. ‘I think that’s enough to be going on with. Tropical snakes are unlikely to survive for several days in this kind of weather, no matter what. But you’d have thought that somebody would have missed the young man we’ve found by now. If Meusse is right, that is…’
‘Meusse’s always right,’ insisted Rooth.
‘Don’t interrupt,’ said Reinhart. ‘If Meusse is right, our man has been lying there in that undergrowth since last Tuesday — most people don’t wait for more than a day or two at most before they ring us.. The nearest and dearest, that is.’
‘If there are any,’ said Moreno. ‘Nearest and dearest, I mean.’
‘Lonely old blokes can lie dead for six months before anybody notices nowadays,’ said Jung.
‘Yes, that’s how it is now,’ said Reinhart with a sigh. ‘And not only old blokes. I read about a woman in Gosslingen who continued to receive her pension for two-and-a-half years after she died. She was lying in the cellar, and her pension was paid directly into her bank account… Huh, that’s the world we live in… Jung, what did they have to say for themselves at that restaurant?’
Jung opened his notebook.
‘I’ve only spoken to a few of the people who work there,’ he said ‘Nobody recognized him from the photographs, but tomorrow afternoon we’re due to meet a couple of the staff who were on duty last Tuesday. If that’s really when it did happen, it’s not impossible that they might be able to identify him. Or at least to tell us whether he’s been there for a meal.’
‘Anything else?’ asked Reinhart, lighting his pipe.
‘Yes, that car,’ said Jung. ‘There’s apparently been an old Peugeot parked there since last Tuesday or Wednesday. We’ve checked up on it and it’s owned by somebody called Elmer Kodowsky. Unfortunately we haven’t been able to get hold of him. According to the caretaker in the block of flats where he lives, he works on an oil platform somewhere out in the North Sea.’
‘Brilliant,’ said Reinhart. ‘It’s probably lovely weather out there at this time of year. Any volunteers?’
‘Mind you, the caretaker indicated that he might be a bit closer to home in fact,’ said Jung. ‘But in any case it wasn’t Kodowsky lying there in the undergrowth.’
‘What do you mean?’ wondered Rooth. ‘Talk so that we can understand what you’re on about.’
‘Jail,’ said Jung. ‘Kodowsky isn’t one of God’s chosen few, according to the caretaker, so it’s not impossible that the business of being away on an oil platform is just another way of saying that in fact he’s in prison somewhere. It’s happened before, it seems.’
‘Hmm,’ said Reinhart. ‘That sounds better. Check up on all the prisons… Or maybe Krause should do that. But if he is in clink, this Kodowsky, he’d presumably have found it a bit hard to drive his car out to Dikken and park there, wouldn’t he?’
‘Parole,’ said Jung. ‘Or he might have lent it out… Or somebody might have stolen it.’
‘Not impossible,’ admitted Reinhart, blowing out a cloud of smoke. ‘Although if it’s an old banger it’s unlikely anybody would want to pinch it. Car thieves are pretty choosy nowadays. No, I don’t think we’re going to get any further right now. Or has anybody got anything they want to say?’
Nobody had. It was a quarter past five on Saturday afternoon, and there were better times for small talk and speculations.
‘Okay, we’ll meet again for a couple of hours tomorrow morning,’ Reinhart reminded them. ‘If nothing else the fingerprints should be sorted out by then. Not that there’s likely to be any that will be of use to us. But let’s hope we get a bit more info from Meusse and the forensic boys in any case. By the way…’
He took the photographs out of the yellow folder once again and eyed them for a few seconds.
‘Does anybody think they recognize him?’
Jung and Rooth looked at the pictures and shook their heads. Moreno frowned for a moment, then sighed and shrugged.
‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘There might be something there I recognize, but I can’t put my finger on it.’
‘Okay,’ said Reinhart. ‘Let’s hope the penny drops. There’s no denying that it’s an advantage if you know who the victim is. That applies to all types of investigation. Here’s wishing all my colleagues a perfect Saturday evening.’
‘Thank you, and the same to you,’ said Moreno.
‘The first of many,’ said Rooth.
‘Can I offer you a beer?’ asked Rooth a quarter of an hour later. ‘I promise not to rape you or to make advances.’
Ewa Moreno smiled. They had just emerged from the main entrance of the police station, and the wind felt like an ice machine.
‘Sounds tempting,’ she said. ‘But I have a date with my bathtub and a third-rate novel — I’m afraid it’s binding.’
‘No hard feelings,’ Rooth assured her. ‘I also have a pretty good relationship with my bathtub. She’s as bad at the tango as I am, so I assume we’ll end up together again. It makes sense to make the best of what you’ve got.’
‘Wise words,’ said Moreno. ‘Here comes my bus.’
She waved goodbye and scampered over the parking area. Rooth checked his watch. He might just as well go back in and sleep in his office, he thought. Why the hell should anybody want to go wandering around out of doors at this time of year? Sheer madness.
Nevertheless, he started walking towards Grote Square and his tram stop, wondering how long it was since he’d last cleaned his bathtub properly.
Well, it certainly wasn’t yesterday, he decided.
7
The phone call came at 07.15 on Sunday morning, and it was Constable Krause who took it. He thought at first that it was a strange time to ring the police — especially as he began to suspect what it was all about and that she must have been holding back for at least four days — but then he gathered from her voice that she couldn’t have had very many hours’ sleep during that time. If any.
So perhaps it wasn’t all that odd.
‘My name’s Marlene Frey,’ she began. ‘I live in Ockfener Plejn, and I want to report a missing person.’
‘I have a pen in my hand,’ said Krause.
‘It was last Tuesday evening,’ explained Frey. ‘He said he was just going out to see to something. He promised he’d be back later in the evening, but I haven’t heard from him since and he doesn’t usually
… It’s not like him to-’
‘Hang on a minute,’ interrupted Krause. ‘Could you please tell me who it is you are referring to? His name and appearance, what he was wearing, that sort of thing.’
She paused, as though she was composing herself. Then he heard her take a deep breath, heavy with anxiety.
‘Yes, of course, forgive me,’ she said. ‘I’m rather tired, I haven’t slept a wink… Not for several nights, I’m afraid.’