‘Not quite,’ said Kluuge.
‘Why are you so white in the face?’ Servinus asked. ‘Are you not feeling well?’
‘Green,’ said Suijderbeck. ‘I’d say it was more of a green shade.’
Kluuge sat down.
‘That was Mrs Kuijpers out at Waldingen,’ he explained. ‘She says they’ve discovered another body. Or rather, her dog has.’
‘Oh my God,’ said Tolltse.
‘Another one?’ said Reinhart. ‘What the hell…?’
‘Those fucking lap dogs?’ said Suijderbeck.
‘That’s not all,’ said Kluuge. ‘She seemed pretty sure whose body it was as well.’
‘Who?’ said Lauremaa.
‘Oscar Yellinek,’ said Kluuge with a sigh. ‘I assume the name is familiar to you.’
SIX
34
The fourth person to lose his life as a result of the Pure Life camp in the Sorbinowo forests this summer was a certain Gerald deGrooit.
DeGrooit was fifty-seven years old and for more than twenty years had been news editor on the Telegraaf – the last three years as editor-in-chief. He had a wife and two children, and the reputation of being a good husband and father, experienced and competent at his job, albeit a bit irascible when things grew too stressful in the office. The heart attack that put an end to his journalistic career and his life was no real surprise to his close circle of workmates. Being responsible for coverage, despite being short-staffed on account of people being on holiday, of two explosive events like the burning down of the church in Stamberg and the discovery of the murdered priest in Sorbinowo – on the very same day, dammit! – well, it was the straw that broke the camel’s back.
The Telegraaf was probably the only newspaper in the country that didn’t have a reporter present at Waldingen that scorching-hot Wednesday.
Inspector Reinhart claimed that he had never seen so many bloody hacks gathered together in one place before. While the crime scene team was still crawling around in the taped-off area in the lunchtime heat, searching for clues, he estimated the comparative strength between the forces of law and order on the one hand, and the fourth estate on the other, to be about 25 to 75.
In percentage terms, that is. In actual numbers it was around double those figures. Twenty officers from the uniformed police in Oostwerdingen, Rembork and Haaldam had been hastily called in; the less than successful investigative patrol was on duty again, and together with the senior officers, doctors and technicians, they made a pretty good fist of justifying claims made by all the extra television and radio broadcasts that the police had turned out in full force. If it really had been a hallmark of the Pure Life (ever since the court proceedings against the sect) to keep a low profile, such aspirations were shattered on an almost parodic scale. In one news bulletin after another throughout the afternoon and evening, reporters trumpeted the latest developments in Waldingen, Sorbinowo and Stamberg. Half a dozen psychologists and behavioural scientists of various schools of thought pronounced sagely on this and that – as did also a handful of criminologists, a bunch of sect members (not necessarily linked with the Pure Life), two bearded religious scientists, an ex-pyromaniac and a bishop on holiday.
It wasn’t much worse at Waldingen itself. At a comfortable walking distance from the place where the body had been discovered (some five hundred metres west of discovery point number one and about six hundred metres from the so-called bathing rock), various temporary installations were set up for the convenience of all concerned: two practical portable toilets (one for each sex), a stall selling beer and soft drinks, a sandwich bar and two hot dog vans. Sorbinowo had flexible and well-practised routines for dealing with sudden influxes of tourists.
An initial press conference (later re-broadcast in a hundred and eleven other media outlets, somebody worked out) was held between two o’clock and half past on the terrace of the manor house at Waldingen, and was anything but a success. On several occasions such unvarnished criticisms were made of the investigation team that Inspector Suijderbeck felt obliged to give a thorough dressing-down to a radio reporter of overblown proportions, both mentally and physically – in such terms that he was later reprimanded by no less a person than the Minister of Justice himself.
Oh yes, it was one hell of a Wednesday.
At about six in the evening the hard-pressed investigation team decided to leave Waldingen in the hands of the sentries provided by the Oostwerdingen force, plus any reporters still hanging around, and every other Tom, Dick and Harry with no home to go to. Any clues they had found were fully documented. Any leads had been followed up, interviews had taken place with families living nearby (Finghers and Kuijpers) – the first round, at least – and the earthly remains of pastor Yellinek had been placed in a body bag and transported to Sorbinowo as a part of the caravan which they themselves also joined. On Reinhart’s advice, Kluuge had announced a rest period of two hours before convening once more for continued and intensified discussions – a decision that was received with restrained acclaim.
Reinhart retired to his hotel room during the truce. Jung dined with Suijderbeck and Servinus at Florian’s, while Tolltse and Lauremaa were rumoured to have collected a packed meal and gone swimming in the lake.
As for the acting chief of police, he drove back home to his Deborah, declared that he loved her, and that he intended to start studying in order to transfer to an entirely different profession as soon as he had the time. Firefighter, monk, any damned thing but a police officer.
When Reinhart spoke to the receptionist at Glossman’s hotel in Stamberg for the third time – and was given the same negative report with regard to Mr Van Veeteren (a travelling salesman specializing in woodwind instruments and libretti) – he gave up and called Winnifred Lynch instead. They spoke for twenty minutes about love, obstetrics, attractive names for children, and whether or not it was advisable to drink red wine during pregnancy. When he replaced the receiver, he experienced two seconds of utter oblivion, during which he had no idea where he was.
Or why.
But then he remembered.
‘Okay now I’m going to sum up where we’ve got to,’ said Suijderbeck ‘Sorry but I don’t have the strength to listen to anybody else. And don’t try to correct me if I say anything wrong.’
‘We’re all as deaf as a post,’ said Reinhart, but Suijderbeck took no notice.
‘Oscar Augustinus Yellinek has been lying dead out at Waldingen for about ten days. There is nothing to suggest that he didn’t die that same Sunday evening when all the other things happened – 21 July, in other words. Why he should have first run away and hidden himself, and then come back to get murdered – well, I don’t understand why he should do that. Mind you, I have to admit that there are a lot of things in this messy business that I don’t understand.’
‘You’re in good company there,’ said Lauremaa.
‘Unlike the dead girls,’ Suijderbeck continued, ‘Pastor Yellinek displays no signs of having been raped, to borrow Servinus’s elegantly worded statement on the television.’
‘Kiss my arse,’ said Servinus.
‘Another difference from the girls is that he was killed by blows to the head. What does the latest missive from the post-mortem say?’
Kluuge fished it out.
‘“Several violent blows with a sharp instrument”,’ he quoted. ‘It still hasn’t been established what that can have been. Something pretty heavy with sharp edges. Or a sharp edge, perhaps.’
‘How many blows?’ asked Jung.
‘More than necessary,’ said Reinhart. ‘Ten or eleven. Presumably the killer carried on hitting him for a while after Yellinek was already dead. He might have finished him off with the first blow, but wanted to make sure.’
‘Not a very professional job, in other words,’ said Suijderbeck. ‘It seems he panicked. Anyway, if we believe what the experts tell us, there were several blows to the chest and shoulders as well. He was evidently a bit desperate.’