‘I don’t doubt that for a moment,’ he said. ‘Anyway, what conclusions did you draw?’
‘None at all, to be honest,’ said Jung. ‘This Kerran character is a particularly nasty type. He’s a strangler, just like our own killer, but there’s no sexual motivation behind what he does. He’s driven more by religion. He wanders around the streets of London and strangles female drop-outs, mainly prostitutes — I suppose you could say he’s a variant of Jack the Ripper. But as I said, it’s a pretty awful book. And completely unknown. I’ve spoken to a few crime novel fans — Kevin A. Bluum among others — but nobody has ever heard of it. Nor have they heard of Henry Moll.’
‘Who the hell posted him on the net, then?’ wondered Rooth.
‘The publisher,’ said Jung. ‘They’ve listed every single name in every book they’ve published since 1912. Don’t ask me why.’
‘We’ll pass the book round,’ said Reinhart. ‘Nobody will be deprived of the pleasure of reading a crappy crime novel in working hours. I take it you’ve still got it?’
Jung nodded.
‘And there’s nobody else called Benjamin Kerran?’ asked Moreno.
‘Not as far as we know,’ said Jung. ‘It’s possible there might be somebody of that name, of course; but we haven’t found anybody in the whole of Europe so far.’
‘But nevertheless one of our victims wrote down his name in her notebook,’ said Reinhart. ‘A literary strangler — how about that?’
Münster, who hadn’t said a word so far, spoke up at last.
‘She can’t have read the book,’ he said. ‘That would be too improbable. And do we take it that there’s no other information apart from the name? Nothing about her relationship with him, so to say. .?’
‘Nothing,’ said Jung. ‘If we’d had an address or telephone number, all we’d have needed to do was to bring him in.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ said Münster. ‘Of course. But in any case, there could well be a connection — I have to say I find it highly likely. Our unknown strangler has given her that name somehow or other — as a sort of perverted joke, I expect: he’s not normal, we have to take that for granted. It could even be that he called himself by that name. Don’t you think?’
He looked around the table, but there was no response. Neither positive nor negative.
‘I’ll bet you anything that’s what happened,’ said Münster. ‘He called himself Benjamin Kerran.’
‘Very possible,’ said Rooth.
‘Where does that get us if it’s true?’ wondered Moreno.
Münster thought for a moment.
‘Nowhere at all for the moment,’ he said. ‘We’re still standing on square one, but at least we know which direction to go to find square two.’
‘I’m most impressed by the brilliant imagery our colleagues are using today,’ said Reinhart with a tired sigh. ‘Switch off the respirator, Krause. You don’t have anything else to show us, do you?’
‘Not at the moment,’ said Krause, switching off the overhead projector.
Reinhart stood up.
‘I’m going out now for a smoke, and to arrange for a tray of coffee and goodies from fröken Katz,’ he said. ‘We’ll assemble here again ten minutes from now, and I’ll tell you what the future has in store.’
‘Ooh, a real Sibyl,’ said Rooth.
‘Shut up, Rooth,’ said Reinhart for the second time this Tuesday morning.
‘The fact is that I’ve sold us to the mass media.’
There was silence all round the table. Inspector Rooth took the opportunity of swallowing half a bun.
‘You what?’ he said. ‘What the hell do you mean?’
‘Crime and Punishment,’ said Reinhart.
‘Dostoyevsky?’ said Moreno.
‘Good God no, not him. The crime series on Channel Five, Crime and Punishment.’
‘Oh, that,’ said Jung. ‘I didn’t think it was one of your favourite programmes.’
Reinhart growled.
‘It’s not. But in any case, they are going to feature the Kammerle-Gassel case. It’ll be on the day after tomorrow, between nine and ten, in case you’re interested. I shall be interviewed, and so will the chief of police. They’ll be recording it tomorrow.’
‘Hiller?’ exclaimed Münster, and couldn’t help but smile. ‘What the devil is Hiller going to do on a programme like that?’
‘Perhaps he has a new suit he wants to show off,’ Jung suggested.
‘Perhaps he wants to calm down the general public,’ said Rooth.
Reinhart scratched himself between the eyebrows with the stem of his pipe.
‘It was Hiller who persuaded me to take part,’ he said. ‘Maybe it won’t be a complete waste of time. We haven’t exactly excelled ourselves lately, and there’s always a chance that appearing in the spotlight and getting a bit of publicity might lead to a breakthrough. We haven’t had much help from the general public so far, but you never know.’
‘How on earth did he persuade you?’ Rooth wondered. ‘Hiller, I mean. Did he threaten to give you the sack?’
Reinhart seemed to be wondering whether or not to spit out a sour apple.
‘It was even worse than that,’ he said eventually. ‘He wanted to invite me to dinner. So that we could discuss the case face to face.’
‘Ugh,’ said Rooth.
‘Exactly,’ said Reinhart. ‘Anybody who dares to laugh will receive a punch on the nose. Anyway, they are going to devote half the programme to our strangler. I’ve been given an outline of how they propose to proceed, and I’ve decided to be liberal and drop any misgivings I have. I just wanted you to know that: we’ll probably get lots of tips as a result of the broadcast.’
‘I hope they’re not going to go on about the case in Wallburg,’ said Moreno. ‘That could cause a few problems if they do.’
‘I’ve put a stop to that,’ said Reinhart. ‘No, it’ll be mainly narrators in the background, pictures from the places where the bodies were found, the occasional pedagogical explanation and a hell of a lot of speculation. And an interesting little introductory sequence in blood-red: “When will the Maardam strangler strike again?” I tried to put a stop to that as well, of course, but Hiller rather liked it. He reckons the police will be granted more money if we have the odd lunatic murderer on the loose. .’
‘Brilliant,’ said Rooth. ‘Thus spake a true strategist.’
‘Very true,’ said Reinhart. ‘But it seems he’s going to promise that we’ll have the murderer under lock and key within a month.’
‘Excellent,’ said Münster. ‘Presumably he’ll have to take his suit off and roll up his shirtsleeves. Incidentally, Chief Inspector, have you got anything impressive to wear? A uniform, perhaps?’
‘I grew out of that twenty years ago,’ said Reinhart with another sigh. ‘I thought I’d wear a pair of overalls and my usual understated charm. Anyway, shall we pack up now and get on with what we each have to do? Or does anybody have anything sensible to say?’
Nobody had. Not even anything stupid to say.
Moreno opened the door to Irene Sammelmerk’s office.
‘Hi! Do you mind if I come in?’
‘Of course not,’ said Sammelmerk with a smile. ‘I hoped you might pay me a call.’
Moreno stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
‘Really?’ she said. ‘Why?’
‘Well. . Why do you think?’ said Sammelmerk, somewhat hesitantly. ‘How many women are there in this police station?’
‘Not many,’ said Moreno. ‘But now there are two of us on this floor, at least. I’m pleased about that — and I hope you’ll like it here.’
Sammelmerk gestured towards the piles of books and unopened packing cases that lined the walls.
‘I’m sure I shall,’ she said. ‘Once I get all this stuff sorted out. But I have the rest of today to make this room liveable in. I get the impression the team is pretty good — am I right?’
Moreno sat down on the window ledge and thought that over.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I think so. But then, I’ve hardly ever worked with anybody else, so perhaps I shouldn’t pass judgement. Why did you apply to transfer here?’
Sammelmerk shrugged.