‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘These are. . well, these are extraordinary circumstances. Yes, she came to see me. She wanted to transfer to another school, it was as simple as that.’
‘As simple as that?’
‘Yes. She told me about her situation, and said she wanted to transfer to another grammar school.’
‘Why did she want to transfer?’
‘Because of the situation in her class. She thought she was being bullied.’
‘Was she?’
The welfare officer shrugged.
‘I only saw her once. That’s what she said, in any case — but I don’t always have time to dig more deeply into every individual case. Girls at that age are very sensitive, and you have to be very careful about how you handle them. And besides, the term had only just started.’
‘So what did you do?’ asked Krause.
Stroop looked down and clasped her hands.
‘Well, I decided that her situation could justify a school transfer. Especially as she had thought it through herself, and come up with a specific proposal. I contacted the Joannis Grammar School in Löhr, and arranged for her to go there for an interview. Monica was supposed to visit the school and see if she liked it.’
‘And?’
‘Well, she went there: and as she didn’t come back here we took it for granted that she had made up her mind. It was already decided which class she would join, and so on. .’
‘You assumed that she had transferred to the Joannis Grammar School?’
‘Yes.’
‘And no doubt you checked up in accordance with the official procedures?’
‘Well. . various other things cropped up that needed dealing with. You must understand the working conditions we are landed with here, and-’
‘No,’ interrupted Krause. ‘I don’t understand that at all. Did you even check that she had been there?’
‘Er. . well, I can’t really remember what we did.’
‘Remember?’ said Krause. ‘Surely you must know if you rang them and checked that she had been there?’
Stroop took another sip from her mug, and fiddled with the green stone.
‘It’s possible that it was overlooked. I had a trainee to supervise, and. . well, I assumed of course that everything had gone according to plan.’
‘What do you mean? What plan?’
‘The procedures we had drawn up. We’d all agreed that she could start out at Löhr immediately, if that’s what she wanted. . And when she didn’t turn up here any more, well. . we assumed that everything was done and dusted.’
Krause paused and made notes.
‘Do you know for sure that she actually did visit the school in Löhr?’
‘Yes, she was supposed to do that. It was a Friday. .’
‘Supposed to?’ said Krause. ‘Have you spoken to your colleague at Löhr since you sent Monica there?’
‘Yes. .’
‘When?’
‘I. . I phoned her this morning, and. . well, it’s not absolutely clear whether or not she turned up on that Friday. They are looking into it. .’
‘Not clear?’ said Krause. ‘I think it’s crystal clear. Monica Kammerle never set foot in Joannis Grammar School. She’s been missing since Thursday the twenty-first of September, and to say the very least I think it’s remarkable that nobody at the school where she is registered has reacted at all. Six weeks have passed.’
Stroop made as if to say something, but changed her mind. Krause closed his notebook and put his pen in his breast pocket.
‘I’ll be back,’ he said. ‘Have you anything to add that might throw light on the girl’s disappearance? Anything at all — but let’s have no more prevarication.’
The welfare officer shook her head and looked decidedly shifty.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘My personal circumstances have been difficult. I attended my brother’s funeral yesterday. . That’s not an excuse, but. .’
Her voice broke, and Krause suddenly felt embarrassed. He stood up.
‘I’m only doing my job,’ he said, and when he had closed the door behind him he wondered why on earth he had made such an idiotic comment.
But then, you have to say something in your own defence.
As agreed, Moreno met the two girls in the Bunge Grammar School cafeteria: but after a brief discussion they decided it would be better to adjourn to a more neutral location.
They ended up at the Café Lamprecht, which was only a stone’s throw away, and at this time of day had plenty of little corners where they could talk without being overheard.
Both girls were dressed in black, both smoked like chimneys and both ordered coffee drinks called Black amp; Brown. More or less the only thing that distinguished between the two young ladies was their names: Betty Schaafens and Edwina Boekman. Moreno tried to recall what she looked like when she was sixteen, getting on for seventeen, but no really clear images came to mind. Even so, she found it hard to believe that she had ever gone through a similar phase.
But you can never be sure. .
‘As I said, it’s about your classmate Monica Kammerle,’ she began by saying. ‘We’d like some information about her.’
‘Why?’ asked Betty.
‘What kind of information?’ wondered Edwina.
‘I’m afraid I can’t go into that at the moment,’ said Moreno in a friendly tone. ‘Maybe I can tell you more on another occasion.’
The girls inhaled deeply and exchanged glances.
‘Okay,’ said Betty.
‘All right,’ said Edwina. ‘But she’s not in our class any more.’
‘So I gather,’ said Moreno. ‘But you were in the same class even before you started at the grammar school, weren’t you?’
‘Yes, for three years,’ said Edwina. ‘Deijkstraaskolan.’
‘Four years in my case,’ said Betty. What do you want to know?’
‘Just a few general things. What she’s like and how she gets on with the rest of the class. With her friends, and that sort of thing.’
‘We don’t socialize with her,’ said Edwina. ‘Never have done. She doesn’t like us, and has never made a secret of the fact.’
‘Really?’ said Moreno. ‘How come?’
Edwina shrugged. Betty blew out a cloud of smoke and pulled a face.
‘She’s odd,’ she said. ‘Sort of superior. Always wants to do things that nobody else does. Nobody misses her, in fact.’
‘Does she have any friends in your class? Anybody who knows her a bit better than you seem to do?’
The girls shook their black heads.
‘No, Monica doesn’t have any friends. She sort of doesn’t want to have any. It was like that in those other classes, and it’s the same now. Or was, if she really has transferred. .’
‘I see,’ said Moreno. ‘Have you seen her at all since she changed schools?’
‘No,’ said Edwina. ‘I haven’t seen a trace of her.’
‘No,’ said Betty, ‘me neither.’
‘But surely she must have had some friends in your old class?’ said Moreno. ‘Surely everybody has a friend or two? I need to talk to somebody who knows a bit about her.’
The girls sat there in silence, thinking. Exchanging doubtful glances and stubbing out their cigarettes.
‘I can’t think of anybody,’ said Betty. ‘Can you?’
Edwina shook her head.
‘No, she was very much a loner. Some people are like that, and Monica was one of them. She did mix a bit with Federica Mannen, but Federica moved away when we were in class nine.’
Moreno made a note of the name and asked where the girl had moved to, but neither Edwina nor Betty could remember.
‘Why did Monica change schools?’ she asked instead.
‘Huh,’ said Betty. ‘I suppose she didn’t like it here. Why don’t you ask her?’
Moreno didn’t respond.
‘Have you met her mother at all?’
Judging by their feeble reaction, the news of Martina Kammerle’s death hadn’t yet reached them. They shook their heads again, and Edwina said they had never seen any sign of either of Monica Kammerle’s parents. But they had heard that her mother was a bit of a weirdo. A lot of a weirdo, in fact. She hadn’t even turned up to some parents’ meetings before a school trip when they were in class nine — but Betty thought that maybe wasn’t so odd as Monica didn’t take part in the trip anyway.