Hakan Nesser - Hour of the wolf

‘Excellent,’ said Rooth. ‘Tell me about him.’

Dr Brandt looked at him with a sceptical frown on his face.

‘I’ve been questioned by the police once.’

‘But not about Clausen, I think?’

‘Hmm. No, but I find it hard to understand why you want information about him. Why don’t you speak to him instead?’

‘Don’t worry about that,’ said Rooth. ‘It will be easier if I ask the questions and you answer them. Believe me. So, let’s hear it!’

Brandt sat demonstratively silent for a while, stirring his coffee. Come on, you little obstetric obstacle, Rooth thought, and took a bite of his ham sandwich while waiting.

‘I don’t know him all that well,’ said Brandt eventually. ‘A group of us meet now and again — we’ve all kept in touch since we left school. We call ourselves Verhouten’s Angels.’

‘Verhouten’s what…?’

‘Angels. A maths teacher we used to have. Charles Verhouten. A bit of a rum customer, but we liked him. And he was a damned good teacher.’

‘Really?’ said Rooth, and began to wonder if the doctor maybe had a screw loose. I wouldn’t want to be delivered by him, in any case, he thought.

‘But we usually just call ourselves The Brothers. There are six of us. We go out for a meal now and then, then sit and natter. We do have a few formalities as well.’

‘Formalities?’

‘Nothing serious. It’s just a bit of fun.’

‘I see,’ said Rooth. ‘Any women?’

‘No, it’s a men-only club,’ said Brandt. ‘That gives us a bit more freedom, if you see what I mean.’

He gave Rooth a knowing look, peering over his glasses. Rooth returned his gaze, his face expressionless.

‘I understand. But enough of the other angel brothers, let’s concentrate on Clausen. When did you see him last, for instance?’

Brandt looked a little put out, but scratched his head and seemed to be thinking.

‘It was quite some time ago,’ he said. ‘We had a meeting last Friday — at the Canaille in Weivers Plejn — but Clausen was ill and couldn’t come. I don’t think I’ve seen him for about a month, come to think about it. No, not since the last meeting…’

‘Do you never meet here at the hospital?’

‘Very seldom,’ said Brandt. ‘We work quite a long way away from each other. Clausen is based in C Block, and I… Well, I work here in obstetrics, as you know.’

Rooth thought for a moment.

‘What about his relationships with women?’ he asked. ‘Are you married, incidentally?’

Dr Brandt shook his head energetically.

‘I’m single,’ he said. ‘Clausen was married for a few years, but it didn’t last. They divorced. That was about four or five years ago, if I remember rightly.’

‘Do you know if he’s had any affairs with women recently? If he’s met somebody new, for instance?’

Brandt suddenly seemed to cotton on to what it was all about. He took off his glasses. Folded them ostentatiously and put them in his breast pocket. Leaned forward over the table and tried to focus his short-sighted eyes on Rooth.

You should have kept your glasses on, little man, Rooth thought, and drank the remains of his coffee. That would have made it easier.

‘Inspector… What did you say your name was?’

‘Poirot,’ said Rooth. ‘No, I’m only joking. My name’s Rooth.’

‘My dear Inspector Rooth,’ said Brandt impassively. ‘I don’t like having to sit here and listen to your insinuations about a colleague and a good friend. I really don’t. I can assure you that Dr Clausen has nothing at all to do with this business.’

‘With what business?’ said Rooth.

‘With… with that nurse. The one who’s been murdered. Don’t think you can fool me, I know perfectly well what you’re after. You’re completely wrong. She didn’t even work at this hospital, and Clausen really isn’t the type to go running around after women.’

Rooth sighed and changed track.

‘Do you know if he has any close relations?’ he asked.

Brandt leaned back on his chair and seemed to be debating with himself whether or not to answer. His nose was trembling, as if he were trying to smell his way to a decision.

‘He has a sister,’ he said. ‘A few years older, I think. She lives abroad somewhere.’

‘No children?’

‘No.’

‘And that woman he was married to — what’s her name?’

Brandt shrugged.

‘I can’t remember. Marianne, perhaps. Something like that.’

‘Surname?’

‘I’ve no idea. Clausen, of course, assuming she took his name.. They don’t always do that nowadays. But I expect she’ll have retaken her maiden name in any case. I’ve never met her.’

Rooth thought while struggling with a little scrap of skin that had got stuck between two molars in his lower jaw.

‘Why isn’t he at work today?’

‘Who?’ said Brandt.

‘Clausen, of course.’

‘Isn’t he?’ said Brandt. ‘How the hell am I supposed to know? I suppose it’s his day off. Or that he’s still on sick leave. He has flu, if I understand it rightly — it’s quite wrong to think that just because you’re a doctor you are immune to such things…’

‘He’s disappeared,’ said Rooth. ‘Have you no better explanation to offer?’

‘Disappeared?’ said Brandt. ‘Rubbish. I don’t believe that for a moment. Surely he can’t just disappear?’

Rooth glared at him and took the last piece of his sandwich, despite the fact that the scrap of skin was still stuck between his teeth.

‘The other angels — the ones in your little club — do any of them know Clausen a bit better than you do?’

Dr Brandt fished out his spectacles and put them on again.

‘Smaage, perhaps.’

‘Smaage? Could you kindly give me his address and telephone number?’

Brandt took out a little notebook, and shortly afterwards Rooth had details of all the members of the club. He took a lump of sugar from the bowl on the table, and wondered how best to thank him for his help.

‘Okay, that’s it, all finished,’ he said. ‘I think it’s time for you to go and give birth again… Don’t let me keep you any longer.’

Verhouten’s Angels? he thought. Christ almighty.

‘Thank you,’ said Reinhart. ‘Thank you for your help, herr Haas.’

He hung up and looked at Moreno with something that might possibly be interpreted as a grim smile.

‘Let’s hear it, then,’ said Moreno. ‘I think I can detect a degree of satisfaction in the bloodhound’s facial expression.’

‘And not without cause,’ said Reinhart. ‘Guess who was at the Spaarkasse last Thursday and picked up two hundred thousand!’

‘Clausen?’

‘Nail on the head, to quote one of his victims. He called in to collect it at the branch in Keymer Plejn shortly after lunch. In cash! Did you hear that? Two hundred and twenty thousand in fact… Every damned piece of the puzzle is falling into place.’

Moreno pondered.

‘Thursday?’ she said. ‘It’s Tuesday today.’

‘I’m aware of that,’ said Reinhart. ‘God only knows what’s happened, and God only knows where he’s got to. But the Wanted notices have been sent out, so we’ll have him here sooner or later.’

Moreno bit her lip and looked doubtful.

‘I’m not so sure about that,’ she said. ‘What was he going to use the money for?’

Reinhart paused for a couple of seconds, staring at his pipe.

‘He told them at the bank that it was something to do with buying a boat. A likely story! Huh, he was going to pay the blackmailer, of course.’

‘And you reckon he did so?’ asked Moreno. ‘In that case, why has he disappeared?’

Reinhart stared gloomily at the piles of cassettes still lying on his desk.