Hakan Nesser - The G File

Or was it? Was there perhaps somebody left who knew? A perpetrator still alive? The accomplice?

God only knows, thought Van Veeteren, and then began to think about what on earth they should say to Elizabeth Nolan when she woke up in her hospital bed.

The truth?

No doubt there were good reasons for keeping it from her. Parts of it, at least. It was easier to cheat a bit, as he had realized already: the truth was one thing, humanitarian action not necessarily the same.

Ah well, he thought. It’s not my problem. Every cloud. .

He drank the second beer and smoked another cigarette. Observed the sleeping man for a while, and felt that he was also beginning to feel so numb that he might well be able to enjoy a few hours’ sleep as well. Despite everything.

And with that pious hope in the back of his mind, he left the Blue Ship.

When he got back to Bausen’s house it was a quarter to one. Bausen had gone to bed, and Van Veeteren crept into bed with a feeling of shame and a bad conscience with regard to his host.

I must try to make it up to him somehow before I go home tomorrow, he thought. It can’t be much fun to be lumbered with somebody like me, day out and day in.

Not much fun at all.

Beate Moerk had been looking forward to spending Sunday together with her husband and children, but as early as eight o’clock the chief of police telephoned her and asked her to accompany him to the hospital in order to speak to Elizabeth Nolan.

Moerk realized that what had suddenly become so desirable again was that famous feminine sensitivity, and for a moment she considered telling him to go to hell. But she managed to hold herself in check, and after a spot of arguing agreed on two hours in return for the promise of a whole day off in the coming week.

Franek was standing by the stove, preparing the morning gruel, while the discussions were taking place, and looked slightly worried — not for his own sake, she knew that, but for hers. As she replaced the receiver she wondered if there were other men around like him, or if — as her mother claimed at the time — she had been extremely lucky to find him.

But perhaps it was best to do as he always used to say: don’t worry about analysing good things, just hang on to them. That’s the most important thing.

‘I’ll be back before noon,’ she promised. ‘Then we can go off somewhere.’

‘You can tell her that provided she pays well, I’m prepared to exhibit twelve canvases in December,’ he said. ‘But maybe now isn’t the right time for that?’

‘Probably not,’ said Moerk, giving him a quick kiss.

She hugged the children, then set off on her humanitarian task.

‘What’s this?’ asked Bausen with a frown.

‘A small token of my gratitude,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘An invitation to celebrate Christmas in Maardam — for both you and Mathilde. You said that you generally just sit around on your own and drink Bourgogne. . The bottle is cognac for you to sip now and then as autumn progresses. Bache-Gabrielsen, a Norwegian product in fact, but every drop is pure gold — I don’t know if you’re familiar with it?’

‘Never heard of it,’ he admitted. ‘But it’s completely unnecessary to-’

‘Rubbish. Now I’ll just have a sandwich and then leave you and this blasted Hennan business behind.’

Bausen allowed himself a wry grin.

‘Ah well, thank you very much,’ he said. ‘We shall have to see if we live until Christmas, but I promise to drink the Gabrielsen before the call comes in any case. . I have various other things to empty, come to that.’

‘Yes, I’ve gathered that,’ said Van Veeteren. ‘How many bottles have you left?’

‘Somewhere between eleven and twelve hundred,’ said Bausen with a sigh. ‘I fell behind somewhat while I was stuck in jail, as I’ve said before. But as long as I stay healthy, no doubt I’ll get through them.’

Van Veeteren looked at his watch. It was five past twelve.

‘May I borrow your phone and give Ulrike a ring? My mobile seems to have caught some kind of virus.’

‘As long as you don’t go on for too long,’ said Bausen.

Ulrike was out, but he left a message on the answering machine saying he would be home by about five, and he hoped she could cope with the thought of seeing him again.

When he had hung up he hesitated for a few seconds, then dialled the number of the police station.

No reply, so he rang Münster’s mobile instead.

‘Yes?’ said Münster.

‘Van Veeteren. I’m about to set off for home. Have you heard anything about Elizabeth Nolan?’

‘A little bit,’ said Münster. ‘She seems to have calmed down somewhat, at least. DeKlerk and Moerk were there and spoke to her for a while, but they decided to interrogate her a bit more thoroughly tomorrow.’

‘What did she say?’

‘Apparently it was she who asked most of the questions. . That’s not all that surprising, I suppose. I gather they gave her quite vague answers but she was informed that her husband’s past was rather different from what she had thought. Even though they didn’t go into details.’

‘Is she still in hospital?’

‘No, I think she went home this morning. Just to be clear, you won’t be present at the run-through, am I right?’

‘No,’ said Van Veeteren, ‘I won’t be there. I’ve had enough. But by all means give me a ring when you’ve tied up all the loose ends.’

‘I’ll do that,’ said Münster. ‘It’s so damned frustrating that we didn’t. . well, that we didn’t manage to sort everything out satisfactorily. I mean, both the murder of Barbara Hennan and that of Verlangen will have to be put on the shelf now. But it’s far from clear how-’

‘I know,’ said Van Veeteren, interrupting him. ‘As you rightly say, it’s damned frustrating. But give me a ring.’

Münster repeated his promise to do so, and hung up.

Ah well, thought Van Veeteren. That’s that, then.

Then he went out into the kitchen and ate a farewell sandwich with Bausen.

He stopped to fill up with petrol on the slip-road leading on to the motorway, and it was while he was standing there staring at the figures flicking past electronically on the pump that he made up his mind to indulge in a little digression.

How had Münster put it? ‘She seems to have calmed down somewhat’? That should surely mean that she was strong enough to have a little chat?

If not, he could always leave her in peace, he thought. But despite everything, there were one or two questions it could be interesting to have answered.

A few things that had struck him after he had spoken to Münster on the phone. It wouldn’t delay him for more than half an hour, three-quarters at the most; and he was in no hurry.

He had all the time in the world, in fact.

He paid at the kiosk, got back into his car and headed into town.

Those present at the Sunday afternoon run-through of the Hennan-Verlangen case at the police station in Kaalbringen were reduced to a mere quartet. The two former chief inspectors had withdrawn, and Inspector Moerk had been excused by the chief of police, in view of her input at the hospital earlier in the day.

But he was in place. As was Probationer Stiller — who had had his hair cut (how the hell had he managed that? wondered Inspector Rooth, and drew the preliminary conclusion that he must be engaged to a young and shapely hairdresser) — and the two so-called reinforcements from the Maardam CID.

Before deKlerk had a chance to say anything, Rooth set the ball rolling.

‘This is our last session, just so that you know that. Tomorrow Münster and I are returning to civilization.’

It was obvious from the chief of police’s face that he had some difficulty in linking the two concepts of Rooth and civilization, but he made no reference to that.