Hakan Nesser [Inspector Van Veeteren 03] The Return (pdf)

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She shook her head.
Never.
Did you have much contact with her after you d moved
out?
No. What does that have to do with your research?
He bit his tongue.
I just want to get a few things about the relationship
between you pinned down, he explained and ticked another
box. So you are saying that she was a total invalid from 1982
until her death?
Yes.
Where did she spend her last years?
In Wappingen. Together with a Sister of Mercy in a little
apartment. She had divorced my father I don t think she
wanted to be a burden on him any longer. Or something of
that sort.
Did you visit her there?
Yes.
How many times?
She thought for a moment. The girl started whimpering
again. Slid down onto the floor and hid away from his gaze.
Three, she said. It s a long way.
And her state?
What do you mean?
How was she?
She shrugged.
The same as usual. A bit happier, perhaps.
But confined to bed?
t h e r e t u r n
Yes, of course.
Damn, Van Veeteren thought. There s something that
doesn t add up.
When he emerged into the bright sunshine, he had a short but
intense dizzy spell. Was forced to hang on to the iron railing
that surrounded the row of houses while he closed his eyes
and recovered.
I need a beer, he thought. A beer and a cigarette.
Ten minutes later he had found a table under what looked
like a plane tree outside a caf�. He emptied the tall glass in two
swigs and ordered another. Lit a cigarette and leaned back.
Damn! he thought again. What the hell is it that doesn t
add up?
How far could it be to Wappingen?
A hundred and fifty miles? At least.
But if he went to bed early, surely he could raise the
strength to drive 150 miles? With stops and rests and all that. It
wouldn t matter if he had to spend the night there. It wasn t
time he was short of nowadays. On the contrary.
He checked the address in his folder.
I d better ring and arrange a meeting.
Why change my cover story when it seems to be working
so well?
Beer number two arrived, and he sucked the froth off it.
What a damned awful story this is, he thought. Have I ever
followed a thinner thread?
Just as well that nobody else is involved, thank God for
that.
36
What do we do in here? wondered Jung.
We could have a bite to eat, for instance, said M�nster.
Sit down and try to look as if you re at home here.
Jung sat down tentatively and looked around the austere
premises.
That won t be easy, he said. But what s the point? I
assume we re not being allowed to sit here in the town s most
expensive restaurant as a reward for our virtue.
Can you see that character in the dark blue suit next to the
grand piano? M�nster asked.
Of course, said Jung. I m not blind.
According to Reinhart, he s one of the top brass in the
neo-Nazi movement. His name s Edward Masseck, inciden-
tally.
He doesn t look like the type.
No, he s an anonymous sort of character, Reinhart says.
But he s well documented. He s the one behind an awful lot of
shit, it seems. Arson in refugee hostels. Riots, desecration of
graves, you name it. In any case, he s sitting there and waiting
for a contact from big business, a real big shot. We don t know
who, but when he turns up we re supposed to let them sit and
shuffle paper for a quarter of an hour or so. Then you go and
phone from the vestibule while I go and arrest them. Reinhart
t h e r e t u r n
and a couple of other officers are in two cars just around the
corner.
I get it, said Jung. Why can t Reinhart do it himself ?
Masseck knows him, said M�nster. Anyway, let s order
something to eat. What do you say to some lobster mousse to
start with?
I had that for breakfast, said Jung. But I expect I can
force down a bit more.
This Verhaven business, said Jung as they waited for their
main course. How s it going?
M�nster shrugged.
I don t know. I m also off the case. It looks as if they
don t want to put any more resources into it. I suppose that s
understandable.
Why?
I expect they re scared of stirring things up in the courts
again. There could be one hell of a row if he should prove to
be innocent, especially in the press and on television.
Jung scratched the back of his neck.
What does the chief inspector have to say about it?
M�nster hesitated.
I don t know. He s still on sick leave. But it s obvious that
he s not sitting at home, twiddling his thumbs.
Is it true that he s got somebody on the hook? There
was some talk about that in the canteen yesterday afternoon.
Somebody who might have done it, that is?
There was no doubting Jung s curiosity, and it was obvious
to M�nster that he must have been aching to ask that question
from the moment they d sat down.
I don t know, to be honest, he said. I was out at Kaustin
with him the day after they released him from the hospital. He
2 5 9
pottered around at the house for an hour or so, and then he
appeared with that look . . . you know what he s like.
Jung nodded.
It s damned amazing, he said. We spend several weeks
going through that village with a fine-tooth comb four or
five of us without finding anything of interest at all. Then he
drives out there and picks up the trail inside an hour. Astonish-
ing. Do you think it really is possible?
M�nster thought for a few seconds.
What do you think? he said.
No idea, said Jung. You re the one who knows him
best.
That s true, I suppose, M�nster thought. Although he
sometimes had the feeling that the closer to Van Veeteren you
got, the more unfathomable he became.
It s hard to say, he said. He s certainly on to something,
though, no doubt about that. But the last time I saw him he
was going on about thin threads. And how long a flabby
policeman could be stuck in a spider s web, that kind of thing.
He didn t sound all that enthusiastic, but you know what he s
like.
I certainly do, said Jung. He s a one-off, that s for sure.
There was a clear tone of admiration in Jung s voice; there
was no mistaking it, and M�nster suddenly wished he could
think of a way of conveying that to the chief inspector. Per-
haps it wouldn t be completely impossible, he thought. Since
the cancer operation, he d had the impression that their coop-
eration and level of communication had improved noticeably.
There was more of a feeling of equality and more mutual
respect. Or however it ought to be expressed.
Despite Van Veeteren s unfathomability. And it was only in
the early stages.
No, he said. Van Veeteren is Van Veeteren. He glanced
t h e r e t u r n
over at the grand piano. Why hadn t anybody appeared? Rein-
hart had guessed it would be one o clock, but it was twenty
past by now.
I don t know, said Jung. Anyway, here comes our sole.
Yum-yum!
Forty-five minutes later, Edward Masseck paid his bill and left.
He had been all alone from start to finish. Jung had just
ordered a second helping of candied walnuts, but they decided
to pay and report to their colleagues.
Hell s bells! said Reinhart when he heard that his prey
had escaped. How much did the meals cost?
It s all yours, said M�nster, handing him the bill.
Reinhart stared at the pale blue scrap of paper.
Well I ll be damned, he said. Stauff and I have been sit-
ting in the car for two hours with half a packet of peanuts
between us.
It was an excellent meal, said Jung from the backseat.
Maybe it would be a good idea to try again tomorrow?
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