‘Hmm,’ muttered Baasteuwel. ‘I reckon it’s the same bastard as in my case, no matter what. He didn’t leave any fingerprints in Wallburg either — but he didn’t need to be so careful there. He’d presumably only had time to wrap his fingers round the odd door handle and glass. .’
‘Plus her neck,’ said Reinhart.
‘Yes, indeed,’ said Baasteuwel. ‘We mustn’t forget that. So you agree that we’re both looking for the same bastard, do you?’
‘Why not?’ said Reinhart. ‘It’s always an advantage to be looking for just one loony rather than two.’
Baasteuwel nodded again.
‘What was that name you mentioned? Kerran or something like that?’
‘Benjamin Kerran,’ said Reinhart, with a deep sigh of disgust. ‘Yes, it’s possible that’s what he called himself — but it’s no more than a guess.’
‘The name means nothing to me,’ said Baasteuwel. ‘You’ll have to fill me in a bit, I’m afraid.’
‘With pleasure,’ said Reinhart, lighting his pipe. ‘Benjamin Kerran is a fictional murderer in an obscure English crime novel from the thirties. The Kammerle girl had written down his name in a notebook. That’s all, really — we haven’t managed to track down a real, living person of that name.’
‘Remarkable,’ said Baasteuwel.
‘Very,’ said Reinhart. ‘Anyway, as I said it’s only a shot in the dark — but the swine we’re looking for seems to be a pretty unusual type, and it’s as well we bear that in mind. Why did he saw the girl’s legs off, for instance? Can you tell me that?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Baasteuwel.
‘Why did he hide the mother under the bed, but bury the girl on the sea shore? Any ideas about that?’
‘Remarkable,’ said Baasteuwel again. ‘So they were murdered at the same time, were they?’
‘More or less, as far as we can establish. It’s not possible to be absolutely precise. But surely it’s a bit odd if he murdered both of them in their home and then hid just the daughter away somewhere else.’
‘Was he having an affair with the mother?’
‘I expect so.’
‘What about the daughter?”
‘What do you mean?’ said Reinhart.
‘Nothing,’ said Baasteuwel. ‘I don’t mean any bloody thing.’
‘I know what you’re getting at, of course,’ said Reinhart.
He inhaled deeply, and breathed out a cloud of smoke over his desk.
‘Thank God you allow me to smoke in your office,’ said Baasteuwel. He stubbed out his cigarette and produced another one. Reinhart raised an eyebrow in surprise.
‘Are you saying that you’re not allowed to smoke in the station up at Wallburg?’
‘I certainly am,’ said Baasteuwel. ‘The whole place has been a smoke-free zone for the last couple of years.’
‘What a bloody scandal,’ said Reinhart sympathetically. ‘How do you manage?’
‘It’s not as bad as it sounds,’ said Baasteuwel. ‘I smoke despite everything.’
‘Good for you,’ said Reinhart.
Irene Sammelmerk contemplated the woman who had just sat down on the other side of her desk.
Between sixty and sixty-five, she thought. Not badly off. Platinum-blonde hair cut pageboy style (or was it a wig?), fur-trimmed coat and brown medium-high boots that must be calf-leather if not even more expensive. Handbag in similar style on her knee. Clear-cut features and restrained make-up.
If she hadn’t been shrouded in a cloud of uncertainty, she could well have passed for a president’s wife at a formal photo-shoot, Sammelmerk thought. Or a former film star.
‘Welcome,’ she said. ‘Would you like anything to drink?’
The woman shook her head.
‘Let’s start from the beginning. My name’s Irene Sammelmerk, I’m a detective chief inspector. Your name is Clara Peerenkaas: would you be so good as to tell me why you’ve come here?’
Peerenkaas licked her lips and adjusted her handbag.
‘It’s about my daughter, she’s the one I’m worried about. . I told another policeman all about it on the phone earlier on — I can’t remember his name, but maybe you know. .’
‘I’d be grateful if you could tell me all about it again,’ said Sammelmerk, ‘so that we can have a proper record of all the details. I’ll be recording this conversation, so it’s important that we don’t miss anything. It’s about your daughter, you said?. .’
Fru Peerenkaas nodded.
‘Ester, yes. Our daughter. She lives here in Maardam. In Meijkstraat. My husband and I still live in Willby. Ester has disappeared, that’s why I’m here. We haven’t been able to make contact with her for a whole week — for God’s sake, you’ve got to help us to find her. .’
She broke off and clasped her hands over her handbag. Her narrow nose was trembling non-stop. It seemed obvious to Sammelmerk that panic was lurking just below the surface.
‘When did you last speak to her?’ she asked.
‘On Monday. Monday last week. We spoke on the telephone, and she was going to give us a ring on Wednesday — it was about a Christmas present that Ester had promised to try and change in a shop here in Maardam. . It was a soup tureen: my husband and I are trying to collect a whole set, but the one we got for Christmas wasn’t right, and we were — or rather, Ester was — going to go to Messerling’s and try to swap it for the right design. And she was going to phone me about it on Wednesday.’
‘I see,’ said Sammelmerk, making notes. ‘What’s your daughter’s job?’
‘She’s an administrator at Gemejnte Hospital — finance and all that sort of thing. She’s good. She’s been there for nearly five years now. . I’ve rung and spoken to them, of course. But she hasn’t been seen since last Tuesday.’
‘And they don’t know where she is?’
‘No. She hasn’t turned up for five working days without getting in touch with them. Nothing like that has ever happened before. Not for five years.’
‘Who else have you been in contact with?’
‘Nobody else,’ said fru Peerenkaas in a low voice. ‘Ester lives on her own, we don’t know much about her circle of friends. She was married, but that was a pretty awful business — maybe we don’t need to go into that?’
Sammelmerk thought for a moment.
‘That’s up to you,’ she said. ‘If you are sure that it doesn’t have anything to do with the present state of affairs, then of course we don’t need to poke our noses into that.’
Fru Peerenkaas seemed to hesitate, but decided not to go any further into it.
‘Have you been to examine her flat?’ Sammelmerk asked.
Peerenkaas took a deep, somewhat worried breath.
‘No,’ she said. ‘We called in and rang the doorbell, my husband and I, but she wasn’t at home. We don’t have a key to her flat. There were no lights on, we could see that from the street.’
‘When was this?’ asked Sammelmerk. ‘What time were you there?’
‘About two hours ago.’
‘Where’s your husband now?’
‘At his doctor’s. For various tests. We’d planned to come to Maardam today in any case. We’ll be having lunch at Kraus unless. .’
The rest of the sentence remained hanging in the air. Inspector Sammelmerk said nothing for a while, studying the rough notes she had made. Ah well, she thought, this is why the tape recorder is running.
‘You’ve no idea what might have happened?’
Fru Peerenkaas shook her head.
‘None at all?’
‘No. We saw Ester at Christmas, and everything seemed to be the same as usual — she was happy and positive, just as she always is. Then she went off to the Canary Isles, and came back home last Sunday.’
‘And nothing like this has ever happened before? She’s never cut herself off like this, for some reason or other?’
‘Never. Not even when she was getting divorced. It’s not like Ester at all.’
‘Is there a man in her life?’
Fru Peerenkaas blinked a few times before answering.
‘Probably. But she doesn’t have a steady relationship — I’d have known if she did. Her marriage left her scarred, so she’s been a bit more careful than most when it comes to committing herself. Nowadays, I mean.’