Mind's Eye (3 page)

6

“Good afternoon.”

The door closed behind the chief inspector. Mitter looked away. If he excluded his former father-in-law and his colleague who taught chemistry and physics, Jean-Christophe Colmar, Van Veeteren must be the most unsympathetic person he had ever come across.

When the man sat down at the table and started chewing his ever-present toothpick, it struck Mitter that it might be an idea to admit to everything. Just to get rid of him.

Just to be left in peace.

But presumably it was not as easy as that. Van Veeteren wouldn’t be fooled. He sat with his bulky body crouched over the cassette recorder, looking like a threatening and malicious trough of low pressure. His face was crisscrossed by small blue veins, many of them burst, and his expression was reminiscent of a petrified bloodhound. The only thing that moved was the toothpick, which wandered slowly from one side of his mouth to the other. He could talk without moving his lips, read without moving his eyes, yawn without opening his mouth. He was much more of a mummy than a person made up of flesh and blood.

But beyond doubt a very efficient police officer.

It seemed not at all improbable that the chief inspector would know the extent of Mitter’s guilt long before Mitter himself did. Van Veeteren’s voice modulated between two quarter tones below low C. The higher one denoted a question, doubt, or scorn. The lower one stated facts.

“So, you have not achieved any more insight,” he stated.

“Would you kindly extinguish that cigarette! I have not come here to be poisoned.”

He switched on the cassette player. Mitter stubbed out his cigarette in the washbasin. Returned to his bed and stretched out on his back.

“My lawyer has advised me not to answer any of your questions.”

“Really? Do whatever you like, I shall unmask you anyway. Six hours or twenty minutes, it makes no difference to me. I have plenty of time.”

He fell silent. Mitter listened to the ventilation system and waited. Van Veeteren did not move a muscle.

“Do you miss your wife?” he asked after several minutes.

“Of course.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I couldn’t care less what you think.”

“You’re lying again. If you don’t care what I think, why are you telling me such idiotic lies? Use your brains, for God’s sake!”

Mitter made no reply. Van Veeteren reverted to the lower quarter tone.

“You know I’m right. You want to talk me into believing that you miss your wife. But you don’t, and you know I know you don’t. If you tell the truth, at least you don’t have to be ashamed of yourself.”

It was not a criticism. Merely a statement of fact. Mitter said nothing. Stared up at the ceiling. Closed his eyes. Perhaps it would be as well to follow his lawyer’s advice to the letter. If he didn’t say a word and avoided all eye contact, no doubt it would….

But behind closed eyelids something different became clear.

Something different came instead and pinned him against the wall. There was always something.

Wasn’t Van Veeteren right after all?

The question nagged at him.

You don’t miss her, do you?

He was damned if he knew. She had entered his life. Smashed down an open door, charged forward like a dark princess, and taken him into her power. Completely, totally.

Taken him, held on to him…and then gone away.

Is that how it was?

No doubt it could be described like that, and once he’d started putting things into words, there was no going back. Eva Ringmar turned up in the fourteenth chapter of his life. Between pages 275 and 300, roughly. She played the role that overshadowed all others; the priestess of love, the goddess of passion…. And then she went away, would probably continue for a while to live a sort of life between the lines, but soon she would be forgotten. It had all been so intense that it was preordained to come to an end. An episode to add to the plot? A sonnet? A will-o’-the-wisp?

Finished. Dead, but not mourned.

End of valediction. End of contradiction.

The chief inspector’s chair scraped. Mitter gave a start. No doubt this was…no doubt this must be the paralysis, the state of shock that was driving his thoughts into such channels. That had crushed and demolished everything, made it impossible for him to grasp what had happened. To grasp what was happening to him…?

“I’m right, am I not?”

Van Veeteren spat out a toothpick and took a new one from his breast pocket.

“Yes, of course. I grew tired of her and drowned her in the bath. Why should I miss her?”

“Good. Exactly what I thought. Now we’ll move on to something else. She had rather a beautiful body, did she not?”

“Why do you ask that?”

“I shall ask whatever questions I like. Was she strong?”

“Strong?”

“Was she strong? Will it be easier for you if I ask each question several times?”

“Why do you want to know if she was strong?”

“In order to exclude the possibility of her having been drowned by a child or an invalid.”

“She was not especially strong.”

“How do you know? Did you fight?”

“Only when we were bored.”

“Do you have a tendency to be violent, Mr. Mitter?”

“No, you don’t need to be afraid.”

“Can you give me six candidates?”

“Eh?”

“Six candidates who might have murdered her, if it wasn’t you who did it.”

“I’ve already named several possibilities.”

“I want to know if you remember the persons you mentioned.”

“I don’t understand why.”

“That’s irrelevant. I have no exaggerated ideas about your intelligence.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Now I’ll explain. Tell me if I’m going too fast for you. In seven out of ten cases it’s the husband who kills his wife. In two out of ten it’s somebody else in the circle of acquaintances.”

“And in the tenth?”

“It’s an outsider. A madman or some kind of sex killer.”

“So you don’t regard sex murderers as madmen?”

“Not necessarily. Well?”

“Our mutual enemies, you mean?”

“Or hers.”

“We didn’t have much of a social life. I’ve already talked about this.”

“I know. You stopped meeting most of your so-called friends when you got together. Well? If you give me six names, you can have a cigarette! Isn’t that how you do things at school?”

“Marcus Greijer.”

“Your former brother-in-law?”

“Yes.”

“Whom you hate. Go on!”

“Joanna Kemp and Gert Weiss.”

“Colleagues. Languages and…social studies?”

“Klaus Bendiksen.”

“Status?”

“Close friend. Andreas Berger.”

“Who’s he?”

“Her former husband. One more?”

Van Veeteren nodded.

“Uwe Borgmann.”

“Your neighbor?”

“Yes.”

“Greijer, Kemp, Weiss…Bendiksen, Berger, and…Borgmann. Five men and a woman. Why these particular people?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yesterday you gave me a list of”—he picked up a sheet of paper and added up rapidly—“twenty-eight names. Andreas Berger is not on that list, but all the rest are. Why did you pick out this particular six?”

“Because you asked me to.”

Mitter lit a cigarette. The chief inspector’s advantage was not as great now, that could be felt clearly, although he might have slackened off a little in the hope that Mitter would give something away.

But what?

Van Veeteren glared sullenly at the cigarette and switched off the cassette recorder.

“I shall tell you how things stand. I have received the final medical report today, and it is completely out of the question that she could have killed herself. That leaves three possibilities. One: you killed her. Two: one of the people on your list did it, either one of the six whose names you have just given me, or one of the others. Three: she was the victim of an unknown murderer.”

He paused briefly, took the toothpick out of his mouth, and contemplated it. Evidently it was not quite completely chewed up, so he put it back between his front teeth.

“Personally, I think it was you who did it, but I admit that I’m not quite certain.”

“Thank you very much.”

“On the other hand, I’m pretty sure that the court will find you guilty. I want you to be aware of that, and when it comes to verdicts passed in court I am hardly ever wrong.”

He stood up. Put the cassette recorder into his briefcase and rang for the warder.

“If this lawyer of yours tries to fool you into thinking anything different, it’s only because he’s trying to do his job. You shouldn’t be under any illusion. I don’t intend to disturb you any more. I’ll see you in court.”

For a moment Mitter thought Van Veeteren was going to shake hands, but of course, that would not have been possible. Instead the chief inspector turned his back on Mitter, and although it was nearly two minutes before the warder appeared, he remained motionless, staring at the door.

As if he were in an elevator. Or as if Mitter had ceased to exist the moment the conversation was over.

7

Elmer Suurna wiped an imaginary speck of dust from his desk with the sleeve of his jacket. Glanced out the window as he did so and wished it were the summer vacation.

Or at least the Christmas vacation.

But it was October. He sighed. Ever since taking up his post as headmaster of Bunge High School fifteen years ago, he had cherished an ambition. One only.

To keep his handsome red-oak desktop clean and shiny.

In his younger days, when he had been a temporary teacher, his aim had been different: No matter what they do, they will not disturb my equanimity! It was after being forced to admit that this credo was being shaken to the core day after day, hour after hour, that Suurna decided to set his sights on a career as a school administrator instead. To become a headmaster, in fact.

It had taken its toll: a few friends, some invitations, several years, but by the time he celebrated his fortieth birthday he had achieved his aim. He sat down at his desk and looked forward to a quarter of a century of undisturbed equanimity. Should there be any matters that needed dealing with—student demonstrations, budget deficits, or timetables that needed adjusting—there would always be a deputy head to whom the problems could be delegated. He would be too busy taking care of the red oak.

And then, after fifteen years of devoted polishing, this damned business had come about.

Days had passed. Evenings. Even nights, but there seemed to be no end to it. Just now a sniveling lawyer was sitting slumped on the visitor’s chair, reminding him uncannily of a starving vulture he had once seen while on summer vacation in the Serengeti.

The only person I would allow him to defend, Suurna thought, is my mother-in-law.

“You must understand, Mr. Rütter—”

“Rüger.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Rüger. You must understand that this has been a difficult time for us all, difficult and exhausting. One teacher is dead, another is in prison. The police are running around here every day. Surely you can see that our school has to be spared any further stress.”

“Of course. You don’t need to worry.”

“Perhaps it’s not necessary for me to point out that our pupils have been affected in most undesirable ways, Mr. Rüger. They are young people, and easily thrust into a state of confusion. What we now need to do as a matter of urgency is pull ourselves together and move on. I bear the ultimate pedagogical responsibility, and can’t just stand by and watch…”

The door opened tentatively and a woman with mauve-colored hair and mauve-colored spectacles put her head around it.

“Would you like me to serve coffee now, Mr. Suurna?”

Her voice was soft and meticulously articulated.

As if her words were made of bone china, Rüger thought. It seemed clear that she was a former primary school teacher.

“Of course, Miss Bellevue. Bring it right in.”

Rüger was quick to make the most of his opportunity.

“Of course I understand your difficulties. I have a son who graduated from this school ten years ago.”

“Really? I didn’t think…”

“Rüger, his name was. Edwin Rüger. Obviously, I can see that this must have been a particularly difficult time for you, but even so, Mr. Suurna, we must ensure that justice takes its course, don’t you agree?”

“Of course, Mr. Rüger. Surely you don’t think for a moment that I would want anything different?”

He glanced after Miss Bellevue, who was just leaving the room, and Rüger wondered if there really was an ounce of unrest in the man, or if he was just imagining it.

“Not for a moment, no. You merely want a degree of…discretion. Is that what you’re saying?”

“Precisely. But if you’ll allow me to say so, that hasn’t exactly been the strongest side of our police authorities. Or perhaps I should say, let’s hope they have stronger sides.”

He peered over his spectacles and tried to smile, as if to suggest they were singing from the same hymn sheet. Rüger blew his nose.

“However, you represent…?” wondered Suurna, dropping three lumps of sugar into his plastic mug.

“I’m Mr. Mitter’s lawyer. You must surely agree that it’s in the best interests of the school for him to be found not guilty?”

Suurna gave a start.

“Naturally, without a shadow of doubt, but…”

“But what?”

“Don’t get me wrong…. But what do you think yourself?”

“I’m the one who ought to be asking that question. Of you, that is.”

The headmaster stirred his coffee. Adjusted his tie. Looked out of the window and moved the pens in his desk caddy around.

“Mitter has always been a loyal member of the staff, a much admired teacher. He’s been at the school longer than I have myself. Very knowledgeable and…independent. I have difficulty in believing…Real difficulty.”

“And Eva Ringmar?”

The pens were slowly starting to return to their original positions.

“I don’t really have much of an idea about her, I’m afraid. She’s only been with us for a short time, two years, or thereabouts. But of course, she was a very well-qualified teacher. May I ask you something? What kind of a stand is Mitter making?”

“What do you mean?”

Suurna shuffled in his chair.

“Well, er, what kind of a stand is he making?”

“Not guilty.”

“I see…. Yes, of course. He’s not pleading without premeditation, nothing like that?”

“No. Nothing like that.”

Suurna nodded.

“And what you are looking for now is…?”

“I’m looking for two or three witnesses.”

“Witnesses? But surely that’s impossible?”

“Character witnesses, Mr. Suurna, people who are willing to stand up in court and speak in support of Mitter. People who know him, as a person and as a colleague, who can give a positive picture of him. And a true one, of course.”

“I’m with you. The man behind the name?”

“Something like that. Perhaps a pupil as well. And preferably you yourself, Mr. Suurna.”

“Oh, I don’t really think…”

“Or somebody you can suggest. If you give me four or five names, I can choose from among them.”

“Who would he prefer to have? Wouldn’t it be more appropriate for him to say who he’d like to have?”

“Hmm, that’s the tricky thing….” Rüger took a sip of coffee. It was weak and had a faint taste of disinfectant. He gave thanks for his bad cold. “Mitter has, er, how should I put it? On principle he declines to speak in his own favor. It goes against the grain for him to…proselytize. I must say that I can sympathize with him. Sigurdsen and Weiss seem to have been the members of staff closest to him, but I don’t know…?”

“Weiss and Sigurdsen? Yes, that’s probably correct. Yes, I’ve nothing against them.”

“Even so, it might also be good to have somebody who wasn’t all that close to him. Good friends naturally only have good things to say about one another. Nobody expects anything different.”

“I understand.”

Rüger closed his eyes and forced down the rest of the coffee.

“To be precise, what I am asking you to provide is a colleague, one of his pupils, and, er, shall we say a representative of the school management—you yourself, or somebody you think would be suitable.”

“I’ll have a word with Eger, he’s our deputy head. I’ve no doubt he’ll be happy to oblige. As for the pupils, I have no idea. I must ask you to be extremely discreet. Perhaps you could get some help from Sigurdsen and Weiss, if you speak to them.”

“I’m most grateful.”

“You ought to know that I’m…er, we all are, of course…very upset about what has happened. Some have taken it harder than others, and it’s obvious that everybody on the staff has been on edge. But even so, we have managed to carry on working. I’d like you to bear that in mind. It has been…and still is…a very difficult time for all of us at this school. However, I think we’ve succeeded in showing the pupils that we don’t let them down even when we’re under this kind of pressure.”

“I understand, Headmaster. I’m very well aware of what you must have been going through. When do you think I’ll be able to meet my witnesses?”

“When would suit you? You must give me a little time, and obviously it must take place after school is finished for the day. We must not disrupt teaching any more than has happened already.”

“The trial starts on Thursday. Witnesses for the defense are unlikely to be called before Tuesday or Wednesday next week.”

“I shall make appropriate arrangements, Mr. Rüger. Tomorrow afternoon, perhaps?”

“Excellent.”

“I’ll be in touch.”

He slid back his desk chair. Rüger handed him his business card and started wriggling his way up from the armchair.

“Edwin Rüger…Yes, I do believe I recall him. A promising young man. What’s he doing now?”

“Unemployed.”

“Ah, I see…So, good-bye, Mr. Rüger. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Hardly, Rüger thought. He shook his head and wiped his nose. Headmaster Suurna leaned over his intercom and summoned the mauve woman.

“Haven’t you got an umbrella?” she asked as she guided him through the corridors.

“No,” said Rüger, “but I’ve been thinking about buying one.”

He couldn’t be bothered to explain that in fact, he owned two: one was at home, the other was in his car. As he hastened across the wet schoolyard, he wondered who on earth it was the headmaster reminded him of. Some politician or other involved in a scandal many years ago, he suspected. Surely they couldn’t be one and the same person?

For Mitter’s sake he hoped that Suurna would not change his mind and volunteer to be a witness himself. Nobody but the opposition would relish the prospect of evidence given by a witness like that, so much was obvious. And he doubted if he would have the courage to put a muzzle on the man.

Speaking of which, how many witnesses had the prosecution managed to winkle out of these walls? He had the distinct impression that there were two or three to be found, if anybody made the effort.

But as he sat in his car again and watched the gloomy outline of the Bunge High School fade away in his rearview mirror, what filled his mind above all else was a hot bath and an extra-large and well-deserved cognac.

It was true that his wife maintained that nobody cured a cold with hot baths and cognac nowadays, but he had decided to pay no more attention to her. For three whole days his breakfast had comprised a nasty-tasting little vitamin pill, and that had failed to shift him even an inch closer to good health.