‘Don’t be so pedantic, Münster. That woman has lost her daughter thanks to a bastard of a husband, and she has been disfigured by an even bigger bastard. . If she managed to achieve some kind of revenge up there at the ravine, my instinct is to congratulate her.’
Münster thought that over.
‘Maybe you’re right,’ he said. ‘It’s a pity that taxi driver didn’t see any more than he evidently did. .’
Van Veeteren produced a cigarette from his machine, and lit it. Looked at Münster through the resultant smoke.
‘I’m glad that I don’t have to worry about that detail,’ he said.
‘So I gather,’ said Münster.
‘It’s a pity we can’t stay for a few more days,’ said Münster when Chief Inspector Yakos had left them a few hours later. ‘It must be getting on for twenty-five degrees today. What are those books?’
Van Veeteren placed his right hand on top of the pile of books on the table.
‘A sort of canon,’ he said. ‘About this case. I couldn’t resist taking them off the shelves. Perhaps there is some sort of thread.’
He handed them to Münster one by one: William Blake. Robert Musil. The lugubrious little crime novel by Henry Moll. Rilke’s Duino Elegies. Münster took them and nodded, somewhat bewildered.
A sort of thread? he thought.
‘But what about this one? Rappaport? The Determinant? The thing that we-’
‘Exactly,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘But it’s in Swedish, so I’m not going to try to read it.’
Münster sat there for a while without speaking, his gaze alternating between the books and the Chief Inspector.
‘I understand,’ he said eventually. ‘Anyway, we’ve four hours before our flight leaves. Perhaps we ought to order a taxi, to be on the safe side.’
‘Ah, well,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘Go on then, do that.’
Münster looked at him sceptically.
‘What does “ah, well” mean?’ he asked.
Van Veeteren shrugged and pushed his straw hat over the back of his head.
‘It doesn’t mean anything special,’ he said. ‘Just that I need a bit of peace and quiet in order to write my memoirs. The G File, among other things. . Ulrike is due here tomorrow, by the way. We’re going to stay for a week — didn’t I mention that? She said it’s been raining non-stop in Maardam. Ah, well. .’
Münster took the last of the olives from the dish and put it in his mouth.
All right, he thought magnanimously. Part of me doesn’t begrudge him that.