Hakan Nesser - The G File

No sooner said than done. He had a mediocre pizza at the Ristorante Goldoni, drank a large beer, and felt that his spirits were beginning to perk up again. At a quarter to five he clambered into his faithful Toyota, switched on the engine and set off for Maardam.

An hour later he made another attempt to call Villa Zefyr, but again nobody answered; and since nothing seemed to be working this godforsaken Friday, he went to bed shortly after nine o’clock.

A working week in the life of Private Detective Maarten Verlangen had come to an end.

‘An accident,’ said Chief Inspector Sachs, stroking his fingers carefully over his thin moustache. ‘That is obviously the most likely explanation. But of course, you never know.’

‘Very true,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘Maybe you could give us a summary in broad outline? We shall be talking to Hennan later, of course, but it’s always good to know the lie of the land before you actually walk on it. As it were.’

Sachs cleared his throat.

‘Yes, of course. Incidents like this when somebody falls and kills him or herself are very tricky.’

‘Tricky?’

‘Tricky, yes. Let’s assume that A and B are standing on a balcony high up in a skyscraper — or on the edge of a precipice, or anywhere at all. A few seconds later B is lying dead fifty metres lower down. How the hell can you prove that A pushed him?’

Van Veeteren nodded.

‘Or that he didn’t push him.’

‘Motive,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘You find out if there is a motive. If there is, you keep on interrogating the suspect until he gives up. There’s no other way — no better one, at least.’

‘But in this case,’ said Münster, ‘she was alone in the house, wasn’t she?’

‘As far as we know, yes,’ said Sachs. ‘But that’s only because nothing suggests otherwise so far. Fru Hennan seems to have been sitting around drinking, all by herself, and then got it into her head that she should go for a swim. . Alternatively to take her own life by diving down into the empty swimming pool.’

Van Veeteren took a drink from his mug of coffee, and produced a toothpick.

‘Not all that likely,’ he said.

‘What?’ wondered Sachs.

‘That she took her own life. How was she dressed?’

‘Swimming costume. A red swimming costume. You mean that. .?’

‘Yes. In the first place it’s a damned unpleasant way of dying. And uncertain.’

‘I don’t know if-’

‘There’s a distinct risk that you might survive,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘And in all probability that would mean you’d be crippled for the rest of your life. A wheelchair would be the very least you could expect.’

‘I’m with you. It’s a point of view, of course.’

‘But if we assume she did decide to do that anyway, why the hell would she put on a swimming costume?’

Nobody spoke for several seconds.

‘Because she wanted it to look like an accident,’ suggested Münster.

‘Not impossible,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘We’ll see eventually if there’s anything to support such an alternative, but for the moment it would surely make more sense to hear a summary of the situation, as I said before. The Hennans’ circumstances, that sort of thing — assuming that you have had time to gather a few details.’

Sachs nodded and put on a pair of thin reading glasses. He thumbed back and forth once or twice in the notebook lying on the table in front of him.

‘There isn’t a lot,’ he explained apologetically. ‘The Hennans have only been living here since April. Barely two months. They arrived from the USA in the middle of March and stayed at a hotel in Maardam for a week or two while they were looking for a house to rent — obviously this is information I was given by Hennan himself, but I can’t see that there’s any reason to question it.’

‘Not so far,’ agreed Van Veeteren.

‘He was born here in Maardam, but he has spent the last ten years in various places in the States. New York. Cleveland. Austin. Denver. He has a company registered here in Linden under the name G Enterprises. There is an office in Landemaarstraat only a stone’s throw from here. So he’s some sort of businessman. According to what he says, he has always indulged in that kind of activity. He and his wife chose to move to Europe because trading conditions are better here, or so he says. I don’t know, I’m not all that well up in that kind of thing. .’

‘I think we can forgive you for that,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘But we know what kind of business he indulged in before he crossed over the Atlantic: mind you, it’s possible that he’s cleaned up his act since then. What do we know about his wife? They met and got married in Denver, is that right?’

‘Yes,’ Sachs confirmed. ‘Barbara Clarissa, née Delgado. Fifteen years younger than her husband. We don’t know anything about her, but I expect we shall be able to dig out some information. . In any case, they rented that house in Kammerweg. The owner is called Tieleberg, and lives somewhere in Spain. It’s probably one of the most expensive homes in the whole of Linden, to tell you the truth. Eight or ten rooms plus kitchen, a few thousand square metres of garden, and a completely private situation — and with a swimming pool and diving tower. Kammerweg is where the crème de la crème live. He must be rather well off, this Hennan.’

‘Hmm,’ muttered Van Veeteren crossly, and broke off the toothpick. ‘And what does he have to say about this so-called accident?’

‘That it definitely was an accident. He’s absolutely certain of that. His wife had no reason to take her own life, and as for somebody pushing her down — who could that have possibly been? She knew next to nobody. And why? Hennan says that they had an excellent relationship. He loved her, she loved him. . They’d been married for just over two years, and were thinking about having children soon. She was only thirty-four, after all.’

‘What about the alcohol?’ wondered Münster. ‘Why does she sit and drink herself silly if everything in her garden is lovely?’

Sachs took off his glasses and rubbed his thumb and index finger over the bridge of his nose.

‘He’s a bit vague on that question,’ he said. ‘I thought so, at least. Presumably she had drunk several gin and tonics plus quite a lot of sherry; but Hennan maintains that she didn’t normally drink anything like as much as that. He admits that she did sink a few glasses now and then- even when she was on her own — but not that kind of quantity.’

‘1.74 per mil is a pretty high percentage,’ said Münster.

‘It certainly is,’ said Sachs. ‘And Hennan let slip that she tended to lose control when she’d had too much to drink — which suggests that it must have happened before. He said she had more body than head when she was drunk. That seemed to mean that she was capable of standing up straight and walking, but not so good at thinking straight.’

‘Hmm,’ said Münster. ‘That would fit in with her being able to climb up to the top of the tower and dive down, without checking to see if there was enough water in the pool.’

‘Yes indeed,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘It fits in exactly. But I don’t think we should forget the source of all this information.’

Münster nodded, and Sachs turned over a few more pages in his notebook.

‘As far as Hennan himself is concerned,’ he continued, ‘he was in that restaurant. The Columbine. It’s just behind the town hall. From about half past seven until half past midnight, he maintains. We haven’t got round to speaking to the staff there yet, but that is being organized. I’m expecting a report from Inspector Behring later this afternoon. He may well have an alibi. It would take at least half an hour to drive from there to Kammerweg and back — maybe forty minutes. Anyway we’ll see what they have to say. Barbara Hennan died at some time between half past nine and half past ten, if I understand it rightly.’