Hakan Nesser - Borkmann's point

You can go and have a cup of coffee,” said Bausen when they were on their own. “We’ll be here for about half an hour.

I think we can remove the tape and stuff then. You can take it all back to the station.”

“Will do!” said Bang, giving a smart salute. He embarked on his amended duties, and strode off in the direction of the Esplanade and the harbor cafe.

“Well,” said Bausen, plunging his hands into his pockets.

“That was Constable Bang.”

Van Veeteren looked around.

“Hmm,” he said.

Bausen produced a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

“Would you like one?”

“No,” said Van Veeteren, “ but I’ll have one even so. Can we try a little experiment?”

“Your word is my command,” said Bausen, lighting two cig arettes and handing one of them to Van Veeteren. “What do you want to do?”

“Let’s walk along the path for twenty or thirty yards. Then I’ll come back with you following me, and I’ll see if I can hear you.”

“OK,” said Bausen. “But I’ve tested that already. The path has been trampled down by so many feet, it’s damn hard. You won’t hear a thing.”

They carried out the experiment, and Bausen’s prediction proved to be absolutely correct. The distant murmur of the sea and the rustling of the wind in the trees was sufficient to mask any other noise. Bausen had more or less been able to put his hand on Van Veeteren’s shoulder before he’d noticed he was even there.

“And that’s how it happened,” said Bausen.

Van Veeteren nodded.

“I take it you’ve made a thorough search?” he said.

“Of the crime scene? We most certainly have! We’ve vacu umed every single blade of grass. Not a thing! Just blood, and more blood. It’s dry, you see. Hasn’t rained for three weeks. No soft ground anywhere, no footprints. No, I don’t think we’re going to get any leads of that sort. It looks as if he wiped his weapon clean at one spot, but that’s all.”

“What about the Eggers case?”

“The same story. We were very interested in a cigarette end for a long time, but it turned out to be two days old. It occu pied several officers for a week.”

“Has Meuritz had backup from forensic officers, by the way?” asked Van Veeteren.

“Four of them. Not that I think he needed them. Damn competent doc, even if he can be a bit difficult to work with.”

Van Veeteren bent down and studied the stained grass.

“Have you heard of Heliogabalus?” he asked.

“The guy with the blood on the grass?”

“That’s the one. Roman emperor, 218–222. Killed people because he liked to see red against green. An uncompromising aesthete, no doubt about it. Although blood doesn’t keep its color all that well, it has to be said-”

“No,” said Bausen. “Not really the right motive in this case, anyway. It must have been pitch-black here last Tuesday night.

Two lights in sequence along the path were out.”

“Hmm,” said Van Veeteren. “We’ll eliminate Heliogabalus, then. It’s always good to be able to cross a name off the list.”

Some would-be detectives from the general public were approaching from the Rikken direction. Bang must have put in place some kind of barrier down by the harbor, as they’d been left in peace for nearly ten minutes. Bausen checked his watch.

“Half past four,” he said. “I have a leg of mutton in the freezer. Only needs some roasting. How about it?”

Van Veeteren hesitated.

“If you allow me a couple of hours at the hotel first.”

“Of course,” said Bausen. “You’re welcome at the nest around seven. I hope we’ll be able to sit outside.”

Beate Moerk slid down into the bath and switched off the light.

She allowed herself to be swallowed up by the hot water and imagined that she was inside a womb. That was a recurring thought, and no doubt had some significance.

She felt her waist and hips, and had the impression that she was not putting on weight. A hundred and twenty pounds.

She’d run five miles, the last one pretty quickly. It was true some experts maintained that the most efficient speed for burning up calories was sixty percent of maximum, but what the hell! Surely you would lose a few extra ounces if you really stretched yourself.

That’s enough vanity for now. She rested her head on the edge of the bath and let her tiredness grow and spread all over her body. I’m thirty-one, she thought. I’m a thirty-one-year-old female cop. Without a husband. Without children. Without a family, a house, a boat…

That was also a recurring thought. She wasn’t too worried about a house or a boat. She could also imagine getting by without a husband, for the time being, at least. But children were another matter. A very different matter.

She was living in a different world, in fact. Perhaps it was to get away from that feeling that she liked to fantasize about lying in a womb. Who knows? Of the seven or eight best friends she’d had since she was a teenager, at least five or six of them had masses of children by this time; she was aware of that. Husbands and boats as well, for that matter. Still, thank

God, she wasn’t still living in Friesen; that had been a necessary condition, of course. She’d never have been able to survive if she’d had to put up with all that went with living there wher ever she turned. Her independent and liberated life would have shriveled away like a… like a used condom if she’d been forced to have everybody and everything weighing down on her all the time. With her parents and childhood misde meanors and the follies of youth like a caste mark on her fore head. Like a contents list writ large that she could never detach herself from! Hell, no, she thought.

But there again, sooner or later she would have to give birth to that child; sooner or later she’d have to toe the line of accepted lifestyles. She’d known that for some years now, but every time she celebrated her birthday, at the beginning of Jan uary, she would give herself just one more year. A twelve month moratorium, she would think. One more round. That wasn’t a bad birthday present, and it would no doubt be on her wish list one more year, at least…

She groped for the soap and found it, then changed the sub ject. This was certainly not the time to start thinking about a husband and children. Besides, the reality probably was that only a policeman would consider marrying a policewoman, so the choice was a bit limited. Bang, Mooser, Kropke… perish the thought! She started soaping her breasts… still firm and bouncy; another recurrent thought was that one of these days she would start to dislike her breasts-the whole of her body, come to that. But naturally, that was a trauma she shared with all women. A fact of life, presumably, and one that had to be accepted… Anyway, both Kropke and Mooser were married already. Thank goodness for that.

But it was none of them she wanted to think about tonight.

Why should she? The person she was going to devote her attention to for the next few hours was not a police officer at all. On the contrary. It was that other man…

The Axman. Him and nobody else.

He’s the one I want.

She smiled at the thought. Smiled and switched on the light with a haste that seemed to her a little sudden.

She had done no more than sit down at her desk when the tele phone rang. Beside her was a cup of Russian tea, and the only light in the room formed a small oval in which her notebooks basked.

Her mother, of course. Ah, well, might as well get that call over with now rather than being interrupted later.

Would Beate be coming home this Sunday? That was what she wanted to know. Dad would be so pleased. He’d been depressed all week and the doctors had said that… but that was something they could come back to, perhaps. What was she doing? Working! Surely she didn’t have to get involved in that awful murder business; that was a man’s job, surely?