Not clear precisely what that meant, but even so.
Sure is, he muttered to himself-and at the same time, he wondered where on earth he had picked up such a silly expression.
But when he thought about those unassuming evenings,
the simple and yet awe-inspiring task of taking on a bit of responsibility for a growing child-well, he had to admit that he hoped that one of these days Maureen would pop the question.
Ask him to stay on. Throw his hat into the ring. Move in and make a family of them.
On other days the same idea could frighten him to death.
He was well aware of that and would never dream of raising the matter himself. But the thought was there all right. A sort of secret wish, something close to his heart whose delicacy or t h e r e t u r n
frailty was so sensitive that he never dared to pick it up and examine it in detail. Never really come to grips with it.
The fact was that life had its cul-de-sacs; and needless to say, it wasn’t always possible to turn back and retreat.
What the hell am I on about, he thought.
He checked his watch once more and lit a cigarette. Another quarter of an hour. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to interviewing Mrs. Hoegstraa. As far as he could make out, he was required to cross-question an upper-class lady of the old school. A privileged and spoiled woman with an abun-dance of rights but no corresponding obligations. That’s the impression she had given on the telephone, at least. Mind you, it wasn’t at all clear how this fitted in with Verhaven.
Verhaven had never been a member of the upper classes, surely.
No doubt she would pin him down, no matter what.
Note his characteristic young man’s smell of tobacco and cheap aftershave lotion. Stained trousers and dandruff on his shoulders. Sum him up, then make sure to keep him at arm’s length. Imply that people of her social standing regarded the police as servants. That was something they had committed themselves to and thrown their weight behind aspects of society that had to be maintained: money, the fine arts, the right to dispose of one’s wealth as one sees fit-and so on.
Fuck it all, he thought. I’ll never get over this. I’ll always be standing here with my dirty cap in my hand, and I’ll keep on bowing to my superiors as long as I live.
I’m so sorry to impose on you. So sorry that I have to ask you a few questions. So sorry that my dad was sacked by the printing works and drank himself to death.
Oh dear, I’m so sorry, your ladyship, I must have got it wrong. Of course, I want to be buried in the pet cemetery with all the dogs. That’s where I belong!
He emptied his mug of hot chocolate and stood up.
I worry too much, he thought. That’s my problem.
I hope she doesn’t serve up chamomile tea, he thought.
Mrs. Hoegstraa kept the safety chain on and examined his ID through the narrow crack.
“Sorry about that; I try to be very careful,” she said as she opened the door wide.
“You can never be too careful,” Jung said.
“Please come in.”
She led him into a living room overfilled with furniture.
Invited him to sit in one of the pair of plush armchairs, like thrones in front of the fire. There was also a glass-topped table teeming with cups and saucers, scones, cookies, butter, cheese and jam.
“I always drink chamomile tea myself,” she said. “For my stomach’s sake. But I don’t suppose that would appeal to a man. Would you like coffee or a beer?”
Jung sat down feeling relieved. He had evidently misjudged this plump little woman somewhat. His worries had been exaggerated and originated from inside himself. As usual, perhaps.
This lady was human, no doubt about that. She exuded
warmth.
“I wouldn’t say no to a beer,” he said.
Perhaps there was something else about her, he thought as he watched her head for the kitchen. Something he was well acquainted with.
A bad conscience, no less?
“Fire away,” he said. His notebook with the questions he’d planned to ask could wait a bit. He might not even need to produce them at all.
“Where shall I start?” she asked.
“At the beginning, perhaps,” he suggested.
“Yes, I suppose that would be best.”
She took a deep breath and settled down in her chair.
“We have never been in close touch,” she said. “You will obviously have gathered that we severed all connections after these. . this murder business. But to tell you the truth there wasn’t much contact before that either.”
She took a sip of tea. Jung put a slice of cheese on a cracker and waited.
“There were three of us siblings. My elder brother died two years ago, and I’ll be seventy-five this fall. Leopold was an afterthought, as they say. I was seventeen when he was born.
Both Jacques and I had left home by the time he started school.”
Jung nodded.
“Then my mother died. He was only eight. He and Dad
were the only ones left.”
“In Kaustin?”
“Yes. Dad was a blacksmith. But at that time he was away fighting the war, of course. They gave him special dispensa-tion to go home six months before it was all over, to look after Leo. I helped out a bit, but I was married and had my own children to look after. Lived in Switzerland, so it wasn’t all that easy to drop everything and do one’s bit. My husband ran a company in Switzerland, and I was needed to make a contri-bution there as well.”
Oh yes, Jung thought. A guilty conscience, as usual.
“But you didn’t live in the house your brother eventually bought? Not then, when you were a child?”
“No, we lived in the village. The smithy has closed down, but the house is still there.”
Jung nodded.
“Leopold bought that smallholding when he moved back
there. That was after the athletics scandal.”
“Tell me about it,” said Jung. “I’m all ears.”
She sighed.
“Leo had a lot of problems when he was growing up,” she said. “I think he was a very lonely child. He had a hard time at school, found it hard to get on with his schoolmates, if I’ve understood it rightly. But you can no doubt find out more about this from others. He left school at twelve, in any case.
Helped Dad in the smithy for a while, but then moved out to Obern. Just packed up and moved out: I assume there was some kind of row between him and Dad, but we never knew any details. He must have been fifteen, sixteen. It was 1952, if I remember rightly.”
“But things went well for him in Obern?”
“Yes, they did. He wasn’t afraid of work, and there were plenty of jobs at that time. Then he joined that athletics club and started running.”
“Middle distance,” added Jung, who was quite interested in athletics. “He was a brilliant runner-I’m a bit too young to have seen him, but I’ve read about him. Middle distance and upward.”
Mrs. Hoegstraa nodded.
“Yes, they were good years, in the mid-fifties. Everything seemed to be going well.”
“He held several records, didn’t he? National records, that is. . For the fifteen hundred and three thousand meters, if my memory serves me correctly.”
She shrugged and looked apologetic.
“Forgive me, Inspector, but I’m not very good at sports.
And in any case, he was stripped of them all afterward.”
Jung nodded.
“It was an enormous scandal, obviously. Banned for life- that must have been a bitter blow for him. . very bitter. Had you any contact with him during those years?”
Mrs. Hoegstraa looked down.
“No,” she said. “We didn’t. Neither my brother nor I.”
Jung waited for a while.
“But we were not the only ones at fault. That’s the way he wanted it. He was a loner, always preferred to be on his own.
He was always like that. Obviously, we would have preferred it to be different, but what can we do about it now? What could we have done then?”